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

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13 years and counting: a rethink and a retreat

Over the past few weeks I have been very busy rethinking how I run my writing life.

I have been working as a professional author for 13 years this month- unlucky for some perhaps. I will be honest- it has felt pretty unlucky at times this year. A great many changes have assailed me over recent months, and it has taken some serious thought as to how to keep going – or even if I should keep going.

However, thanks to my family, my incredible friends, a great deal of writerly advice, and an amazing weekend at the Scotswrite17 conference in Glasgow, I can now see a way forward- and normal service will be resumed very soon.

When I say normal service, what I actually mean is normal-ish. I have decided that I will no longer be working 14 hour days , with only 10 days holiday a year, and only weekend mornings off work during the week. No more than 10 hours a day will be worked from now on (yes- I know- that won’t always happen- but my intentions are good), no work on a Saturday, and I will take at least 2 weeks off a yr. Luxury!!!

I need to take more walks- have more adventures- see more people- and as a result- I will have more stories to write about later.

As many of you know, I have recently started a new business with my lovely friend Alison Knight – this being an entrepreneur type is hard work, but very rewarding. Our creative writing workshop business, Imagine, has taken off in ways we never imagined (pun intended!) I never dreamt I’d be teaching dementia sufferers how to write stories- nor that I’d have to turn people away from my classes because the tickets were sold out and there was no more room to sit. I feel honoured to say the least.

This change of focus, away from writing 3 novels a year, down to writing one and a half novels and teaching, has done me a lot of good already. And that is just the start of the changes afoot.

Those of you who have kindly been following my work for some years, will know that my career began at Kay Jaybee (over 18’s erotica). For the time being, Kay Jaybee is having a writing break. All her old work is being re-edited, revamped and- over the next two years- will reappear looking all lovely and shiny, ready for a brand new readership.

My Jennifer Ash side meanwhile, is beginning to gather pace. I am currently awaiting the republication of The Outlaw’s Ransom– and the brand new publication of The Winter Outlaw– watch this space…At the moment neither volume is available- but it won’t be long until they are. I am also doing some other work as Jennifer…but for now my lips are sealed on that..

So that leaves Jenny…All of Jenny’s books are still available- so if you fancy a Cornish romance or a coffee shop adventure, then I’m your girl! I am working on a new novel as Jenny- which is a little different…again I will simply tease you by saying, I’ll keep you informed…

All these teasers…So what can I tell you?

Well..Imagine is proud to present its first writing retreat! Fancy escaping onto Exmoor next March to write, dream, chat writing, maybe take a class or two, and meet guest speaker, Kate Griffin (writer of brilliant Victorian crime mysteries for Faber Faber), and generally enjoy chill out time? Then book your place soon to take advantage of our 10% off Early bird discount!

All details for the Northmoor Manor retreat can be found here- Imagine

I can also tell you that I am travelling the country doing more writer talks- so if you want to book a writer talk or a workshop- just let me know and I’ll see what I can do! I can be contacted via imaginecreativewriting@gmail.com

Fleet street photographer Richard Lappas had no idea what he was getting into – K Y Eden, Tracey Norman, myself (with P J Reed taking this pic)

I have been lucky enough to become a member of the Exeter Author Association- and so far I’ve had many adventures! Today’s author photo shoot was so much fun- I’m still giggling. I was balanced on a very precarious bridge for some time…just prior to hugging a very lichen cover tree…photos soon! The next Exeter Author Event is the Bampton Charter festival on 26th October – Bampton, Devon. Do come along and see us selling our books, reading, running mini workshops, and generally making folk smile.

Having listed all that – and forgive the indulgence- it has helped me get things straight in my own head- I’d better go and get on with it all. I’ve only worked 9 hours today , so not breaking my own rules just yet!

Perhaps my thirteenth year in the business isn’t so bad after all…

Happy reading,

Jenny xx

 

 

 

Empty Nest Syndrome and Champagne

One of the main characters in my Another Cup of… series is a writer called Kit Lambert. When we first met Kit in Another Cup of Coffee, she was making a name for herself by writing erotica. As her career progressed Kit moved into contemporary fiction, and now she has a novel publishing contract, with all the pressures of having to produce work to tight deadlines upon her.

Another Glass Of Champagne

In the final novel of the series, Another Glass of Champagne, Kit, mum of twins, and wife to bookshop owner Phil, suddenly finds herself unable to write at all, but he can’t understand why. Surely writer’s block is something that can be easily shaken off- or is just a myth invented by those who can’t be bothered to write today…or is it?

Not even sitting at her usual table in the corner of Pickwicks Coffee House, (run by her friend Peggy) is helping the words become unstuck…

 

Extract

When she got back, Kit found Peggy looking thoughtful, ‘Why have you closed your work down, honey? I usually steal a read of your latest work in progress when I think you’re not looking.’ ‘I haven’t got much done today.’

Kit mumbled. ‘It’s been a mulling things over sort of a day.’ Changing the subject, she said, ‘Scott says there are some sandwiches ready for your lunch when Megan comes back through.’

‘Good, I’m starving.’

‘Are you and Megan managing alright with only two of you on the serving team? It’s already busy, but by July it’s going to be packed between eleven and two.’

‘Actually, Scott and I were talking about that over the weekend. Would your Helena fancy giving us a hand and earning some money before she heads off to university? Where is she going again?’ Flinching slightly, and hoping Peggy hadn’t noticed, Kit said, ‘She’s aiming for Bath to do Chemistry, and Thomas’s hoping to be off to Exeter. Assuming they get their grades, that is.’

‘Of course they will. What’s Thomas going to study?’

‘History.’

‘Sounds good. So, do you think Helena will want the job? It would save me a lot of bother with adverts and stuff.’

Kit nodded. She knew exactly how much time it took to go through interviews and training staff in this place, so someone who was already familiar with Pickwicks layout would be a real advantage to Peggy. ‘I’ll ask her. Helena’s bank balance could certainly do with a top-up. Goodness knows it’s time she stood on her own two feet financially.’

Megan came back into the café and Peggy got up to go and have her lunch before another influx of customers forced her to forego her only real break of the day. As an afterthought, she turned back to Kit. ‘If you’d rather your daughter wasn’t here during the day, just say. I mean, this is your office after all!’

‘I don’t mind at all. I’ll ask her this evening, assuming she comes home She seems to live at her mates’ houses these days.’

‘Making the most of seeing her friends before she heads west, I suppose.’

