Jenny Kane: Coffee, cupcakes, chocolate and contemporary fiction / Jennifer Ash: Medieval crime with hints of Ellis Peters and Robin Hood

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A Tiny Taster: Another Cup of Coffee

This week I thought I’d share a tiny taster from my very first #romcom, Another Cup of Coffee 

Another Cup of Coffee Blurb

Thirteen years ago Amy Crane ran away from everyone and everything she knew, ending up in an unfamiliar city with no obvious past and no idea of her future. Now, though, that past has just arrived on her doorstep, in the shape of an old music cassette that Amy hasn’t seen since she was at university.

Digging out her long-neglected Walkman, Amy listens to the lyrics that soundtracked her student days. As long-buried memories are wrenched from the places in her mind where she’s kept them safely locked away for over a decade, Amy is suddenly tired of hiding.

It’s time to confront everything about her life. Time to find all the friends she left behind in England, when her heart got broken and the life she was building for herself was shattered. Time to make sense of all the feelings she’s been bottling up for all this time. And most of all, it’s time to discover why Jack has sent her tape back to her now, after all these years…

With her mantra, New life, New job, New home, playing on a continuous loop in her head, Amy gears herself up with yet another bucket-sized cup of coffee, as she goes forth to lay the ghost of first love to rest…

***

Tiny taster

Taking refuge in the kitchen, Amy placed her palms firmly onto the cool, tiled work surface, and took a couple of deep yet shaky breaths. Forcing her brain to slip back into action, she retrieved a bottle of white wine from the fridge, poured a large glassful and, squaring her shoulders, carried it through to the living room.

Perching on the edge of her sofa, her throat dry, Amy stared suspiciously at the tape for a second, before daring to pick it up and click open its stiff plastic box. Two minutes later, her hands still shaking, she closed it again with a sharp bang, and drank some wine. It took a further five minutes to gather the courage to re-open the case and place the tape into the dusty cassette compartment of her ancient stereo system. It must have been years since she’d seen a cassette, she thought, let alone listened to one. She wasn’t even sure the stereo still worked …

Swallowing another great gulp of alcohol, Amy closed her eyes and pressed Play, not at all sure she wanted to take this trip back in time …

 

***

Another Cup of Coffee is available from all good book retailers, including-

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Another-Cup-Coffee-ebook/dp/B07ZJLKXV7/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Another+Cup+of+Coffee+Jenny+KAne&qid=1575632954&sr=8-1

(Please note that the paperback and kindle editions of the novel have different covers – the picture above shows the kindle cover.)

Happy reading everyone,

Jenny xx

A Tiny Taster: A Cornish Escape

Life is as hectic as ever as I crack on with writing my forty-first book!

While I madly try and meet my latest deadline, I thought I’d leave a ‘Tiny Taster’ rom A Cornish Escape for you to read. 

Blurb

Perfect for fans of Jenny Colgan, Phillipa Ashley and Cathy Bramley, this summer romance is sure to warm your heart.

Abi’s life is turned upside down when she is widowed before her thirtieth birthday. Determined to find something positive in the upheaval, Abi decides to make a fresh start somewhere new. With fond childhood memories of holidays in a Cornish cottage, could Cornwall be the place to start over?

With all her belongings in the boot of her car but no real plan, a chance meeting in a village pub brings new friends Beth and Max into her life. Max soon helps Abi track down the house of her dreams but things aren’t as simple as Abi hoped.

Can Abi leave her past behind and finally get her happy ending?

(Previously published as Abi’s House)

Here’s a ‘Tiny Taster’…

It was the muffins that had been the last straw. As Abi sat nursing a glass of wine, she thought back to the events of an hour earlier with an exasperated sigh.

Hurrying towards the church hall, Abi parked Luke’s unnecessarily large and ostentatious Porsche 4×4, and headed inside with a stack of Tupperware tubs in her arms. With her handbag slung over her shoulder and her key fob hanging from her teeth, Abi precariously balanced her load as she elbowed the hall door open.

Although she was twenty minutes early, Abi had still managed to be the last to arrive, earning her a silent ‘tut’ from some of the executive wives who were adding the finishing touches to the tables that surrounded three sides of the hall, and sympathetic grimaces from everyone else.

Acting as though she hadn’t noticed the air of disapproval, Abi made a beeline for the cake stall and plastered her best ‘this is for charity so be happy’ expression on her face. Polly Chester-Davies, an exquisitely dressed woman whom Abi always thought of as ‘Perfect Polly’, was adding doilies to plates, making the stall look as though it was stuck in a timewarp.

