Writer’s Life

Friday Fiction Focus

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I was reading a story on Annika Perry’s blog and one of the phrases sounded familiar. When I reached the end she revealed

‘The above story celebrates some of the 80 books I read in 2023 and it’s fun to create a short narrative featuring a few of the titles.‘

The familiar phrases was the title of my novel ‘At The Seaside Nobody Hears You Scream’ and Annika had written a five star review. It’s always great to get a good review, especially if the reader ‘gets’ the story and style.

‘VINE VOICE

5.0 out of 5 stars Gripping and unusual with terrific characters! Highly recommended! Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 12 September 2023

Verified Purchase

Congratulations to the author for this superbly crafted and original book that had me hooked from the very start. Toby Channing by accident became a private investigator following the disappearance of his girlfriend, Anna. A year later, he is still an unconfirmed police suspect in her disappearance while personally he is determined to find her. In the process he has set himself up a business in his camper van, travelling around the U.K. to areas special to Anna and helping people along the way, people who have lost someone close to them.

I love the dual aspects of this book, the unusual cases taken on by Toby, the original people he meets along the way and that even an amiable hyperactive robot and the supernatural flow seamlessly into the storyline. It shows the skill of the author how certain cases overlap with his search for Anna.

The story behind Anna’s disappearance is slowly revealed and takes on an even darker national secret.

I loved everything about ‘At the Seaside Nobody Hears You Scream’ and look forward to picking up more of Janet Gogerty’s books in the near future. Highly recommended.’

You can read Annika’s blog here.

A TERRIBLE KINDNESS et al
Available to download on Kindle or as a paperback.

The novel was not Toby Channing’s first appearance. In my collection ‘Someone Somewhere’ he features in a short story and in the two novellas that are linked to the novel and tell the full story behind the hyperactive robot and a supernatural romance.

This collection is different from my previous short story collections. As well as two novellas it includes a look at flash fiction from 75 words to 1000.

When Selina’s son tells her he is bringing someone for the weekend the guest is not what she is expecting.
A summer solstice weekend at Durlswood House promises to be very pleasant, but events occur that will change the lives of two people forever.
Someone is somewhere, but are they where they should be and who are they? Enjoy two very different novellas.
How long is a story? How short is flash fiction? Four topical short stories and two chapters of flash fiction round up this collection and take your mind to somewhere you may not have been before.

Also available for kindle or as a paperback.

I am currently enjoying this collection of short stories by Annika Perry.

THE STORYTELLER SPEAKS

Tuesday tiny Tale – Digital Dialogue -‘New Series’

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What’s the body count now?

476

That’s dreadful.

That is over a decade…

But a tiny harbourside seaside town would surely only expect to have one or two murders in a decade?

I agree, in fact the tiny seaside town where we film has had no real murders in the past decade.

Precisely.

But that’s because they have had no crime at all since we started filming; the locals are paranoid they might be accidentally filmed dropping litter or parking on a double yellow line, let alone burglary or murder.

I may be going out on a limb here, but how about for the next series we don’t have any murders?

What would we have for a story line? How would we compete with Scandi Noir and cold cases in hot Australian country towns?

Gentle stories about real life, fishing trips and trips to the food bank, battles to keep the village school open.

That sounds boring, viewers expect some deaths.

 I have a brainwave. Deaths that appear to be murder, but turn out to be natural causes. Woman found poisoned, new police constable notes her flat is filled with plants and recalls how his aunt always uses fresh water for her tea and waters her plants with the old water in the kettle. He ponders what if one or more of the plants is poisonous, the kettle touches the leaves and the poison is transferred to her tea, perhaps gradual build up. CID take no notice of him and this is where the drama comes in. He has to go out on a limb, photographing every plant, Googling them…

They, could be a female officer.

Okay, they, even though its only one officer…they get in touch with Kew Gardens and persuade them to send an expert who discovers a rare South American jungle plant next to the television set.

Or in the bathroom, it would like steamy conditions. But is that going to take six episodes?

