Uni Update: The last one for this year

That’s it, the term has finished. I should be relieved, it has been tiring and stressful at times, but I’m not. I’m anxious that I won’t see anything of the people I’ve met on the course now that it’s over. I’ve got half an assignment to finish writing and hand in on 26th, when I’ll see everyone again – we’re going for lunch. After that, who knows?

I’ll be back at uni in September to re-enrol, and then I have to wait until next January to start my final module before I do my dissertation. In the months between now and then I will be researching background information for my dissertation novel, and having a trial run at producing a booklet, which is the final assignment I’ll need to hand in, in a year from now before starting my dissertation.

Talking of assignments, I got 70% for my life-writing assignment. If I can get that or more for my ghost story, I’ll be very happy. I’m trying to get my assignment average results above 70%.

I’ve learnt some useful things this year. I’m better at prose than poetry, for a start. I have learnt to write reflexive essays, which were a complete mystery to me at the start. I have a vague understanding of how to write a script now. I got my highest mark in drama, although my 5000 word short story wasn’t far behind. Now it’s in third place after life-writing. I’ve had some useful feedback on my writing and I feel slightly more confident about it.

The next few months will be busy, as well as research for my dissertation, I will be finishing work on Hidden Fire, Fire Betrayed and Fire Awakened, and making progress on Fire Storm. I want to try to self-publish them. I made the decision based on a couple of things:

  • It’s hard to sell a series to an agent or publisher, and if I do sell the first book they might interfere with the rest of them
  • It can take years to get published the traditional way and I want these books out of my head and out of the way so I can get on with the other ones currently living in my head and demanding my attention. It’s very hard to focus on Fire Storm  when Thane of Lindsey, The Three Ladies, Wool Thief, Killer Granny and When the Fat Ladies Sing are demanding I write them, this instant. These are all provisional titles/nicknames, by the way. The first three are historical fiction and the final two are contemporary crime novels.
  • I want to share the stories with people

Probably not the best reasons but they are good enough for me. Right, there will be a book review, and three short stories later today, but first, it’s dinner time.

 

Extract: ‘Hidden Fire’, by Rosemarie Cawkwell

Brief summary

Hidden Fire is a fantasy novel, the first of four set in The Northern Isles of a world called Erce, in which a young woman, LIZZY FITZALBONI, discovers herself and her place in the world. Privileged form birth, she must learn that not everyone exists to make life easy for her, while navigating a complex political world where many would like to see her dead.

Synopsis

The Northern Isles are four islands to the west of the great continental empire of Belenos. Midway between Belenos and the western continent of Camar, they are key trading ports, controlling the supply of furs and oils from Camar to Belenos, and of silks and spices back to Camar. When the islands go to war everyone suffers. Lizzy FitzAlboni is the illegitimate child of the King John VII of Albon. His political marriage to Jocinta Tarjani, the granddaughter of the ruler of the second largest island, Sumoast, has always been rocky. When Lizzy is kidnapped just before her 21st birthday evidence points to the queen and her kinsmen in Sumoast. Jocinta is exiled back to her family. In Albon, political and religious currents awaken as religious authorities object to the queen’s exile and the people agitate for further reform of the political system. Lizzy becomes involved, while raising her brothers. When her friend Lord Gos Val goes missing while on in Belenos, Lizzy and her friends must investigate, but are too late to prevent the war everyone knows is coming.

Copyright Notice: The author asserts the copyright to this material. No copying, sharing etc. without permission.

(This is my work; steal it and I’ll hunt you down with a big axe and two mad hounds.)

Continue reading “Extract: ‘Hidden Fire’, by Rosemarie Cawkwell”

Advance warning

I am going to be brave and post an extract from my novel Hidden Fire. I am fairly certain it has reached the point where I really need to do something with it, but I don’t know what to do. I’m conflicted. Should I try the traditional publishing route of find and agent and then hope a publisher buys it, or do I self-publish?

 

3rd April prompt – Elderly geologist

BBeing a former Natural Sciences student (way back in the early years of this century) I’ve met a few elderly geologists. They’re usually the ones teaching the first years.

Sandstone Cliffs at Brandy Head (C) Sheila Russell :: Geograph Britain ...