‘Ah, there you are, Mrs Carter, I’d given you up.’

Biting back the desire to tell Polly she’d been working, and was in fact early anyway, Abi began to unpack her wares, ‘Here you go, two dozen chocolate muffins without frosting, and two dozen with frosting, as requested.’

Polly said nothing, but her imperious stare moved rather pointedly from Abi’s face to the chocolate muffins already in position on the table, and back again.

Her disdainful expression made Abi mumble, ‘Are you expecting to sell lots of chocolate muffins today then?’

‘No, Mrs Carter, I am not. Which is precisely why you were instructed to make chococcino muffins.’

It had been that ‘instructed’ which did it. In that moment Abi felt an overwhelming hit of resentment for every one of the orders she had gracefully accepted from this Stepford harridan of the community.

For almost three years Abi had been doing what this woman asked of her, and never once had she said thank you, or commented on how nice Abi’s cooking was. Probably, Abi thought as she compared her own muffins with those provided by Perfect Polly herself, because mine don’t look like they could pull your fillings out. Nor had any reference ever been made to the fact that she would have to catch up on her own work in the evenings, after helping out with whichever good cause she’d been emotionally blackmailed into supporting this time. Not that Abi was against supporting a good cause, but this was different. These women didn’t raise funds for whichever charity was flavour of the month out of the goodness of their hearts. They did it because it was what they should be seen to be doing. It went hand in bespoke glove with being the wife of a successful man…

Available as a paperback or in eBook format, you can buy your copy of The Cornish Escape from all good book retailers, including

Amazon UK 

Amazon.com 

If you enjoy A Cornish Escape, Abi’s adventures continue in A Cornish Wedding.

Happy reading,

Jenny xx

A Tiny Taster: The Outlaw’s Ransom

This week I’m sharing a ‘Tiny Taster’

from the first of #TheFolvilleChronicles with you: The Outlaw’s Ransom

Blurb

When potter’s daughter Mathilda is kidnapped by the notorious Folville brothers as punishment for her father’s debts, she fears for her life. Although of noble birth, the Folvilles are infamous throughout the county for using crime to rule their lands—and for using any means necessary to deliver their distinctive brand of ‘justice’.

Mathilda must prove her worth to the Folvilles in order to win her freedom. To do so, she must go against her instincts and, disguised as the betrothed of Robert de Folville, undertake a mission that will send her to Bakewell in Derbyshire, and the home of Nicholas Coterel, one of the most infamous men in England.

With her life in the hands of more than one dangerous brigand, Mathilda must win the trust of the Folville’s housekeeper, Sarah, and Robert Folville himself if she has any chance of survival.

Never have the teachings gleaned from the tales of Robyn Hode been so useful…

Tiny Taster:

Mathilda thought she was used to the dark, but the night-time gloom of the small room she shared with her brothers at home was nothing like this. The sheer density of this darkness enveloped her, physically gliding over her clammy skin. It made her breathless, as if it was trying to squeeze the life from her.

As moisture oozed between her naked toes, she presumed that the suspiciously soft surface she crouched on was moss, which had grown to form a damp cushion on the stone floor. It was a theory backed up by the smell of mould and general filthiness which hung in the air.

Trying not to think about how long she was going to be left in this windowless cell, Mathilda stretched her arms out to either side, and bravely felt for the extent of the walls, hoping she wasn’t about to touch something other than cold stone. The child’s voice that lingered at the back of her mind, even though she was a woman of nineteen, was telling her – screaming at her – that there might be bodies in here, secured in rusted irons, abandoned and rotting. She battled the voice down. Thinking like that would do her no good at all. Her father had always congratulated his only daughter on her level-headedness, and now it was being so thoroughly put to the test, she was determined not to let him down.

Stretching her fingers into the blackness, Mathilda placed the tips of her fingers against the wall behind her. It was wet. Trickles of water had found a way in from somewhere, giving the walls the same slimy covering as the floor.