Peggy waved as she disappeared into the kitchen, to what Kit hoped wasn’t a tuna sandwich, before she could see the tell-tale glint of tears fighting to form at the corner of her eyes. Cross with herself for being so emotional, Kit looked at her screen. Peggy had opened a new document and typed the words You can talk to me, you know. Love Peggy xx across the top of the page.

Kit should have known that she couldn’t hide anything from Peggy. The manageress knew her habits better than anyone, having been host to them for the past decade or so. Kit didn’t even want to guess how many cups of coffee, scones, and slices of toast she’d consumed at that table in that time. Just the thought of the amount of butter she’d spread over her early morning snacks was enough to make her feel as though her hips were expanding right there on the seat.

Making her mind up to talk to Peggy soon, she picked up her mobile and sent Helena a text, telling her about the possible employment opportunity at Pickwicks. Kit wasn’t sure if she did actually want Helena around all day while she was writing. But then, she thought, I’m not exactly writing now, am I…

***

You may be thinking that Kit sounds like a real writer you’ve come across- and you’d be right. Kit and I are pretty much the same person- but with huge exaggerations into fiction of course!! For a start, I do not have twins!

The reason behind Kit’s writers block is very personal to me at the moment. During Another Glass of Champagne, Kit’s twins are getting ready to head off to university. My own daughter has just made that leap, and I, like Kit, am finding quite hard to write at the moment. Nothing feels quite right- although there is no logical reason for that to be the case- I have more time, and yet…

My motive for giving Kit empty nest syndrome inspired word block was a pre-emptive strike on my own behalf. Perhaps it was even therapy – because I knew that I was about to go through a similar experience to Kit myself. I thought that if I tackled the issue on paper via a pretend me first, it wouldn’t be so bad in reality.

Only time will tell whether my plan will work. My writing isn’t blocked at the moment- but it’s only day one of not having my daughter here. I am eating a hell of a lot of cake though…

To see what else the Pickwick’s crew are up to, then you can buy Another Glass of Champagne from all good bookshops and eBook retailers, including-

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Another+Glass+of+Champagne+Jenny+Kane

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss/188-7813436-7626710?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Another+Glass+of+Champagne+Jenny+Kane

***

Happy reading,

Jenny xx

Guest Post from Tim Walker: Postcards from London

Today I’m delighted to be able to welcome Tim Walker to my site. A successful independent author and former journalist, Tim is sharing a short story from his new collection, Postcards from London. All I’ll say is- this is a must read for any Beatles fan!

So pop the kettle on, put your feet up for five minutes, and indulge a few moments of reading pleasure.

***

Blurb to Postcards of London

The city of London is the star of this collection of fifteen engaging stories from author Tim Walker. Drawing on the vivid history of the city where he has both lived and worked, Postcards from London celebrates the magnificently multifaceted metropolis that is home to 8.8 million people.

Imagine Iron Age fishermen, open-mouthed to see Roman galleys, rowed by slaves, dropping anchor at their village – a place the Romans would turn into the port and fortified town of Londinium. These Romans were the first of many men of vision who would come to shape the city we see today.

London’s long and complex history almost defies imagination, but the author has conjured citizens from many familiar eras, and some yet to be imagined. Turn over these picture postcards to explore his city through a collage of human dramas told in a range of genres. See the tumult of these imagined lives spotlighted at moments in London’s past, present and, who knows, perhaps its future.

 

Let it Be

A flash fiction postcard in Postcards from London by Tim Walker…

A bright, chilly January morning in 1969 saw Brian on the West End beat. Rounding the corner into Savile Row, he found a small crowd gathering outside Apple Records, the headquarters of world-famous pop group, The Beatles. First bobby on the scene, he asked a young man what was going on.

“We’ve heard a rumour that The Beatles are going to play on the rooftop,” the excited youth said.

PC Brian Smith radioed it in, and was told to enter the building and wait for further instructions. He squeezed past busy roadies carrying equipment up three steps and into the narrow front door of what was a large grey stone converted townhouse – glancing at a row of framed gold records on the walls before his eyes settled on the receptionist. Her pretty face, heavily made-up with Mary Quant mascara on long lashes framed by a lacquered brown bob, wore a pensive look. She hesitated before confirming that the band would be giving a brief performance of their new songs on the rooftop.

“Can I see the manager please?” Brian asked, showing initiative.

“Would that be the Apple General Manager or the manager of The Beatles?” she asked, holding a white phone to her neck.

“Erm, both, if I may… Emily.” He said stiffly, leaning forward to read her name on a green Apple badge.

She punched some numbers on her switchboard and spoke in a quiet voice. “A police officer would like to see you.”

Brian gazed over her head at pictures of his music heroes, the Fab Four. The smell of weed drifted into the room from what looked like the post room behind reception. Emily, seeing him sniff the air, hurriedly pushed shut the door.

“Mr Taylor, the GM, will see you in his office. You’ll have to walk up the stairs, I’m afraid, as there’s no lift. All the way to the fourth floor, left at the top of the stairs.”

Brian thanked her and followed a film crew carrying camera equipment and tripods up the narrow staircase. His radio crackled into life and he stepped into the first floor corridor to improve reception. His CO told him he had no report of permission being granted to hold a public performance on the rooftop, but was unsure if they would be breaking any laws by doing so in their own building, unless it was so loud that it caused a disturbance.

“Find out what you can and report back,” he said tersely. “I’m sending more bobbies for crowd control outside the building.”

Brian looked about him and saw the name ‘John’ on an office door. He pushed the door open and found himself looking at John Lennon, sat with his feet on a desk, leaning back in a swivel chair, smoking a joint.

“Oh, hell, is this a raid?” he asked, looking momentarily startled as he saw Brian’s uniform.

“Erm, no, Mr Lennon. I’m just here to find out about this concert on the roof. Would you mind telling me what it’s all about?”

John pointed to a chair and sat up, squeezing the lit end of his joint and throwing it in a bin.

“Sorry about that, Officer…?”

“PC Brian Smith,” he said, easing himself into a leather armchair, cradling his helmet in his arms. “Oh, don’t worry about that, I’m a big fan, you know.”

“Glad to hear it,” John said, leaning over the desk to shake his hand. “We’ve just decided to play some of our latest tunes for our next album on the roof and make a promo film, if you know what I mean?”

“Erm, yes, but if you make too much noise you’ll disturb the other businesses in the area and we’re bound to get complaints. My boss tells me you’ve not notified the police, and a crowd is already gathering in the street, so maybe…”

John got to his feet and put his arm around Brian’s shoulders. “Look, PC Brian, it’s just a few songs and won’t take long. Why don’t you come up onto the roof and watch? Honest, we won’t make that much noise. You see, the wind will carry our music away into the ether.”