“A good example of sandstone layering can be seen above us.”

Doctor Albert Grenville pointed to the cliffs behind him. His class of first year Earth Sciences students nodded along as they huddled around him in the chilly April sunlight. The wind had dropped and a few brave souls had taken out pens and notebooks in an attempt to get some notes down.

“Today I want you to walk the beach, observing the cliff closely. Your assignment depends on you being able to remember a few things about it. I recommend taking photographs and sketching. Remember, I want an A3 poster describing the past environments embodied in this stretch of cliff. Point out the swales, and the ripples, the mud stone layers and what they tell us about the changing environment. Really get to know this cliff. Forty percent of you module mark depends on it.”
Doctor Grenville laughed, his students joining in nervously. It was their first field trip and they were unsure.

“Right, get on with it. I’ll leave you to your own devices, but be back at the coach at four this afternoon, and keep am eye on the tide.”

The students nodded and muttered. It would have to do, Albert shrugged, students seemed to get less articulate every year. He watched them disperse along the beach, a few had already given up on their notebooks and had take out cameras and phones to record their work. Really, things had changed so much since they had first come here, fifty years ago.

Albert, young and freshly appointed PhD student in the new geology labs at his university, was on holiday with his fiance and her mother. The summer air was filled with the ozone smell of the sea and the fried fish he and Melissa carried along the beach, looking for somewhere private to eat their supper.

The young couple are arm in arm as they stroll along the pebble beach, joyfully empty of shouting children and overbearing mothers. 

“Look, there’s a cave. We should explore.” Melissa pointed to a shadow in the cliff base twenty yards away. Her blond hair escaped from her scarf, a few curls around her forehead.

“Food first. I’m ravenous.”

“Me too, absolutely famished.”

“How many more houses is your mother going to make us look ’round?”

“I’ve no idea darling, She was quite taken with the two we saw this morning.”

They scrambled into the dip in the cliff base, barely two yards deep. They found two rounded boulders sat in the middle of a sandy floor, the tide line a clear break just inside the cave. Melissa sat, crossing her ankles, and opened the newspaper wrapped packet of fish and chips.

Chewing on a chip, Albert’s professional curiosity got the better of him. He rubbed the walls, feeling the sand slough off on his fingers. Coarse, probably from a beach, mid Jurassic. but he could be wrong. The cave was cool the evening breeze and shade taking the edge off the August heat. Albert leaned against the side wall of the cave, barely an inch behind his boulder, to cool his skin further. A day driving in the sun had reddened his fair, freckled skin painfully.

 

“Sir, Dr Grenville!”

“What?” Albert jumped, sea water soaked through his shoes, “Oh Emma, it’s you.”

His PhD student, helping wrangle students on the field trip for extra pay, stood next to Albert. He looked around, closer to the shore students watched the pair, phones out.

“You’re going to get stranded if you don’t watch out sir.”

“Oh yes, the tide is in already. Thank you Emma. Let’s get back to the getty, shall we?”

“Definitely Dr. Grenville.”

They turned, Emma leading the way, taking a route that lead through the shallowest areas.

“Well, that’s another pair of boots ruined. Melissa won’t be happy.” Albert checked himself as he remembered.

“Yes, that’s why brought my water shoes with me. I remember my trip here as a first year.” Emma distracted him by lifting a foot out of the water high enough for Albert to see the moulded neoprene shoe with individual toes.

“I might have to get some, for next year.”

They walked a few yards further. Emma was troubled. Grenv was getting on a bit but he wasn’t absentminded enough to walk along the spit when the tide was coming in; he’d repeatedly reminded them before they got off the coach to stay close to the cliff and watch the tide.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why were you so far out?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Nostalgia I suppose.”

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t understand.”

“The first time I came here was with Melissa, the summer before we married.”

“I see.” Emma’s eyebrows shot up.

Albert laughed at her reaction, “Young people are supposed to be open minded Emma.”

Emma laughed, embarrassed.

“But it wasn’t a dirty weekend. We were here for a fortnight with Melissa’s mother, looking for houses.”

“For you and Mrs Grenville?”

“No, unfortunately not; I couldn’t afford to buy a house then. No, my mother-in-law wanted to move to the seaside, for her health. Melissa enlisted my help as driver for the holiday.”