Rich old lady found at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck, who pushed her? My mother says most accidents on stairs are caused by remembering you have forgotten something and turning suddenly, half way up or down.

Hm, at least that’s quite violent.

Young farmer found with throat slashed in the barn; turns out he tripped over a free range hen and in a freak accident the abattoir knife they use to dispatch the outdoor reared pigs for their farm shop, slashes his throat. No cctv, everyone is blamed and the family torn apart, before a clever pathologist on holiday proves the truth.

Which was difficult because the pigs had already half eaten him…

No, No we don’t want too much gore.

Sorry, sorry, this is not going to work, especially as the BBC wants to axe us, production costs too high.

We can’t stop, it would ruin lives. Half the cast have bought holiday homes, or moved there permanently, got pigs and chickens and boats. And the locals would be devastated, they depend on our six months filming for business.

Hang on, I thought we had ruined their lives, causing property prices to rocket with everyone wanting to live there or have holiday homes. No chance for the young locals.

That’s why we pay the mortgages and rent for half the villagers, we need them as realistic extras.

No wonder production costs are so high, but it would cause an outcry. The public are looking forward to series eleven and the 2024 Christmas Special. We need to think of a really good plot, spy submarine in the harbour sinks a fishing boat with three generations on board…

It is only a tiny harbour… but perhaps further out at sea and then the submarine fires torpedoes at the lifeboat… yes, I think we can do it.

And for today’s cheerful tune, wouldn’t all writers like to write this fast?

Monday Musings

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Why do we in the Northern Hemisphere who have daylight saving, always say with surprise, soon into November ‘Doesn’t it get dark early?’ Luckily we have squirrels to light our way home.

We learnt a new word today at our ‘Wellness Pilates’ class. A new class is starting at the sports centre – Equilates. Browsing the internet I see it is not new. What is it? Clue below and answer at the end of this post.

Too many books? You can never have too many books or can you? A decorating project Chez Tidalscribe led to moving a lot of books and wondering why so many are unread. Some are inherited from my book loving aunt and uncle, others date back to our Book Club days when we would leave a book club, then re-join it later to get yet another introductory offer of six books for a pound each, then there are the treasured Christmas presents. Many are beautiful illustrated hardback non fiction, excellent reference books in pre internet days. Alas, when we are writing a blog or checking facts for our novels, we don’t say to ourselves ‘I’ll just pop downstairs and look that up in the very heavy giant Encyclopaedia of British History or the equally heavy Family Medical Encyclopaedia ( probably out of date )’; we just Google it. As I dust each book to decide where to put it on the new shelves I am overwhelmed with guilt at my neglect and promise to read it on the afore mentioned long winter evenings.

Answer to equilates.. apparently around for a while, it is Pilates for horse riders, not the horse, though that may well come. We didn’t know horse massage and saddle fitting was ‘a thing’ till a family member trained for them and soon acquired plenty of clients.

Do you have too many books?

Have you attended any interesting classes lately?

Monday Musings – Don’t Sit Down

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Don’t bother to sit down, there is no point in getting comfortable as you are bound to have forgotten something and will have to get up again.

Whether you have sat down purposefully in your snug office to get on with some super creativity or are settling down with dinner on your lap tray to watch your favourite programme, you will have forgotten something.

Ready for a nice cup of tea/coffee or a cooling beer? Planning to look at the newspaper, check your emails or watch TV? You will forget a pen for the crossword, your phone or the TV remote. Conversely you may sit down prepared for every eventuality then realise your drink is still sitting in the kitchen.

Here is a helpful list of items you may need before sitting down for a tea break or a cosy evening with Netflix. Select according to your interests, hobbies, age and health.