John guided Brian up the stairs, collecting the other Beatles as he went.

“You see, Brian, each of us has our own floor, because we can’t stand the sight of each other after ten years together, ain’t that right Ringo?”

The mop-topped drummer grinned sheepishly as John gathered each group member as they made their way to the roof. Once up there, Brian saw the instruments and speakers set up on a wooden platform, and the camera crew buzzing around their equipment.

“We’re nearly ready, John,” said a smartly-dressed man who looked like he was in charge. He smiled at Brian and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m George Martin. Why don’t you come over here with me? We’ll be starting in a few minutes.”

Brian’s radio crackled and he heard his CO saying, “They’ve barricaded the door, we can’t get in, what’s happening, Smith?”

“I can’t hear you sir, I’ll try to move to get a better reception.” He grinned at George Martin and clipped his radio onto his belt, turning the sound dial down.

After a brief soundcheck, The Beatles started playing. Brian looked down to the street below and saw the crowd had built up considerably, as workers on their lunch break began to converge on the building. Brian knew it would only be a matter of time before his colleagues gained entry. In fact, he had listened with great enthusiasm to five songs before the first of the officers barged their way onto the roof. Turning to George Martin, Brian asked, “How much time do you need?”

Martin smiled and replied, “We’re almost through. Thanks for your support. About ten minutes should do it.”

Brian pushed his way to a burly sergeant and said, “I’ve told them to wind it up, Sarge. Just a few more minutes.” The sergeant glared at him but said nothing. The Beatles were playing a third take of ‘Get Back’ and Paul, seeing that their time was up, cheekily changed the lyrics – “You’ve been playing on the roof again, and you know your Momma doesn’t like it, she’s gonna have you arrested.”

At the end of the song, John cheekily said, “I’d like to say thank you on behalf of the group and ourselves and I hope we’ve passed the audition.”

Brian turned to George Martin who thanked him and shook his hand.

“What will the album be called?” Brian asked.

“Not sure yet – it’ll either be ‘Get Back’ or ‘Let it Be’,” Martin replied.

Brian filed downstairs behind the line of policemen. He would stick to his story that he had negotiated a swift end to the impromptu gig. It was a memory that he would carry forward – much more than another drinking-out story – it was a sense that he had been part of something special that somehow crowned the swinging sixties, and that he was one of the very few privileged people to witness it. That it was to be The Beatles’ last ever performance made it more of a poignant landmark in his London life. It left him with a sense of belonging; a sense of pride; a sense of location on the continuum of history.

***

Author Bio-

Tim is an independent author and former journalist based near Windsor in Berkshire, UK.

Born in Hong Kong, he grew up in Liverpool and studied in South Wales, before gravitating to London where he working in newspaper publishing for ten years. In the mid-90s he went to Zambia in Africa to do publishing-related voluntary work. Following this, he stayed on and set up his own publishing and marketing business, before returning to the UK in 2009.

The River Thames was the inspiration for his first book, an anthology of short stories Thames Valley Tales published in July 2015. This collection of fifteen contemporary stories combines modern themes with the rich history and legend associated with towns and places along the Thames Valley.

In 2016 he published his first novel, a near-future/dystopian thriller Devil Gate Dawn and is currently writing an historical fiction series, A Light in the Dark Ages. The first two parts, Abandoned! (a novella) and Ambrosius: Last of the Romans (a novel) are now available from Amazon in e-book and paperback formats. Part Three, Uther’s Destiny, should follow in early 2018.

In January 2017 he published a children’s book, co-written with his 12-year-old daughter Cathy, called The Adventures of Charly Holmes in e-book format. The paperback was published by Xlibris Publishers in February 2017. In September 2017 he published his second collection of short stories, Postcards from London.

Author website: http://timwalkerwrites.co.uk

Author Central: http://Author.to/timwalkerwrites

Twitter: http://twitter.com/timwalker1666

Facebook Page: http://facebook.com/timwalkerwrites

 

Book Links:

Postcards from London: http://myBook.to/PostcardsFromLondon

Abandoned: http://myBook.to/Abandoned

Ambrosius: Last of the Romans: http://myBook.to/Ambrosius

Devil Gate Dawn: http://myBook.to/DevilGateDawn

Thames Valley Tales: http://myBook.to/ThamesValleyTales

The Adventures of Charly Holmes: http://myBook.to/CharlyHolmes1

***

Many thanks to Tim for such a great story. Wishing you much success with your new book.

Happy reading everyone,

Jenny xx

Guest Post from Sonja Price: A Flight of Fancy

I’m delighted to welcome fellow novelist Sonja Price to my site today to talk about her amazing novel, The Giants Look Down.

Why not grab a cuppa, put your feet up for five minutes, and have a read.

Over to you Sonja…                              

I’ve never been to Kashmir, but I’ve based my novel THE GIANTS LOOK DOWN there. What a cheek you may say! But writers go where their imaginations take them and once mine had been ignited – by a report on the car radio of the Great Earthquake of 2005- I couldn’t put the spirit back in the bottle. I discovered that the Vale of Kashmir is breathtakingly beautiful. Some of the highest mountains in the world cradle a valley lush in sycamore woods and fields of saffron interspersed with a necklace of lakes. A spectacular place to set a story, it also boasts a rich history of maharajas, princes and princesses. But this paradise has been spoilt by strife since the mostly Muslim Vale of Kashmir chose to become part of its Hindu neighbour, India. Two wars have been fought over it and India and Pakistan still stand their ground on a glacier at the highest battlefield of the world, where avalanches claim more lives than armed conflict.

There must be a story in there somewhere, I thought! What would happen if a 10-year-old Hindu girl called Jaya decided to become a doctor much to chagrin of her mother and the patriarchal society of 1960s Kashmir? My aim was solely to entertain and amuse the reader.  I did not want to take sides yet at the same time I tried to depict the situation as sensitively and genuinely as possible and drawing attention to the plight of Kashmiris could surely not be a bad thing in itself, I thought.

I wanted to show Jaya growing up and negotiating the rapids of love when she falls for the son of the family she later stays with in Scotland. Does she have to choose between dashing Alastair, a student of architecture and lover of jazz music, and her dream of becoming a doctor and returning to Kashmir to build a clinic far up in the mountains? Well you’ll just have to read the book to find out!

Going to Kashmir, if only in my mind, albeit with the help of online resources, picture books and interviews with Indians, has been a wonderful journey that started in my car!