“And the beach?”

“Our refuge from Dorothy. She was set in her ways, had very strict ideas about how an engaged couple should act.”

“I see. So, good memories? Watch out sir, there’s a deep hole right in front of you.” Emma grasped Albert’s arm and led him around the pit.

The tide had turned while Albert and Melissa ate their supper, the first chance they’d had to be alone all day almost over. The sea lapped up the beach getting dangerously close to the mouth of their cave.

“We’d better be going, the tide will cut us off.” Melissa interrupted Albert’s exploration of the cave. 

“Just a second.” He pulled out his camera, winding the film on to the next negative, and took a photograph of Melissa on her boulder, laughing at him.

“Perfect. My siren.” He kissed her and offered her his hand to stand.

“I’m not going to lure you to your doom though.”

“I don’t know; there are times when I’d rather face the Gorgon than your mother.”

“If we don’t hurry back you’ll wish you were facing Medusa. And you’ve got your myths mixed up.”

“Same difference. They’re both Greek.”

Melissa shook her head, smiling. “Well, this siren wants to go back to the hotel and have a bath. Come along, before we’re trapped here.”

The pair left the cave, balling up their chip papers for the return walk along the pebble beach to the getty, where the car waited.

“Here we are Dr. Grenville. Back on solid ground, and just in time for lunch. Will you join the rest of us in the cafe?”

“Why not. There used to be a chip shop that did a lovely battered cod and chips along here.”

Albert looked around, the place had changed so much since his first visit with Melissa. The old chapel was an arcade, and the grocers had become an antiques shop. Melissa had loved their trips here and now they’d never visit together again.

2nd April prompt – Postman

postman | 3d postman with envelope and bag | By: ePublicist | Flickr ...

She answered the door naked.

The first time I thought it was an invitation. She slapped me and made a complaint to the sorting office.

The second time I turned my back, holding out the parcel behind me. She laughed.

The third time I had to deliver a parcel I braced myself for the sight. Wobbly belly and veined legs, pale and hairy, pendulous breasts, and a couple of chins. She smiled, took the parcel and closed the door.

She was completely unconcerned by the impression she made on me; how is that possible?

1st April prompt – Fortune Teller

Erica leaned over the railing, puffing on her fag. The weather wasn’t great, and not many tourists strolled along the prom, away beyond the dunes that separated the line of beach huts from the rest of the resort. The beach in front was equally empty. She flicked the butt into the sand and opened the back door into her shed.

There was nobody waiting for a reading when she emerged from behind the heavy, brocade curtains to take  her seat in the window. Rain pattered on the glass. Erica fiddled with the heavy gold rings she wore for show on every finger. Her hair itched under the lace scarf. She pulled it and the fake black wig off to scratch the itch. People liked the long dark hair and scarves; it had that ‘ethnic’ look they thought ‘gypsies’ should have, as inaccurate, and immensely racist, as that image was.

A long slow afternoon ended with a tap on the door as she was changing into her jeans and hoody to walk home. She ignored the tap.

Another tap jolted through the building as she unlocked the back door. Thankful that the rain had stopped, she unlocked the back door. The tapping became more insistent as she pushed the door open.

“Too bloody late, pal. It’s home time.” She muttered to herself. If they were that interested in a reading they’d come back tomorrow. Walking away from the back of the hut, along the sandy footpath to the end of the row of the painted beach huts. They all housed summer businesses now, but this early in the season they were shut. She took a quick look to see if her knocker was there.

No one.

She shrugged; they must have left. Walking across the dunes to the promenade, she looked about for her erstwhile customer. Despite the clear evening there was no one around.

“Heh. Must have gone to the beach.”

The March weather wasn’t exactly the sort for skinny dipping.

“Erica.” A voice roughened and low pitched, floated over the dunes from the direction of the huts.

Erica turned in the direction of the voice, searching for it’s source. No one was there. Erica shrugged and carried on walking. Trick of the wind.

Reaching the prom and its bus stop Erica was distracted by a poster for a new Tom Hiddleston film, forgetting the strange voice and persistent knocking.

Wednesday in the hut went much as Tuesday did. Quiet, raining on and off, no customers. Until the end of the day, as she was changing out of her costume.