Continuing to trace the outline of the rough stone wall, Mathilda kept her feet exactly where they were. In seconds her fingertips came to a corner, and by twisting at the waist, she quickly managed to plot her prison from one side of the heavy wooden door to the other. The dungeon could be no more than five feet square, although it must be about six feet tall. Her own five-foot frame had stumbled down a step when she’d been pushed into the cell, and her head was at least a foot clear of the ceiling. The bleak eerie silence was eating away at Mathilda’s determination to be brave, and the cold brought her suppressed fear to the fore. Suddenly the shivering she had stoically ignored overtook her, and there was nothing she could do but let it invade her…

You can buy The Outlaw’s Ransom for your Kindle or as a paperback from-

Kindle-

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07B3TNRYN/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1519759895&sr=8-1&keywords=the+outlaw%27s+ransom

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07B3TNRYN/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1519760741&sr=8-1&keywords=the+outlaw%27s+ransom

Paperback-

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Outlaws-Ransom-Folville-Chronicles/dp/1999855264/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1520007697&sr=1-2&keywords=the+outlaw%27s+ransom

https://www.amazon.com/Outlaws-Ransom-Folville-Chronicles/dp/1999855264/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1520007771&sr=1-1&keywords=the+outlaw%27s+ransom

(Please note that if you have read Romancing Robin Hood by Jenny Kane and Jennifer Ash- then you will already be familiar with the story with The Outlaw’s Ransom)

Happy reading,

Jen xx

Re-cornered

Regular readers of this blog will know that I have recently been working away from my usual writing spot – a corner of my local Costa  – so that the whole café can have much needed refit.

Over the last 10 days I’ve been hopping from local café to café, laptop at the ready to crack on with the latest work-in-progress. While it has been lovely to see some difference places, drink lots of coffee and sample the odd cake or two – I have to confess that I’ve missed my regular writing spot. Productively has been down, and while the words have come, they have not flowed as they normally would. Not for the first time, I have found myself marvelling at what creatures of habit human beings are.

When it comes down to it, my corner is just a desk and a chair in a busy place, where most people would find it too noisy or hectic to concentrate for more then ten minutes. Yet, for me, it’s my spot – my comfort zone. A place that has seen over a million words flow from my brain to my fingers, and onto the laptop screen – before (eventually) becoming a novel and reaching a bookshelf, or an audio script, and reaching my audiences ears via some amazing voices.

The act of actually getting up and going to work, rather than sitting at home and writing, makes  big difference to me.  It is – for me at least – the difference between my writing being a job rather than a hobby. Perhaps it would be different if I had a home with a study or a spare room to use as a place of work – but as that is not the case, then my corner is all the more priceless to me.

So – what’s the new look corner like?

Well – lighter!!! It’s so clean and fresh. I love it!

Not only do I have my desk and chair back, (My actual chair, not one of the new chairs that have been fitted to the shop as I’m an old dear now, and need back support!), but I’ve got shelves!!

The shelves are a new addition to the corner, and will hold copies of many of the books I’ve written here for customers to read on site while they drink their coffee, should they wish to. (Just don’t take them out of the shop!!) You’ll also find books by P J Reed – who also spends a lot of time writing in here – usually in the adjacent corner!

One thing that’s a bit different is the plaque. The ‘Jenny Kane’s Corner’ plaque was accidently damaged as it was taken down, and is now propped up against the wall. This is not a crisis by any means. It was always a source of some amazement to me that I had one at all! It was a gift from one of the cafe’s earliest mangers, Jules Burton (now overall manager of the area) – and a kind thought that I’ll always treasure.

I was lucky enough to be invited into the store just before opening today, so I could get settled into my corner, and take a behind the scenes part in the reopening. Very conscious of not wanting to get in the way, I took on the role of photographer, taking lots of snaps as the local mayor, Sue Griggs, officially opened the premises. And, more bizarrely, I was involved in helping one of the cafe’s longest serving baristas, Graham, get into this fabulous Costa cup outfit!

Once again, a massive thank you to the whole team at Tiverton Costa, (especially Jenny West), as well as Jules, Mark and the guys from Scoffs, who own the franchise that controls the store! (This café is not a national, but a local  franchisee store)

Not forgetting a thank you to every customer and staff member who has helped me out when I’m stuck with a plotline, read my books, come in to buy a book from me directly, nipped by for a drink and to have their book signed, or sat upstairs in the workroom to take part in one of my in-café workshops and – of course – my friends who pop by every now and then for a non-work coffee to keep my sanity in tact and my feet firmly on the ground.

Now however, I’d better get on. After all, book number 40 (the 25th to be written in my corner) won’t write itself!

Happy reading – and coffee drinking,

Jenny x

 

Thank you Robin Hood

It is said that everyone has one book in them. This isn’t the case with me- so far I’ve taken part in the creation of over 200 books. Having said that however, one book always needed to be released from my imagination – and that book was Romancing Robin Hood.