Blurb: At the age of 10, Jaya Vaidya decides to follow in her father’s footsteps and become a doctor against her mother’s wishes and all that the patriarchal community of 1906s Kashmir expects of her. When disaster strikes, Jaya is faced with obstacles as insurmountable as the Himalayas. She is transplanted to Scotland, where she has to navigate both a foreign culture and the rapids of love. Just how far will she go to achieve her dream? (Published by Robert Hale, 2016)

Find a copy of THE GIANTS LOOK DOWN here:

AMAZON UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Giants-Look-Down-Sonja-Price/dp/0719819954

Author Bio: I live in Somerset but am always hopping on and off planes because I teach English at Jena University in Germany. I studied at the University of East Anglia and completed a PhD in English Literature. I’m a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and my short stories have appeared in Stories For Homes, the Shelter Anthology of Short Stories and In these Tangles, Beauty Lies, an anthology in aid of the Beanstalk Trust for children with reading difficulties. My debut novel The Giants Look Down came out in 2016 and made me a finalist for the Joan Hessayon Award.

Links

Website:                      www.sonja-price.com

Twitter:                       @PriceSonja

Facebook:                   Sonja Price Author

You can find THE GIANTS LOOK DOWN as a paperback or e-book on:

AMAZON UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Giants-Look-Down-Sonja-Price/dp/0719819954

Many thanks Sonja, for a brilliant blog.

Happy reading everyone,

Jenny x

End of the Month Blog: Nell’s Gone Aussie!

Is it me, or are the months just rushing by? 

Believe it or not, it’s that time again…Over to Nell!!!

G’day, cobbers. Nice of you to drop by – I’ll just throw another shrimp on the barbie and grab some tinnies from the fridge … OK, I’m feeling so much better now I’ve got that bit of blatant stereotyping out of my system. To be fair, despite my late father-in-law being born and bred in Australia, I’m pretty sure I never heard him say ‘cobber’, ‘barbie’ or ‘tinnies’. Not even a random ‘g’day’ …

Staying with the antipodeans for a mo, and jumping on the bandwagon of all the WWI hundredth anniversaries being celebrated (if that’s the right word?) between 2014 and 2018, on this 243rd day of the year in 1918, the Battle of Mont Saint-Quentin began. This was a successful assault by the Australian Corps during the Hundred Days Offensive, aka a rapid series of Allied victories starting with the Battle of Amiens. Defences were weakened by continual Aussie raids, the troops employing a process called ‘peaceful penetration’, which forced the German retreat from France to beyond the Hindenburg Line. Thereafter an armistice was declared. Call me picky, but a sentence that includes ‘raids’, ‘penetration’ and ‘retreat’ doesn’t immediately convey to me a particularly ‘peaceful’ option.

Former Melbourne lawyer Robert Menzies (which he pronounced Ming) and his funny eyebrows didn’t serve in WWI, even though he was of age, but he did authorise Australia’s entry into World War II in September 1939, when he was leader of the United Australian Party (UAP).

However, in 1941 he spent four months in England contributing to Churchill’s War Cabinet powwows, and upon his return found he had lost the party’s support – how very fickle of them. Ming resigned as Prime Minister and in time helped form the Australian Liberal Party, being elected as its inaugural leader on this day in 1945. He again took office as PM in December 1949 and stayed put until 26th January 1966 (Australia Day), when he resigned.

Born in 1940, multi-award winning Australian actor Jack Thompson celebrates his seventy-seventh birthday today. That wasn’t his name at birth, though – step forward baby John Hadley Pain. The poor little chap was just four when his mother died, leaving his merchant seaman father unable to care for him and his brother, David. He was sent to an orphanage by his aunt and from there was adopted by John and Pat Thompson – hence the change of surname. Film reviewer Peter Thompson (also my dad’s name) is his adoptive brother – I’ve never heard of him either.

The Australian version of Who Do You Think You Are? featured the actor in its first episode in 2008, discovering that his great-grandfather was Captain Thomas Pain, and his great-great uncle Alfred Lee, a prominent figure in Sydney society. Philanthropist Alfred donated the journal of Sir Joseph Banks, British naturalist and explorer, documenting Captain Cook’s voyage to Australia in the 1770s to the Mitchell Library in Sydney. Bonza!

Other actors sharing this birthday are; Richard Gere (loved Pretty Woman! 1949), Roy Castle (1932), James Coburn (1928), Buddy Hackett (1924) and Richard Basehart (1914). Although a pianist rather than actor, American Big Tiny Little (1930) earns his place on the list simply by virtue of his odd name. Using that criterion, let’s throw in Roman Emperors Caligula (scary chap! 12) and the outright winner, Commodus (161).

 

People born under the Virgo sign are typically analytical, kind, hardworking and practical. They tend to worry, are shy and don’t like to be the centre of attention, as they are modest, faithful, and quiet folk. With a tendency to be persuasive, they have a good memory* and sense of reasoning and are skilled at detailed work. Virgos are also known for their intellect and usually embrace art, literature, science, or mathematics.

Shall we plant our tootsies firmly back on British soil? In my August 2016 blog I mentioned that it was the OH’s birthday on the 31st – funnily enough, it is again this year. At least he’s consistent. (*Can I just mention here that he has a memory like a leaking sieve and is persuasive only because he is like a dog with a bone and doesn’t give up, so that others eventually lose the will to live and capitulate?) Again, it’s the anniversary of Princess Diana’s death, twenty years ago now – a twentieth wedding anniversary is china, but I’m not entirely sure how that would translate to the anniversary of a death. Quite possibly in no way at all, although I’d hazard a wild guess some wannabe entrepreneur somewhere has mass-manufactured a tacky commemorative mug. Was it really two decades ago that the accident happened, opening the floodgates for conspiracy theorists everywhere – not to mention making lots of florists rich when the public en masse bought bouquets, only to leave them rotting outside Kensington Palace in a public display of grief?

I didn’t watch Diana’s funeral on TV, although I have seen various clips of it over the years, most poignantly her two young sons following her coffin under the gaze of a worldwide audience. In contrast to all the pomp and ceremony that accompanied Diana’s day, I have recently organised a funeral on the other end of the scale – an occasion as low key as possible, to minimise my mother’s confusion when we buried my father; the aforementioned Peter Thompson. My mother has vascular dementia (as did my father) and is basically away with the fairies. Lucky her.