Tap. Tap.

“We’re closed.”

Tap. Tap.

“I said, we’re closed.”

Tap. Tap.

“Oh for crying out loud.”

Erica pulled her coat on, zipping it up. She pushed open the back door and left. The customer still persistently knocking. Locking up, she slipped between the hut and its neighbour. She could hear the knocking still, Really, this customer didn’t get the message at all.

“Hey! I told you. We’re closed.”

There was no one there.

Short story a day. An explanation.

Writer’s Forum magazine has a page called ‘Idea Store’ every month. The Fiction Square is supposed to be used with a dice to chose characters, characteristics and situations. This month the squares are also numbered 1 – 30 as a daily writing prompt. I’ve done the first two.

WIN_20170402_17_44_32_Pro

The short stories are just first drafts, written quickly with the prompt. I’m going to post the first two after this post. Enjoy.

Review: ‘Who’s to blame?’, by Jane Marlow

Published by: River Grove Books

Publication date: 18th October 2016

I.S.B.N.: 9781632991041

Blurb

Set during the mid-1800s in the vast grain fields of Russian, Who Is to Blame? follows the lives of two star-crossed serfs, Elizaveta and Feodor, torn apart by their own families and the Church while simultaneously trapped in the inhumane life of poverty to which they were born.

At the other end of the spectrum, Count Maximov and his family struggle to maintain harmony amidst a tapestry of deception and debauchery woven by the Count’s son. The plot twists further when the Tsar emancipates twenty million serfs from bondage while the rural gentry’s life of privilege and carelessness has taken its final bow and much of Russia’s nobility faces possible financial ruin.

Continue reading “Review: ‘Who’s to blame?’, by Jane Marlow”

East Midlands Writer’s Conference: Rosie’s review

Bleugh, I’,m dying of a cold. Not a ‘take a couple of paracetamol and get on with it cold’ either. I hate having a screwed up immune system, and would like a new one. Anyway, I’ll get on with the post.

Last Saturday I dragged my diseased self out of bed at a disgustingly early hour to catch a train to Lincoln and then from their to Nottingham. After navigating the Nottingham tram system – it’s really easy if you aren’t having a panic attack, you don’t have to interact with other people to buy tickets or anything – I managed, just in time to get to the conference. I got my goody bag, which included the usual confrency type things – schedules and advertising from the sponsor – and a free book. Yes, someone gave me a free book. This happens quite regularly but I still get excited every time. It’s a children’s book set in the First World War, I might give it to my nephew or niece.

I managed to make it to three out of the four talks I’d planned to go to. The first was about creative writing PhDs. I wasn’t too impressed with a couple of the speakers. One was up himself and the other didn’t answer questions properly. The third was quite interesting though. I came away certain that a PhD was beyond me, because of the critical element. Not having a background in formal literary criticism – I only studied English Literature up to AS Level – I felt like I’d be unable to complete the critical essay portion of the PhD.

I’ve been thinking about it though. I have thought about what I’d like to do for my PhD more seriously since then. I’m thinking about writing a novel intertwining the experiences of Queen Edith, Gytha of Wessex and Edith Swanneck in the weeks around the Battle of Hastings and in the months and years that followed. The critical component would be comparing how these women specifically, and Anglo-Saxon women in general were represented in contemporary literature (from the sixth century to the eleventh) with how they are represented in modern historical fiction focusing on the era.

My initial hypothesis is that women had greater representation in the contemporary literature – in the form of hagiography and ecclesiastical works, for example – than they do in modern historical fiction. To be blunt, you’re more likely to find books about St Dunstan than St Hilda, or Alfred rather than Aethelflaed.

What do people think? Is this a viable area of research?

The second talk I attended was about what happens after a book deal has been signed. There were three published authors on the panel. One wrote YA, another literary fiction. I can’t remember what the women running the panel wrote. It was basically ‘things I wish I’d known before getting a publishing deal’, including that you have to organise your own book launch and it’s a good idea to have it in a book shop because the sales will bump your place on the charts. And provide alcohol, because alcohol makes people friendly and spend money. There were other useful bits of information, about getting cover quotes and balancing doing the post-publication stuff with writing the next book and your day job. It was interesting.