Smart phone, house phone, iPad, TV remote, knitting, tablets ( the sort you swallow ) , glass of water for said tablets, wheat bag heated in the microwave for your neck or any sore body part, ice pack for knee or any injured body part, cutlery for your dinner, beanbag tray for your dinner, notepad and pen in case inspiration strikes, hankies/tissues if you have  a streaming cold, throw for snuggling under…

But don’t think you can relax, even if you have checked the list. Do you need to let the dog in, feed the cat? Have you closed the curtains/blinds? In the northern hemisphere days are drawing in and ten minutes after you settle down passers by will see a brightly lit tableau of you lounging on your sofa.  I know this because I love to see front rooms lit up and have a peep at people’s décor and what they are up to.

Even when you are organised and comfortable there are events beyond your control, like your Amazon delivery arriving…

Have a nice evening.

Tuesday Tale – High Energy

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Charlotte Charlington had never heard of Hambourne, but an unknown riverside town in middle England appealed to her for her new life and she hoped it would inspire her novel about Lottie Lincoln. She had no idea of Hambourne’s strange history or that she might end up in a novel herself.

Charlotte soon found the High Energy Studio at the Hambourne Leisure Centre, though some of the people going in didn’t look as if they had any energy. The Zumbournetics class with Holly promised low impact, Pilates inspired, static circuits for all the community. ‘Bring your baby or your Zimmer frame.’

While Charlotte was still job hunting she thought she should make the most of her free time and any opportunity to get to know the locals. It took courage for her to walk into a room full of strangers. Young women in leotards with babies strapped to their chests and old chaps with walking sticks each positioned themselves by a chair. An older woman motioned Charlotte to an empty chair beside her, then led the way to a walk in cupboard where they collected an assortment of gear; long stretchy bands, mini dumbbells, squishy balls and foam blocks.

‘First time? It’s great fun.’

Charlotte had hoped to remain anonymous in the busy class, but Holly made a beeline for her.

‘Any problems?’

Not any that Holly could sort out she thought to herself, but smiled and said. ‘Well I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, but apart from that…’

‘No heart conditions, joint problems, operations…’

‘I had my wisdom teeth out ten years ago.’

‘Good, good and how do you like to be called?’

‘Charlotte.’

‘Okay Charlie, welcome to the class.’

As Holly went off to fiddle with the temperamental music equipment the other lady leaned in to whisper ‘They have to be careful with health problems, especially after Dennis keeled over last month.’

‘Oh dear, dose she work us that hard, was he okay?’

‘No, stone dead. That’s why we’re fund raising for a defibrillator.’

Charlotte hoped here would be no deaths in class today, though it did give her another idea for a Lottie Lincoln case. People don’t just drop dead in a low impact exercise class, there must be a more sinister explanation.

The music blared out.

‘Marching on the spot, shoulders back, shoulder blades in your pockets, deep breath in as you raise your arms… now zip up from your pubic bone to your chin and exhale… open up that pelvis… step forward… Lottie, right foot, right foot darling not left’

Charlotte felt a hot flush coming on as she realised Holly was talking to her. She was having enough trouble working out whether she was supposed to be inhaling or exhaling.

‘Okay take up your bands… Charlie, pink band for beginners not the black. Margaret, under your knee not over…

Pick up your babies or your dumbbells. No Eddy, sit this one out. Easy option shoulder height, harder option reach right up…’

Charlotte thought the real Lottie in her book would be good at this, as well as being an ex army PE instructor, a fact she had just thought of, she also had a very sharp brain.

‘Okay take a drink break. Charlotte, where’s your water?’

Charlotte had assumed there would be a water dispenser.

‘You must have a bottle of water with you and drink at least a litre during the class. If you get dehydrated you will get cramp…’

A whole litre! Charlotte was relieved when they started to cool down, but she had enjoyed bouncing around to the music and realised her mind had been emptied of complicated thoughts. She felt suddenly lost when the class came to an end. Rehydration with a cup of coffee was in order and cake if they had any in the café.

Holly appeared at her side. ‘Well done, are you coming on Thursday?’

‘Twice a week? Oh yes.’

That would be something else to fill her week up. It was harder than she had imagined, living on her own in a town where she knew no one, going from a busy job and busy life to being an unemployed writer. She sat by herself at a table, nearby the young mothers and two young dads from the class were clustered together. Others must have rushed off to their busy lives.