Because he had no religious conviction whatsoever, we opted for a graveside ceremony only in order to shorten proceedings. Overcoming pronounced differences in height, my sons and niece were pallbearers of a coffin decorated with Spitfires – although Peter wasn’t a pilot, his father was during WWI (not flying Spitfires, obvs – Sopwith Camels, I believe) and it was most likely his influence that fired an interest in vintage aircraft in his youngest son, who had quite an impressive collection of dust-attracting models. On the coffin lid sat a single red rose (donations to charity in lieu of flowers) and a battered old trilby that my father insisted on wearing to annoy the grandchildren, having a whole shelf of much newer/smarter hats in his wardrobe.

Instead of a priest or celebrant, we used the services of the Conductor; he was part of the funeral director’s staff, in charge of the proceedings and making sure everything ran smoothly. It was him who read out a short eulogy and tributes written by the grandchildren – he didn’t look at all like Mr Conductor of Thomas the Tank Engine fame. Well, not much. When it was over, we all adjourned to a local hotel for some much-needed alcoholic refreshment and buffet food – not a stale sausage roll to be seen – and in a final act of symbolism, each grandchild launched a black star helium balloon skyward from the car park. This may have given pilots taking off from Heathrow one or two worrying moments.

I was talking over the garden fence to neighbour David recently – his mother died a few weeks before my father, and he so rightly observed that there’s nothing like a death/funeral to bring out the very worst in people. No horror story I could relate beats the behaviour of his step-father, who refused to let David and his sister into their family home, after his wife died. He also arranged an alternative, rival wake to David’s, following the funeral that David organised and paid for, and – most bizarre of all – ordered from the florist an ostentatious wreath spelling out HUSBAND, to ride along with the coffin! Huh?

That should surely be termed a grave offence – so sorry! Nowt so strange as folk, as they say. Those shenanigans are pretty hard to top, so I won’t try and I’ll say toodles, until we meet again.

NP

www.Author.to/nellpeters

Huge thanks as ever hun. Fun, thought provoking, moving and- as an added bonus- a history lesson. Love it.

Happy reading,

Jenny xx

 

The Story Behind Another Cup of Coffee

I’ve been thinking back to how the series, which began with the novel, Another Cup of Coffee, first saw the light of day. It was certainly a long time in the making!

 

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…

***

As the blurb says, it took Amy thirteen years to come to her senses and sort her life out – it took me thirteen years to write how she did just that! Not that I’ve been sat puzzling at the pages everyday in all that time- far from it.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin the story of my story…

The idea for Another Cup of Coffee came to me all that time ago, but was originally only intended to be a short story for a competition. I had never written a story before beyond the requirements of school homework, although I had written poetry, some of which I’d been lucky enough to have published. The story, Getting It Back, was all about a quiet girl, who’s cut herself off from her old life after her heart had been broken, and told of how, out of the blue, a package had arrived through the post that made her look at her life afresh. That package was an old fashioned cassette tape, which had a variety of different songs recorded onto it- as was the craze in the 1980’s and early 90’s.

That short story was not well written, and quite rightly got nowhere at all. I gave up writing after that. I’d only entered the competition so that I had a project to do that would occupy my mind and keep me awake. I had a one year old at the time- and she never slept and was a pain to feed- totally the opposite of now bless her!!

So the story was shelved, and I didn’t go back to it for two years went, you guessed it- I had another child- and I remembered the story I’d written. Being the type of person who never throws anything away, I dug it back out, and in fits and bursts I turned it into a novel based on my experiences as a student, my time as an archaeologist, and a friends music obsession.

I’ll be honest- it was not a good read. So again, I shelved it.

Then, a few years later my children went to school- and as is fairly well documented, I had an idea for a very different type of story- an erotic story which I simply had to write down. The result was a persona I called Kay Jaybee.

Such was the unexpected success of Kay Jaybee, that I had no time to look at my first early attempt at a novel for years. I also had no confidence in it at all. I had become Kay, and Kay was good at stories that oozed kink- I wasn’t sure I could do a story that kept the pages turning without it.

It wasn’t until ‘Kay’ had a handful of novels, novellas and short stories under her belt, that I decided the time had come to prove to myself that I could do more- and so I rewrote Another Cup of Coffee– and to my surprise it was taken by a publisher.

So- if you fancy delving into the story of Amy, her ex boyfriend Jack, and his best friend, erotica writer and Mum, Kit (sound familiar at all?), then why not give Another Cup of Coffee a sip

You can buy Another Cup of Coffee as either a paperback or an eBook from Amazon and all good online and high street book stores

Amazon UK- http://www.amazon.co.uk/Another-Cup-Coffee-Jenny-Kane/dp/1783751126/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1377605533&sr=8-1&keywords=another+cup+of+coffee

Amazon US – http://www.amazon.com/Another-Cup-Coffee-Jenny-Kane/dp/1783751126/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1377605667&sr=8-1&keywords=another+cup+of+coffee+jenny+kane

Then of course- if you enjoy this novel- there are three seasonal follow on novella’s (available in Jenny Kane’s Christmas Collection as well as standalone Kindle publications), and the novel, Another Glass of Champagne, to read afterwards!

Another Glass Of Champagne

***

Happy reading,

Jenny

Abi’s House: Cornish Romance

My Cornish novel, Abi’s House, was never meant to be a romance. I hadn’t noticed it was until after I’d written it. Yet, within this tale of friendship and self discovery there lies a good old fashioned love story. 

Abi's House_edited-1

Here’s a reminder of the Abi’s House blurb!!

Newly widowed at barely thirty, Abi Carter is desperate to escape the Stepford Wives-style life that Luke, her late husband, had been so keen for her to live.

Abi decides to fulfil a lifelong dream. As a child on holiday in a Cornwall as a child she fell in love with a cottage – the prophetically named Abbey’s House. Now she is going to see if she can find the place again, relive the happy memories … maybe even buy a place of her own nearby?

On impulse Abi sets off to Cornwall, where a chance meeting in a village pub brings new friends Beth and Max into her life. Beth, like Abi, has a life-changing decision to make. Max, Beth’s best mate, is new to the village. He soon helps Abi track down the house of her dreams … but things aren’t quite that simple. There’s the complicated life Abi left behind, including her late husband’s brother, Simon – a man with more than friendship on his mind … Will Abi’s house remain a dream, or will the bricks and mortar become a reality?

Check this out this video about Abi’s House!!-  YouTube link https://youtu.be/VAumWAqsp58

So if you love the Cornish countryside, a touch of romance, a story with twists and turns- and a cute Labrador…then this is the book for you!