This novel sat in my mind for decades, just waiting for the moment to be right.

So, why did this book need writing more than any of the others?

Many many many years ago, when I was a teenager, I was a bit- shall we say unusual? I suspect the words ‘odd’ and ‘eccentric’ would be more accurate, but I’ll let you make your own mind up on that!!!

I never did the pop or film star crush thing. Never had pictures of Duran Duran or Wham on my wall. Adam Ant didn’t look up at me from my pencil case, and I did not wake up to see a life sized poster of Morrissey’s backside complete with gladioli (or whatever flower it was) sticking out of his backside!!

Nor was I into the Pac Man craze (I am so giving my age away here!), and the background to Manic Minor drove me nuts! I didn’t buy Jackie, or indulge in spending my money on Cosmopolitan.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like music or playing the odd game of tennis on the Atari- but I had a different sort of fascination.

RH- RoS 2

Cast of Robin of Sherwood

Robin Hood!!

I know what you’re thinking- you’re thinking that I had a crush on Jason Connery or Michael Praed- but nope. Sorry- neither of those lovely boys are my type at all.

It all started because I was ill for ages and ages when I was 14. I missed a lot of school. But as always in life, timing is everything- and I was saved by an instant and unshakeable love for the series of Robin of Sherwood that was being aired on ITV at the time. It was the third series- I hadn’t seen either of the first two. (I have now- lots!) As I was at home so much, my parents rented one of those new- fangled video recorders from Radio Rentals so I could record stuff and watch it when I liked. (Thanks Mum and Dad- still grateful for that!!)

The VCR arrived the same day as the episode of Robin of Sherwood called Adam Bell was aired- I recorded it and watched it 8 times the next day- and then again, and again and again. Now- over 20 years later- I can still quote the script!! (Okay- that’s nothing to be proud of- see- I’m a bit odd!!)

It wasn’t the tight tights that had captured my heart though- it was the story. The whole story. All of it. I wanted to know everything- EVERYTHING- that could possibly be known about Robin Hood. No film, book (nonfiction or fiction), was safe from me.

RH- E Flynn

Errol Flynn- The Adventures of Robin Hood

 

My walls disappeared under posters of RH- any posters- from Errol Flynn, to Richard Greene, to the statue up in Nottingham, to the gorgeous Ray Winstone who played Will Scarlet (Okay- you have me there- I had – still have  – a ‘thing’ for Ray Winstone- there is such a twinkle in those eyes!!!)

The interest became an obsession (In RH not Ray Winstone). When I was better my parents took me to Sherwood- I learnt archery, I read medieval political poems and ballads- I wanted to know the truth- did he exist or didn’t he?

I did a project on RH for my A’ level History. Then I went to university and did a specialist course in Medieval Castle and Ecclesiastical Architecture…I was a medieval junky!! It seemed only natural to do a PhD on the subject- and that is exactly what I did!

Robin Hood Statue- Nottingham

Robin Hood Statue- Nottingham

By this time of course, I was pretty certain how and why the RH legend had begun- but I wanted to know who had influenced it into the form we know today, and how the real recorded crimes and daily life of the thirteenth and fourteenth century had affected those stories… (forget thinking RH was around with Richard I or King John- it ain’t happening!!)

It was my PhD that taught me to write- (a tome of epic proportions that is still knocking around my old Uni library gathering dust, while e-versions of it are scattered around many American Universities). Rather than finish off my love of RH- my PhD polished it to perfection!! (Although nothing could make me like the latest BBC series or the Russell Crowe or Taron Egerton films.)

I guess it was only a matter of time before I decided to write a novel about a Robin Hood obsessed historian.

Blurb-

Dr Grace Harper has loved the stories of Robin Hood ever since she first saw them on TV as a girl. Now, with her fortieth birthday just around the corner, she’s a successful academic in Medieval History, with a tenured position at a top university.

But Grace is in a bit of a rut. She’s supposed to be writing a textbook on a real-life medieval gang of high-class criminals – the Folvilles – but she keeps being drawn into the world of the novel she’s secretly writing – a novel which entwines the Folvilles with her long-time love of Robin Hood – and a feisty young girl named Mathilda, who is the key to a medieval mystery…

Meanwhile, Grace’s best friend Daisy – who’s as keen on animals as Grace is on the Merry Men – is unexpectedly getting married, and a reluctant Grace is press-ganged into being her bridesmaid. As Grace sees Daisy’s new-found happiness, she starts to re-evaluate her own life. Is her devotion to a man who may or may not have lived hundreds of years ago really a substitute for a real-life hero of her own? It doesn’t get any easier when she meets Dr Robert Franks – a rival academic who Grace is determined to dislike but finds herself being increasingly drawn to.