‘Oh chocolate cake, wish I could indulge.’

The woman who had helped her in the class appeared by her table.

‘Shall I join you.’

‘Oh yes’ said Charlotte, pathetically glad, like a new girl at school.

‘Jenny, I’ve been coming for years. Are you new in Hambourne?’

‘Yes, since a couple of weeks ago.’

‘What brought you here?’

She groaned inwardly, that was the trouble with friendly people, they were naturally curious.

‘Oh er a change, getting away from it all.’

‘On your own?’

‘Yes, my daughter thinks I’m mad to move so far without a job to go to.’

‘Where did you work?’

‘At the airport.’

‘Which airport?’

The question took Charlotte by surprise, but of course she was a long way from London now.

‘Heathrow.’

‘Oh how glamourous and exciting,’

Her job wasn’t at all exciting and certainly not glamorous, but she realised she did miss it. However, she had no intention of revealing her actual job or much about her life.

‘There is a great buzz working there, but tell me about Hambourne, I literally stuck a pin in a map of England, got on a train and loved what I saw.’

‘It is indeed a lovely place, I left and came back again. Of course it is rather a strange town…’

You can read The Hambourne Chronicles in my collection Hallows and Heretics.

Tuesday Tiny Tale 500 – Overheard

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I don’t make a habit of eavesdropping, well only in my capacity as a writer. Often you can’t help overhearing people on their mobile phones, in the street, on the bus, in the toile…toilet?

Usually in the Ladies only banal conversations emanate from inside cubicles.

‘Are you sure you don’t want a wee George before we go, Mummy’s going to have a wee, are you sure you don’t…   Daisy are you washing your hands properly, Daisy are you still there, wait till Mummy’s finished, don’t go out… Daisy, DAISEEE?’

I know from films and TV thrillers that men have endless dramatic conversations at the urinals, threatening, exchanging important information, dealing drugs or even assassinating each other.

The other day at our local busy sports centre the Ladies had a more interesting conversation to overhear.

 Surely she’s not taking her phone into the cubicle, she’s actually carrying on talking while she’s going and I can hear the other person clearly, must be on speaker.

I felt almost guilty intruding on their conversation, but I was in my cubicle first, I didn’t ask her to move in next door.  

‘Oh my god Bella, are you sure, whyever would you think that?’

‘He was late home that night.’

‘Was it his darts night?’

‘Till 3am! Creeping in but woke me up anyway. I asked where he’d been and he told me not to worry and go back to sleep. As if I could, especially when I could hear him putting the washing machine on.’

‘But that still doesn’t mean he had anything to do with it.’

‘Oh what shall I do, ring that number they gave out on the news?’

‘Bella, you can’t seriously think Dave could be involved, they would have needed a chainsaw.’

‘He’s got a chainsaw.’

‘Oh, well that’s probably because he is a tree surgeon. Don’t do anything yet, you don’t actually know anything.’

I didn’t dare flush the toilet, I did not want her to know anyone was listening in to what could be an incriminating conversation. Nor did I want to miss a word.

‘Bella, have you told anyone else yet?’

‘No, of course not, I just had to tell someone, do you think I’m crazy?’  

‘Yes er no… is there anything you have not told me about Dave?’

‘No, well there was that one time I got a weird phone call from his ex.’

‘As she was still alive that’s reassuring. Where are you now?’

‘Walking the dog in the park.’

‘And where’s Dave?’

‘He was asleep when I left.’

‘Not the park where they found the body parts!’

‘No, that’s still taped off and police everywhere.’

‘I suppose you could call that number anonymously… and don’t go home.’

 The toilet flushed and the door banged, I did not hear any more, didn’t dare creep out till she was gone. But what should I do. Back out in reception and the café it was so busy there was no way of guessing who had been in the Ladies. How could I phone the police and say someone called Dave who lived with Bella might be the murderer?

Silly Saturday – Sun and Thunder

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What could be nicer than a garden in summer?