You can buy Abi’s House from all good bookshops and via online retailers, including…

Kindle

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Abis-House-Jenny-Kane-ebook/dp/B00UVPPWO8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1426711175&sr=1-1&keywords=Abi%27s+House+Jenny+Kane

http://www.amazon.com/Abis-House-Jenny-Kane-ebook/dp/B00UVPPWO8/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1426711253&sr=1-2&keywords=Abi%27s+House+Jenny+Kane

Paperback

http://www.amazon.com/Abis-House-Jenny-Kane/dp/1783753285/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1426711253&sr=1-1&keywords=Abi%27s+House+Jenny+Kane

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Abis-House-Jenny-Kane/dp/1783753285/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1426711343&sr=1-1&keywords=Abi%27s+House+Jenny+Kane

The sequel to Abi’s House, Abi’s Neighbour, is also contains a love story- but this time it’s the older generation having all the fun!

Here’s the blurb to Abi’s Neighbour- 

Abi Carter has finally found happiness. Living in her perfect tin miner’s cottage, she has good friends and a gorgeous boyfriend, Max. Life is good. But all that’s about to change when a new neighbour moves in next door.

Cassandra Henley-Pinkerton represents everything Abi thought she’d escaped when she left London. Obnoxious and stuck-up, Cassandra hates living in Cornwall. Worst of all, it looks like she has her sights set on Max.

But Cassandra has problems of her own. Not only is her wealthy married lawyer putting off joining her in their Cornish love nest, but now someone seems intent on sabotaging her business.

Will Cassandra mellow enough to turn to Abi for help – or are they destined never to get along?

Complete with sun, sea and a gorgeous Cornwall setting, Abi’s Neighbour is the PERFECT summer escape.

***

Happy reading everyone,

Jenny xx

 

Blowing the Dust Off: Caroline Dunford’s Playing for Love

It’s Day 10! The final day of my ‘Blowing the Dust Off’ series. Today Caroline Dunford is sharing the inspiration behind her novel, Playing for Love.

Grab a cuppa and enjoy…

 

Inside the Edinburgh International Festival and Fringe

The Edinburgh International Festival and Fringe is well underway. Everywhere buildings are adorned in colourfully dressings, psychedelic-coloured billboards and hundreds of careful designed posters promoting what seems like an infinite number of shows. Tourists compete for pavement space with performers wearing garish wigs, riding unicycles, juggling livestock and handing out flyers for their unique greatest spectacle ever. It’s possible to walk through the city centre with some ease if you’re up early enough. Most of the throngs are then interred in the many pop-up coffee shops depleting the planet of bacon.

There’s a lot of excitement in the air, but old hands know that not of it is justified. The festival can be the place where inspirations and aspirations (to be great actors, playwrights and comedians) famously come to die. A kind of graveyard of dreams if you like. But every year a few shining stars do rise out of the mishmash of cultural fodder and go on to be household names.

As an Edinburgh resident, I have mixed feelings about this time of year. I used to review for some of the Scottish Newspapers and remember with some fondness when I’d see five shows a day and then send in copy at 3am for the morning edition. But every year the Festival and Fringe has grown larger. Sometimes we even have a Fringe to the Fringe. The latter being the idea of bringing back cheap shows that you would try on a whim. This is where we force feed a heavy dose of cynicism. The average ticket at the Fringe will leave you with a battered wallet, while a Festival show will typically send your wallet to the ICU. The city literally doubles in population during the festival weeks and with that comes an inevitable degree of overcrowding and traffic jams.

The Festival and Fringe are victims of their own successes. People come from further and further away, prepared to spend more and more, to get the real Edinburgh atmosphere. There are still the small student productions out at the most far flung edges of the city, but realistically these are lucky if the audience outnumbers the cast.

The heart of the Festival and Fringe remains, if you know where to look. It’s the one time of year when you can see a naked man in a see-through mac with a parrot on his head and people will throw money at him, rather than escort him off to the local police station. There is still a magical madness hidden among the profiteering and consumerism. And it’s in all this bustling mayhem I set Playing for Love, about a young, reclusive writer, turned playwright, who comes to the Edinburgh Fringe to see her play staged and discovers this madcap world. Nothing is quite what it seems and even the most ridiculous explanations are far from the real truth. It’s funny. It’s sad. And it’s romantic. Rather like Edinburgh itself at this time of year.

So, if you can’t make it to Edinburgh, or you are here and want a bit of an insider’s (fictional) guide then you can buy it in eBook in paperback at https://www.amazon.co.uk/Playing-Love-Warm-hearted-beautiful-Edinburgh-ebook/dp/B011OG0L3O/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1502641697&sr=8-1&keywords=caroline+dunford+playing+for+love

 My website: https://caroline-dunford.squarespace.com/

My Twitter: https://twitter.com/verdandiweaves?lang=en

 

Bio:

My earliest memories are of wanting to be a writer. I found that through story I can explore the world around me and understand the thoughts and journeys of others. There is an old adage about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes to appreciate their choices. As a writer, I spend a lot of time walking in someone else’s shoes (figuratively, of course). 

I’m content when writing. Occasionally, I get frustrated when my characters refuse to conform to a carefully crafted plot, but in general sitting at my keyboard is where I feel most at home. In truth, I seldom stop thinking about stories, so when I sit down to write I tend to do so very quickly. On average, I produce between 300,000 and 400,000 words a year.

I’m unusual in that I write across a wide range of genres from historical crime to contemporary thrillers to YA science fiction. I’ve also written a number of plays that have been produced, some of which have toured internationally, and I’m exploring audio and screen dramas. Switching from prose to script is no mean feat but it’s refreshing and helps me think about telling stories in new ways.

***

Many thanks Caroline. A great way to round off our look at novels from 10 different author’s creative archives.

Happy reading everyone- and thanks for joining in this blogging adventure.

Jenny xx

 

Blowing the Dust Off: Richard Gould’s A Street Cafe Named Desire

It’s Day 9 of my ‘Blowing the Dust Off’ series of blogs. Today I’m welcoming the lovely Richard Gould to my place to talk about his romance, A Street Café Named Desire.

Grab a cuppa and enjoy…

Why did I write this book?

Although on the surface not a philosophical question, there are in fact several deep levels of answer.

The starting point for the novel was a school reunion for ex-students from an international school I’d taught in. It had been a close community and like many other teachers, I’d kept in touch. I joined them for a weekend in Henley – and this is where the story begins.