You can buy this crime/romance/modern/medieval novel from all good retailers, including-

Amazon – mybook.to/Romancing

 

My Robin Hood writing – unbeknownst to me at the time – was far from over.  Not only did Romancing Robin Hood lead to me writing four crime novels, The Folville Chronicles, by some miracle, thanks to the success of Romancing Robin Hood, I was asked to help write the new audio stories for Robin of Sherwood, thirty years after the series ended.

Under the name, Jennifer Ash, I’ve written a fair number of those new stories now – and I still can’t believe my luck!

I never dreamt when I was fourteen years old, how my life would come full circle! Here I am, writing words for my favourite TV show of all time!! Magic!!

You can find all of the ‘new’ Robin of Sherwood audio episodes and books here.

I’ll leave you in peace now, while I nip off to do some more Robin Hood thinking…

Happy reading

Jenny

xxx

 

 

 

The Guilt Monster

This week I’m returning to Northmoor House on Exmoor, where I co-run the annual Imagine writing retreat.

As I enjoy the stunning countryside that surrounds Northmoor – an unspoilt Victorian manor house – I can’t help but recall one of our previous retreats, when we were joined by the fabulous Kate Lord Brown.

Novelist, and all round lovely person, Kate Lord Brown, gave a fabulous talk and workshop on the theme of inspirations. She also got us to think about our inner critics- including asking us to write down what they looked like.

I’ve never known a writer who was without an inner critic sitting on their shoulder. Most authors I’ve met have at least some level of imposter syndrome. But I had never considered turning these ‘critics’ into beings that we could- once personified- vanquish to the far corners of our minds.

As my fellow writers began to jot down descriptions of their critics, I was hit by two sensations. The first was that I don’t have an inner critic- I have an outer one- Me- and I never stop giving myself a hard time. The second realisation was that it isn’t so much criticism, as guilt.

I have an inner Guilt Monster. (Deserving of the capital letters.)

It’s voice never stops arguing with me…

You should work harder (I work 14 hr days – I overwork- but then I love my job)

You ought to be doing the job I trained for and earn a proper wage (I was never confident as a lecturer- I always assumed I knew nothing- yes, even historian me had an inner critic…)

You’re too nice to make it in the cut and thrust world of book sales (I have been conned by past publishers a lot because I’m so trusting- so can’t argue with my Guilt Monster on that one)

Even working as a trolley collector in the local supermarket would more than treble your hourly rate (I love my job, and I’m not into “owning stuff.”)

You aren’t good enough to make it (I’ve had 16 Amazon bestsellers)

I could go on….

I’m not sharing this with you to play for sympathy (I hate the poor-bugger-me syndrome that can go with this stuff), but to say how thankful I am (again) to Kate Lord Brown for making me stop and think about this, frankly, ridiculous self-imposed, situation.

I think it would be unrealistic to ask myself to lose the insecurity factor. I honestly think I need it – I need to get nervous before a gig or anxious before a workshop – it drives me on- stops me being complacent, and so keeps me primed to always work my hardest to deliver the best I can for the people who rely on me- and to write the best books I can.

The Guilt Monster however, has to go.

I can see him now – and it is a him (I have no idea why, it really ought to be female – I can’t even get that right!!!)

He’s sort of green and has shaggy hair all over. He’s wearing a silly red and blue hat…I don’t know why. And he looks cross…and disappointed.

If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go out for a walk- with luck he’ll fall off my shoulder as I go. If he doesn’t look like he wants to let go, then I think I might give him a push

The Imagine retreats are always amazing and – as you can tell- thought provoking…

Happy reading,

Jenny xx

Opening Lines: Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange

As autumn is showing all the signs of being here to stay for a while, I thought I’d share the Opening Lines from Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange.

Blurb

At Mill Grange, the work – and the fun – never stops! As autumn brings coolness and colour, change is in the air for all at the manor…

Sam Philips’ time in the forces changed him forever. Supported by his friends, Sam is keen to help make beautiful Mill Grange a safe retreat for injured army personnel… but his crippling claustrophobia means Sam is living in a tent on the grounds! Enlisting the help of charming village stalwarts Bert and Mabel Hastings, Tina Martins is determined to find a way to help him conquer his fears. But why does she feel like he is keeping a secret?