And an invitation to a garden party on a sunny morning.

Until it starts raining…

But what would a traditional summer garden party be without torrential rain and thunder!

But two books found a new home.

If you would like to buy a book without getting wet head over to Amazon. Available to download and as a paperback.
My Books
Zip over to the My Books page to read about all my books.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Lies

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Lies, all lies. Secrets and Lies? No, if I had any secrets I wouldn’t have needed to make up all those lies to sound more interesting on Facebook and WordPress. Today I looked back at the first post on my new blog, Millennium Me.

‘Born as the new millennium started I owe it to the world, to history, to set the design for Twenty First Century Woman. Now in 2016 I know the world is at my feet.’

Okay, so I was born in 1978, nobody could tell from my avatar. It had started as a joke on Facebook where everyone was presenting their oh so fabulous or exciting lives. How do we know any of it is true?

I clicked onto my second blog post.

‘When I left school I vowed never to sit at a desk again. The jungle would be my office, orangutans my colleagues, the desert my holiday breaks.’

My desk job was only meant to last a few months till I had enough money to start my adventures, but every time I thought of leaving I would get one of those persistent colds I’m a martyr to.

2018 and my blog was really taking off.

‘Who would have believed I would celebrate my eighteenth birthday on top of Mount Kilimanjaro, especially after losing my right leg to bone cancer.’

I spent my fortieth birthday quietly, my knee was playing up again so I went to Toby Carvery with Joan from the office, she was glad to have a break from looking after her mother.

2019, romance was in the air and I had more followers than ever.

‘February 14th 2019 – When Your Parents Disapprove of Your Lover.

We were married in a tribal ceremony; just because it was not a recognised marriage in Britain or the catholic church, who cares. We were made for each other, for life, me and my Zulu Warrior.’

2020 and the world wide pandemic found me isolated in KwaZulu Land, truly isolated…

‘I can hardly bear to write that the love of my life has been brutally murdered by an Xhosa warrior.’

I spent all the various lockdowns working from home, one of the handy things about an office job. I had to kill off the Zulu warrior as I have never been further south than the Isle of Wight and I don’t know a lot about Zulus. I was also beginning to get quite a few South African followers and they might have started to get suspicious.

In 2021 I trekked north across the African continent.

‘I spent my twenty first birthday with a Bedouin tribe, never imagining I would find love again. But it was not to be. I was not prepared to share him with his other three wives and I set my goal for the oceans.’

In 2021 I decided after all that lock down business that I needed a holiday, explore some of my own country before venturing abroad. I would have been more adventurous, but I thought taking Joan to Scotland on a coach trip would do her good after the death of her mother.

‘My first blog post for 2022 finds me out on the ocean wide and the oceans are wider than I ever dreamed. Despite having just completed ten rounds of chemotherapy after the return of my cancer, I was determined to take up my place on the round the world yacht race using only seventeenth century navigation techniques. Luckily the other three crew members are experienced.’

The Poole to Cherbourg trip did me a world of good. I loved the open seas and I wasn’t seasick at all during the four and a half hour trip. A chap even chatted me up, but there wasn’t time for a shipboard romance as I had to keep an eye on Joan with her dodgy hip.

In 2023 I have been pondering whether I should wind up this blog. I am beginning to run out of ideas, Liedeas I call them. Revealing that I had just realised I was a Lesbian, or perhaps bisexual had not been a good idea. I received some nasty comments from certain extreme religious groups and also from the LGBTQIA+ community. I think I may have got some of the initials wrong, or at least the right initials, but not necessarily in the right order.

Perhaps I should go out with a bang, reveal the lies, how I fooled all of you…

      

The West Wing

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I usually get lost inside hospitals, but this week I got lost trying to get into a hospital.