It struck me that some of the participants were virtually unchanged over the twenty-five or so years since being at school – looks and personalities – while others were unrecognisable. I decided to feature two (entirely fictional, or are they?) protagonists who had not been part of the social set when young. What had their random journeys through life been like and what would happen now that they had met again?

I’m male, I guess the photo is a giveaway.

Being male, by the law of averages, I shouldn’t be writing Romance, but a fellow author persuaded me that my writing about relationships constituted Romance. She suggested I join the Romantic Novelists’ Association and I did as ordered and signed up for the New Writers’ Scheme. I’d already self-published with a fair bit of e-book success, (it was so much easier five or so years ago!), but the positive feedback I got from the NWS reviewer encouraged me to renew my search for a publisher. Accent Press took me on and A Street Café Named Desire was my first novel with them.

Is my novel within the Romance genre? I concede that it is, though I did have many distraught days and sleepless nights after it was put into a ‘Chick Lit Lovers Bundle’. As is the case for most of my writing, in A Street Café Named Desire I flip the ‘traditional’ Romance plot by having an insecure male seeking a relationship with an alpha female, his path fraught with all the difficulties typically thrust upon the female within this genre. Most of my readers are female and the feedback I’ve received indicates that a male take on relationships is both evident and refreshing.

Who am I? OK, so now we are getting mainstream philosophical. Several agents suggested I use a pseudonym. I’ve declined the offer, but by using ‘R J’ instead of ‘Richard’ in my author name I’m sort of concealing gender – it’s my cowardly compromise.

Didn’t someone famous once say something like what’s in a name? I thought long and hard about using A Street Café Named Desire for the title, as did my publisher. At the start of the novel, David, the male protagonist, is stuck in a dull accountancy job that he dislikes intensely. His dream is to open an arts café. His second dream is to have a relationship with Bridget, the alpha female. Café + Desire seemed to fit, as did paying homage to the steamy play.

The Amazon link to A Street Café Named Desire is here: http://Mybook.to/streetcafe and it’s priced at only £0.99/$0.99 during the week of Jenny’s ‘Blowing the Dust Off’ blog tour.

A Street Café Named Desire – the blurb

A man’s quest for two dreams – a relationship with the gorgeous Bridget and opening an arts café.
David meets Bridget at a twenty-five year school reunion and instantly develops a teenagesque passion for her. There’s a juggernaut-load of baggage to overcome ahead of having any chance of a relationship – a demanding soon to be ex-wife, a tyrannical new boss, an accountancy job he detests, stroppy teenage children, and encounters with the police. There’s a further distraction because his plan to quit his job and set up an arts café is proving to be rather more challenging than anticipated.

One of my favourite reviews:

“This is such a gentle and easy book to read, it is almost surprising the impact and resonance it has long after finishing it. The story is a familiar one, but it is told with humour, humility and humanity and at the end I was left feeling hopeful and satisfied.”

And one of my favourites about me:

“R.J. Gould’s voice is a unique one, not only because he is a man writing romance and contemporary fiction. This author offers readers a fantastic insight into the otherwise closed lives of families who make us laugh, groan, roll our eyes but ultimately, can relate to.”

A Street Café Named Desire – an extract

My dip into the novel is taken from the end of the first chapter when David first meets Bridget, having unenthusiastically mingled with other ex-schoolmates earlier that evening:

‘Well, look who we’ve got here.’ The voice of Bill Thatcher hadn’t changed.

‘It’s our little David,’ another unchanged voice, this was Ben Carpenter.

An overzealous slap landed on David’s back. ‘You buying the drinks, mate?’ Ben asked.

David realised he was no longer scared of them. How could you be, looking at the two pot-bellied, balding, greying men with sallow puffy faces? They had lost their menacing edge. Also, he was prepared to admit when he’d had time to reflect, he wasn’t scared because he didn’t much care what happened, not after what he had been subjected to over the past few weeks.

He eyed Ben. ‘Why don’t you get me one?’

Ben looked aghast. ‘What?’

‘I’ll have a bottle of Bud, thank you.’

‘Is little David acting tough?’ Bill enquired.

‘I think he is,’ added Ben.

‘It’s not a case of acting tough, it’s about growing up. And I seem to have made a better job of it than you two. I suppose keeping fit helps, the judo.’

‘You do judo?’ sneered Bill.

‘Yes. And not drinking as much beer as you has assisted.’ With that, David gave Bill a generous whack on his pot belly. When he analysed his action afterwards, readily admitting it had been a step too far, he wondered whether the annoying physical maltreatment by Helen might have been part of the reason for his own mild assault. But probably it all came down to his profound unhappiness – he couldn’t care less about the outcome of his actions. Not at that instant at any rate. But he did care a few nanoseconds later when Bill floored him with a right hook to the chin.

Bill looked down at him with contempt. ‘You gonna try your judo on me, little David?’

Of course there never had been any judo, only badminton which had kept him in reasonable shape but clearly hadn’t prepared him for fighting. David gazed up at a gathering of his ex-classmates in a circle around him, some with a look of concern, but most smiling. Helen and Sharon were in the smiling group, but at least Helen did have the decency to tell Bill and Ben to lay off as it was a festive occasion. The crowd dispersed and David stood gingerly. He made his way to a chair by the window. In the short interval between boredom and humiliation dusk had enveloped the trees. Now they stood as forlorn grey silhouettes. Despite there no longer being anything of interest to see, he chose to stare out the window rather than look inside the room at the alcohol-fuelled gathering.

‘One Bud coming up.’

He turned. The woman handed over the bottle and sat next to him, a glass of white wine in her other hand. ‘You OK?’

‘Just my pride hurt a bit. Well my chin, too.’

‘Poor you. Those two were appalling twenty-five years ago and they haven’t improved by the look of things.’

David recognised the voice, the engaging Scottish lilt from all those years ago.

‘I’m Titless,’ the woman added.

He glanced from her face to her upper body and saw shapely curves. When he looked up she was smiling and he reddened.

‘Not anymore, but I was then. I took a while to develop. Too long for Bill and Ben, so that was their nickname for me.’

‘I remember you. Bridget.’

‘Congratulations. You’re the first to know my name tonight, not that I’ve spoken to many.’

‘Well, you’ve changed beyond all recognition.’

Like every parent, David had told his children the story of the ugly duckling that turned into a beautiful white swan, and while he appreciated the moral symbolism, he had never seen such a transformation in real life until now. Bridget had been an unsociable, awkward girl, liable to blush the instant someone addressed her. She had appeared friendless and was known as ‘Spotty Swot’ amongst his circle of friends. He hadn’t been aware of the ‘Titless’ nickname, not surprising as he kept well away from the gang. Her legs, he remembered, had looked too spindly to support her. He’d felt sorry for Bridget, a rather sad-looking loner, but he’d been too shy to do anything about it.