After discovering evidence of a Roman fortlet on the manor’s grounds, Thea Thomas is thrilled at the chance to return to her archaeological roots and lead the excavation. She spent the summer with handsome celebrity archaeologist Shaun Cowlson – but now he’s off filming his Landscape Treasures show in Cornwall, and Thea can’t help but miss his company. Especially as someone else is vying for his attention…

Welcome back to Mill Grange and the beautiful village of Upwich, full of larger-than-life characters you can’t  help but adore.

(Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange follows on from Midsummer Dreams at Mill Grange, and is followed by Spring Blossoms at Mill Grange and Winter Fires at Mill Grange. It can also be read as a standalone novel.)

Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange

First 500 words

Prologue

September 1st

Rolling onto his side, Sam unfolded the letter he’d hidden inside his pillowcase. It was the third time he’d woken that night, and the third time he’d reached for the pale blue Basildon Bond envelope. He held it against his nose. The scent of his mother’s White Satin perfume was beginning to fade.

This was the fourth letter to arrive from Malvern House in the last month. One a week.

He had no idea how his mother had found out where he was living, nor why she wanted to see him after so long.

The letters, almost identical each time, said very little. Just that she and his father would love him to visit if he felt up to it. Sam groaned. ‘If he felt up to it’ was his mother’s way of asking if the debilitating claustrophobia he’d developed while serving in the forces had magically gone away.

As he slid the letter into its envelope, Sam’s gaze dropped from the tent’s canvas roof to Tina’s sleeping body.

The past was the past. He had a future now. He had no intention of looking back.

Chapter One

September 1st

‘Take pity on an old man, lass.’

Bert fluttered his grey eyelashes as he helped Tina carry a large cardboard box full of tea, coffee, milk and biscuits from her car into Mill Grange’s kitchen. ‘I love Mabel to pieces, but she is driving me mad.’

Tina laughed. ‘But it’s only been two months since the restoration project came to an end. Doesn’t Mabel have heaps of committee work to do? She runs every social club this side of Exmoor.’

As he placed the box on the oak table that dominated the manor’s kitchen, Bert’s eyes lost their usual optimistic shine. ‘Since Mill Grange was sold Mabel’s been so aimless. She led the volunteer restorers here for over five years and now that’s over…’

‘Mabel doesn’t mind Sam owning this place, does she?’

‘Not for a minute. For a little while it was all she could talk about. She’s that proud of your young man for buying the very thing that frightens him. For taking his fear of being inside by the scruff of the neck and buying a house to be enjoyed by other people.’

Tina put her box of groceries on the side and laid a hand on Bert’s shoulder. ‘I’ll talk to Sam. There must be something Mabel could do around here.’ She played with her pigtails as she thought. ‘I’m not sure we can afford to pay her yet though.’

‘You wouldn’t have to. Making her feel part of the team again is all I’m asking for.’ Bert’s smile returned to his eyes. ‘How’s it going here anyway? Sam getting into the house at all, or is he still overseeing things from that screen thing outside?’

‘He hasn’t been inside the manor since he bought it.’ Tina focused her attention on emptying the boxes of biscuits ready for Mill Grange’s first visitors, hiding her…

Available as an ebook from NookKobo, as well as on Kindle and in paperback from Amazon UK and Amazon US and all good retailers.

 

Happy autumnal reading everyone,

Jenny xx

Opening Lines: Midsummer Dreams at Mill Grange

It’s been a while since I’ve shared some of my Opening Lines. I’m putting that right today by sharing the first 500 words from… 

Midsummer Dreams at Mill Grange

Midsummer Dreams at Mill Grange

This, the first in a series of four novels, introduces you to Thea Thomas, Tina Martin, Shaun Cowlson, Sam Philips, and the unstoppable Mabel Hastings. Taking you into the beautiful Exmoor countryside, on the Somerset/Devon border, adventures await, once the doors to Mill Grange are opened…

Blurb

A warm-hearted, feel-good romance from Jenny Kane, a Kindle #1 bestselling author.

Thea Thomas needs to get away from her old life… and the interfering ex who won’t leave her alone. When she lands a job heading up the restoration of Mill Grange, a stunning Victorian manor in Somerset, it feels like the perfect opportunity to start afresh.

What Thea didn’t anticipate was how hostile the volunteer team, led by the formidable Mabel Hastings, would be about accepting new leadership. And with the deadline looming before the grand opening, Thea is in desperate need of more volunteers.