I originally opted to have my cancer treatment at Poole hospital because my two local bus companies, three bus choices, all stopped at the main entrance. Since the sudden demise of Yellow Buses ( that’s another story for a bus blog ) my one local frequent bus service stops there. I was additionally relieved to have avoided Royal Bournemouth Hospital when the building work began…

Our three local hospitals now come under University Hospitals Dorset NHS Foundation Trust. Whether this rebranding prompted the building frenzy and swapping round of departments between hospitals or followed the new ideas who can guess. Most patients just want to know which hospital they are supposed to be going to and which door they have to go in.

The original two storey unimposing building was white with blue roofs and recent improvements made it easy to get from the ‘bus hub’ to the main entrance. The main entrance led to a light atrium where the stairs, a café, toilets, information desk, buggy rides, chemist and free taxi phone could all be found. If you stuck to the main corridor that led the length of the hospital, all was well. Of course if you left the main corridor you could easily get lost, you know the scenario…

‘When you come out of the Ladies I’ll be sitting here…’

‘Okay.’

‘Oh dear, I can’t see any seats, let alone a waiting husband…’

I once went out the wrong exit and ended up in the Toby Carvery car park instead of at the bus stops.

The main entrance has now disappeared completely in the building works.

Caner treatment and ongoing medication can lead to other problems, so a recent hospital appointment led to me going off in several directions. Already existing joint problems can be made worse, especially hands for some reason, with perhaps residual nerve damage. At least having bunches of bananas for hands doesn’t stop me writing. The nurse suggested visiting my GP about steroid injections, but he suggested an Xray first.

It has been a long time since I had a face to face with my GP. The wonders of modern technology; he sent my prescription for Ibuprofen gel straight to the chemist and pinged the phone number for X-ray department to my phone. When I rang up I had a choice of Christchurch or Bournemouth; Christchurch not easily accessible by bus, I can at least walk to Bournemouth. The walk is probably an hour, ‘cross country’ past my sports’ centre and then eight lanes of traffic to cross. Not a hike to be taken if the weather is bad or on a very hot sweaty day if you have to strip off for an examination, but a hand X-ray would be fine.

There was a map with the hospital letter and on the phone the receptionist had given me directions from the bus hub… but the reality didn’t make sense. If I had just been told not to go near the hospital, but ‘stay on the road and walk for miles until you find a hole in the hedge’ it would have made sense. I hoped for a bus to arrive and disgorge staff or confident patients I could follow, but the only humans around were waiting for a bus. A board showing departments revealed I needed The West Wing. There was a gate in a fence that said To the West Wing. I opened it, but another sign said No Access to Pedestrians. There did not seem to be any way to get near the hospital. I found signs that pointed to the West Wing and back out of the hospital …and back home? Eventually I realised there were signs at intervals along the hedge and at last a gap… I finally found my way between hoardings and confused motorists to the entrance at the far end of the hospital. Then I walked that long corridor almost back to the main entrance where the X-ray department lies.

GETTING INTO THE HOSPITAL WAS NOT GOING TO BE EASY

Luckily I had planned to arrive early and relax at the coffee shop, no coffee but at least I was in time for my appointment and I was seen straight away. A cheerful young woman took me down the usual maze of corridors, confidently opened one of those doors with skull and crossbones warning of radiation… and quickly backed out saying ‘whoops, sorry’. Obviously that room was occupied and she then found an empty one. It had occurred to me I might have to take my eternity ring off… I never take it off and it won’t come off…

‘Can you just take your ring off.’

‘Well I could run it under this cold tap.’

‘When did you last take it off?’

 ‘Probably over twenty years ago when I had my carpal tunnel done.’

‘Oh dear, I’ll ask my colleague… try using the sanitiser to make it slippery.’

That didn’t work, more consultation, then she came back and said she would just write in the notes about the ring. I would imagine that on an Xray it’s pretty obvious if the skeleton is wearing a ring… all went well after that. For some reason I had imagined putting my hand between two photographic plates, like a sandwich maker, but the rays came from above.

‘Can you find your way out?’

‘Yes, er maybe…’

‘Just follow the red dots on the floor.’

What a simple but effective idea. When I looked at my watch I had spent a very short time actually in X-ray.