The woman by his side was divine – a goddess. Not in a garishly sexy way – just downright beautiful. Every facial feature of textbook perfection. A narrow face with high cheekbones; a little, upturned nose; pouting lips; soft, powder blue eyes. Eyes that were now smiling at him.

‘I feel like I’m being inspected. Do you approve?’

‘Yes, yes. You look lovely, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘Thank you, I never say no to a compliment. I was wondering though – what on earth made you come along to this awful reunion?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘It’s a long evening.’

 

R J Gould Website and social media links

Website:                      http://www.rjgould.info

Twitter:                       https://twitter.com/RJGould_author

Email:                          rjgould.author@gmail.com

Facebook:                    https://www.facebook.com/RJGouldauthor/

Email:                          rjgould.author@gmail.com

 

About R J Gould

R J Gould writes contemporary fiction, using humour to describe past, present and sought after relationships. His characters, some highly eccentric and some plain ordinary, are trying to make the most of their lives while carrying heaps of baggage. They struggle to balance the pressures of work, friends and families as they search for second-chance romance. He is published by Accent Press and is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association. His first novel, ‘A Street Café Named Desire’ was released in December 2014 and short-listed for the 2016 Joan Hessayon New Writers’ Award. ‘The Engagement Party’ was published in May 2015 and ‘Jack and Jill Went Downhill’ was released in June 2016. He lives in Cambridge and is a member of Cambridge Writers where he leads the Commercial Editing Group.

Many thanks Richard. Great extract!

Just one more day to go in this fabulous look back at some fellow authors writing archives. Come back tomorrow to see what Caroline Dunford has to share with us.

Happy reading,

Jenny x

Blowing the Dust Off: Jenny Harper’s People we Love

It’s Day 8 of my ‘Blowing the Dust Off’ series. Today we are joined by the lovely Jenny Harper. She is introducing us to one of her Heartlands novels’, People we Love.

Go grab a cuppa, sit down, and enjoy…

 

Finding inspiration in the dark

A couple of years ago, I was sitting in a gig at the Edinburgh Festival. It was African music and dance (traditional and contemporary), and there was lots of bounce and rhythm and colour. I was enjoying myself immensely – but at the back of my mind, something was niggling me. I couldn’t get the right title for my forthcoming novel.

These things can be instant and easy … or they can drive you to insanity because nothing seems to work. I was at the latter end of the spectrum. I closed my eyes and tried to block out my worries and concentrate on the music. After all, it was terrific.

Then it happened.

‘The people we love,’ said the diminutive lead singer of the group, introducing the next song, ‘don’t always love us back.’

Bang! There it was. People We Love. Perfect. The fourth novel in my Heartlands series (set in East Lothian, near Edinburgh), is about a family grieving for a brother, or a son, who was killed in a road accident a year ago in mysterious circumstances. The heroine, Alexa Gordon, is an artist who put her career on hold to support her parents. Tom Gordon (her father) is staunch and buttoned-up, determined to keep his grief in check so that he can go on supporting his family (and inevitably suffering in the process), while her mother, Martha, has completely fallen apart. It’s only after an elderly lady with dementia climbs in through her kitchen window that Alexa begins the long journey back from the dark. There are other characters too – her ex lover Cameron Forrester, who appears back on the scene after an unexplained absence, and Patrick Mulgrew, a suave art dealer who lives near Alexa in the fictional town of Hailesbank, but who works in Edinburgh. Oh, and her best friend Molly Keir, who has ghosts and secrets in her own past.

I loved writing that book. If I say it’s about shoes, it’s not a lie, but don’t get the wrong idea! ‘Shoes tell stories,’ reads the invitation to the exhibition Alexa finally puts together, ‘stories of much-loved babies who can’t even walk, of the tottering steps of little children towards adulthood, of special events in our lives; of dances, and marriages, and mountain climbs and escapes.’

What am I talking about? Sorry – you’ll have to find out for yourself!

Anyway, the inspiration I had that night during the gig had natural consequences – when I decided to write about Molly’s story in my next novel, I used the title Mistakes We Make. It’s the first book in the Heartlands series that actually links to a previous one, other than through the setting. Alexa (Lexie) reappears, and her life has moved on considerably in the months since the end of People We Love, while Molly is still stuck in her hideaway, her problems unsolved. Inevitably, she has to face quite a few ups and downs and challenges, and deal with the mistakes she has made in the past, before she can set things to rights.

I adored the covers Accent Press designed for these two books. They have just the right feel of dreamy mysteriousness. I’m not sure if it was the titles that inspired them or my blurbs, but anyway, sometimes things come together in a very pleasing way – even when finding the path might be difficult in the first instance!

Buy them here

smarturl.it/People_We_Love

smarturl.it/Mistakes_We_Make

Bio

Jenny Harper lives in Edinburgh, Scotland, though she was born in India and grew up in England. She has been a non-fiction editor, a journalist and a businesswoman and has written a children’s novel and several books about Scotland, as well as five novels and a novella in The Heartlands series (set in Hailesbank), a novel set in Edinburgh, and a number of short stories.

Jenny writes contemporary women’s fiction with bite – complex characters facing serious issues. Face the Wind and Fly, about a woman wind farm engineer with a marriage in trouble and a controversial project to handle. Loving Susie, about a female politician with a complicated family history and at odds with the world. Maximum Exposure, in which a newspaper photographer with job to save has some growing up to do. People We Love is about an artist whose life is on hold following the tragic death of her brother and Mistakes We Make follows a high-flying events manager as she works out what is really important in her life. In a sixth title, Between Friends, three women have to work together to take revenge on a man from their past whose reappearance threatens to ruin them all.

Find Me Here

Website          http://jennyharperauthor.co.uk/

Blog                http://jennyharperauthor.co.uk/category/myblog/

Twitter            https://twitter.com/harper_jenny

Facebook       https://www.facebook.com/authorjennyharper

Google +        https://plus.google.com/+JennyHarperauthor/posts

Goodreads     https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/15692421-jenny-harper

Amazon Author Page      http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B00HXIE2Q0

Pinterest        https://uk.pinterest.com/jennyharperhome/boards/

***

Many thanks Jenny. Great blog.

Come back tomorrow to read all about Richard Gould’s work.

Happy reading,

Jenny xx

 

 

 

 

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