A broadcast appeal on the local news attracts the interest of arrogant but undeniably attractive celebrity historian Shaun Cowlson, who wants to make a TV programme about the restoration. It’s hard enough adding one more big personality to the mix – but then her ex turns up as one of the volunteers! What seemed like a dream come true is fast becoming a total disaster! Can Thea find a way to save the manor?

FIRST 500 WORDS

Thea Thomas checked her mobile. EMERGENCY CALLS ONLY was written in bold type across the top of the screen.

She tried connecting to her Wi-Fi.

Nothing happened.

Relief made her shoulders sag, as a wide smile knocked away some of the nervousness she felt about starting a new job in an unfamiliar part of England.

Here, she could avoid the constant barrage of social media alerts and unwanted texts, calls and emails. Here, she could start over.

***

Positioned at the top of a high rise of land, not far from the southern border of Exmoor, the Victorian manor house called Mill Grange rose from the centre of a gravelled drive, taking command of the surrounding scenery. Three tiers of a once-loved terraced garden fell away from the house in tatty overgrown rows. At the foot of these gardens ran a semi-encircling band of encroaching woodland, which the Ordnance Survey map Thea was clutching declared to stretch down to the River Barle on one side and the meandering River Exe on the other.

Huddled beneath her thick jumper against the sharp March wind, Thea was enfolded in a sensation of freedom and peace. The very stillness of the air, the lack of any visible overhead wires or street lighting, made her feel as if she’d driven into a Victorian time capsule. A Roman historian and archaeologist to the bone, she felt daunted by the prospect of taking on the restoration of a manor centuries removed from her field of expertise. With its fourteen bedrooms, seven bathrooms, numerous associated rooms, outhouses, and the mill after which it was named, a quarter of a mile away on the edge of Upwich village, it was not a task for the faint-hearted. However, the early spring sunshine, which caused the house’s granite walls to glitter with welcoming promise, seemed to be telling her it was going to be alright.

Alongside her Roman studies at university, Thea had trained in industrial archaeology and museum management, and was well-qualified for the job in hand. But this challenge, to turn Mill Grange into a heritage centre, was vastly different from her last posting at the Roman Baths in Bath. She could feel herself prodding the outer edges of her comfort zone.

At least she wouldn’t have to face the unknown alone. Her best friend, Tina, had been associated with the project for some time. Then there was the team of volunteers who’d been working on restoring Mill Grange, on a casual basis, for the last five years. A tingle of anxiety dotted Thea’s palms as she wondered how they’d take to being guided in their endeavours after pleasing themselves for so long.

Flicking an unruly stray brown hair from her eyes, she circuited the outside of the manor house. Thea’s boots made satisfying crunching sounds against the gravel as she attempted to banish her nerves, peering through each window as she went. The eclectic mix of original Victorian and reproduction furniture and artwork she saw within took…

If you’d like to read on, then Midsummer Dreams at Mill Grange is now available as an eBook or paperback from all good retailers, including…

Amazon UK 

Amazon.com 

Kobo 

Nook

Happy reading everyone,

Jenny xx

At least she tried…

To say I have far reaching conversations with some of my writer friends would be to undersell the point.

Anyone with an active imagination will understand that it can be hard to control where that imagination takes us sometime – and so it won’t be a surprise to know that a discussion I was involved in, a little while ago, about what would be written on our respective gravestones (should we chose to have them), led to some pretty outlandish results. In fact, some of the suggested inscriptions were so long, I ended up feeling rather sorry for the imaginary stone mason, who’d have had to carve our hypothetical eternal missives.

Later, it occurred to me that I had come up with my own epitaph rather too quickly for comfort. Short and to the point it would say AT LEAST SHE TRIED. Or possibly, NEVER MIND, AT LEAST SHE TRIED. (Probably followed by a list of all my names, driving any future genealogist quite mad with confusion.)

For a moment or two, this filled me with a sense of sadness. Will that really be how people remember me? As someone who simply kept trying, rather than someone who had got where they were going?

Then I realised – with the help of a strong coffee and a bar of chocolate – that being known as someone who keeps trying isn’t so bad.

For all the books and scripts you see popping out of my – seemingly – never ending production line of material – there are a great many things that have never made it. Novels that have been written which simply do not cut it.  Audo scripts that are too expensive to make. TV scripts that I’m not skilled enough to make work.