The lunch wasn’t too bad, could have done with more chocolate and cold water. I didn’t manage to network, because I’m no good at that sort of thing. What the hell would I have to say to someone who clearly has more experience in writing and the writing world than me? There was one bloke that I noticed couldn’t stop talking about himself, to anyone and everyone, in a loud and clear voice. He was a stand up who’d just got back from a trip to India. I managed to avoid any long conversations with him by the simple expedient of being me and barely responding to his comments, and of course, looking half dead. Really put me off interacting with other people though, even if I’d wanted to.

The third session was a workshop on narrative drive with Rod Duncan, who writes steampunk novels. It was a large group so he talked and we listened. There was a tree drawing and some graphs. It makes sense in context. No, really it does. It’s a tie between this and the second talk for my favourite/most useful of the day.

By 3 p.m. I felt so awful I thought I would faint, vomit, or both. I left at half three and got an early train home. By half six I was tucked up in bed with my Lemsip Blackcurrant cold and flu, and an ice lolly.

I get dehydrated when I have a serious cold, and ice lollies help with that. It works for me, stop laughing. Taking of, it’s time to retire to my pit with an ice lolly. I’m supposed to be at sewing and craft club tonight but I’m not up to it.

Uni Update: The end is in sight

For this year at least.

I’ve been ill, am still ill, with an awful cold. Today has been the first day since Saturday that I’ve felt like doing anything much beyond napping. I missed university yesterday because I just wasn’t up to it. Next week is our final seminar before the Easter holiday. We have to go back in in late April to hand in an assignment, and for the majority there will be meetings with dissertation advisers, but not for me. I have another year to wait before that happens.

Last week was fairly quiet. We read through each other’s work and gave feedback. My tutor suggested I try reworking the first ghost story I wrote as it was better than the second. It meant I had to double the length of the original story but I managed it on Wednesday afternoon and evening. Before the cold from hell felled me, I managed to get some feedback on the re-write and make some changes. It’s been really helpful having the support and feedback of other writers. I just have to write my reflexive piece now, but that can wait for the Easter break, when, hopefully, I’ll be back up to snuff, health-wise.

Next week, will be a symposium rather than seminars and workshops. Everyone else will be telling us what their dissertation project is, and then in the afternoon there will be a poetry performance. The uni are providing food and alcohol. After that, we’re all off to the pub for a proper buffet a la Erika.

Apparently, people got their life-writing assignments back yesterday. I’ll have to wait until next week to get mine, but I’m not too worried. Sam would have said something if I’d messed up completely.

Due to being half dead for the last week I haven’t been up to reading much so no reviews at the minute, although I have been making progress with a book about 19th century Russia called ‘Who’s To Blame?’, so with any luck I might have a review for you in the next week.

Sorry about being a bad reviewer; the last month hasn’t been great, what with going from one infection to the next and the new anxiety/depression medication. Which is beginning to work, by the way. I’m mostly having good days, except for the random anxiety days, and my usual ‘argh I’m doing something tomorrow, must panic about everything that could possibly go wrong’ anxiety and sleepless nights. It’s progress. And I’ve heard from the ASD assessment centre in Grimsby. I have a form to fill in, which I need my sisters to help me with, because forms scare me, and on a practical level, they notice the things I do that aren’t considered ‘normal’ when I have a sensory response to a stimulus. I’ve noticed, now I have my tentative diagnosis,  and people have been told about it, if I need to react to an over stimulating event I will, whereas in the past I’ve forced myself not to and become more distressed in the process.

So, apart from the review of ‘Who’s To Blame?’, what do I have coming up?

Later today there will be a report from the East Midlands Writer’s Conference that I attended last Saturday. I was half-dead and failed to network at all.

Next month, I will be hosting two author spotlight posts and two novel extract posts, thanks to Rachel Gilbey at Authoright Marketing and Publishing, who contacted me to see if I would be interested in taking part in their ‘Spring Reading Week’. The posts will be up at noon on the 14th and 16th April, with my reviews of the books. I am still waiting for the review books to arrive, but hopefully they will get here in plenty of time.

Other than that, there will be the usual reviews and one final uni update for the year.

Right, I’m off to get an ice lolly out of the freezer and go back to bed.