The point is – it doesn’t matter that not everything works. Obviously, I wish they would – for I would love all I touch to turn to gold – but that simply isn’t how this business works. And yet, I continue to try all the time. The novels are still written, the scripts are still in progress.

I fail as often as I win, but I never stop trying.

This is for two reasons –

One – I love what I do.

Two – I have a fear of not giving the things I’d like to do a go. The cliche, “if you don’t try you won’t get”, springs to mind.

I should mention at this point that I am not complaining. Not at all. I know very well that I am extraordinarily lucky to have a publishing contract, an agent, and several other irons in the writing fire.

But I am a realist – there is no place for complacency in a writer’s life. I have an agent and a contract today – but tomorrow…?

In a world where everything is changing all the time, you can’t simply assume you have a contract so you’ll be okay forever. I feel a constant need to challenge myself all the time – try new things – because next week might be the week where no one wants to read my romcoms anymore…

I’ve just re read this – and I’ve noted that there is a slight sense of paranoia to my words. I’d deny it immediately- except it’s probably true.  Once upon a time, I was a successful erotica writer – the world changed and the market for intelligent erotica was gone – so I became a romcom writer. I worked very very hard – and now I’m doing that. But I can’t let myself risk focusing on only one genre ever again – so I took to writing crime as well. But that’s still books – and if the bottom falls out of that market – I needed something else to bring in some money – so then there are scripts….

And so it goes – on and on… and I keep trying.

Okay, there are disappointing days when I wish I worked in an office or something, or had a job that had normal hours – but frankly, I’m totally unemployable! Anyway, I love to try- because maybe, just maybe, one day it will all work.

That TV show will happen, that audio drama will be heard, that novel idea that sounds a bit too crazy for the current market will come out, now erotica is stabilizing, perhaps I’ll try that again….

Maybe my gravestone shouldn’t say AT LEAST SHE TRIED after all – maybe it should say SHE KEPT TRYING.

Happy writing,

Jenny x

 

50 Things: Part 10

So, here we are – the final 50 Things list.

It has been so much fun putting all these lists together – reflecting on my 50 years (almost!) on this earth, and the many things I’ve done – or not done- plus a few of the things I’ve learned along the way.

As I write this, I can hear the call of my suitcases waiting to be packed for a long overdue holiday – but just before I hit the road, ready to celebrate my 50th birthday with long country walks and lots of cream teas – I’ll leave you with this…

5 TOP TIPS FOR NEW WRITERS

Write what you want to write/Love not money

Write what you want to write, not what you think you ought to write, or what other people tell you to write.

Writing is a very personal thing – it has to touch you in some way to work. If you aren’t fully engaged with what you are writing, then it won’t happen.

Your writing is yours- keep it fun!

(And don’t write to make money – you’ll be very disappointed)

Give yourself permission not to be perfect.

Perfection does not exist – and trying to find it will stop your writing in its tracks.

Get that first draft down – do not worry about how good or bad it is – just write it.

All you are doing at this point, is learning your story and getting to know you characters/location/plot.

Then, once it’s on paper, you can start to improve your story. Slowly, through the editing process and the skill of other editors, it will get better and better, until it’s ready to be released. Even then, there will be things that have been missed. While you want your words to be as good as possible – remember, we are humans, not machines.

Editing

Never skip this process. While seeking perfection too soon is a bad thing – not taking the time and trouble to edit properly will stop a good story in its tracks.

Read

The more you read, the better you’ll write.

Word repetition

We all have words we use too frequently on the page. Often, it’s simple words such as – just, long, both, still, look, smile – that we overuse.

Repeated words can slow pace and become dry on the page. Learn which words you are prone to overusing and keep a list of them. Then, once your draft is down, search through your work for them. Cut those you don’t need, or swap them for other words. (Get a good thesaurus- don’t just reply on the computer to help you find alternate words.)

Keep an extra sharp eye out for overused connectives. (Such as – and, but, because, so.) While we need these in our work – too many can slow pace. Ask yourself if you need each one, or if a full stop, comma, or an extra piece of action, would work instead.

When you do swap one word for another, make sure you read back through your sentence/paragraph, to make sure your word change hasn’t accidentally altered the context of what you were trying to say.

Finally – an extra general point. Life is not a competition. The only person you need to be better than today, is the person you were yesterday. That’s tough enough.

So – there we are – 50 Things, across 10 lists.

I hope you enjoyed reading them, as much as I enjoyed writing them.

I will leave you now, and get on with my holiday!

Jenny x

 

 

 

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