jenny kane – Page 62 – Jenny Kane & Jennifer Ash

I’m pleased to welcome Marie Laval to my site today, to talk about capturing the senses within her fabulous novel, A Spell in Provence.

Over to you Marie…

LITTLE TIME BUBBLES

As writers we know how important it is to use the five senses – sight, smell, taste, touch and sound – to bring scenes and characters to life and immerse the reader in the story. The sense of smell is, I think, the most magical, powerful and nostalgic of all senses. A fleeting, ephemeral scent can make us travel back in time and bring people and emotions back to life – if only for a few seconds. It can make us smile or cry, it can be soothing or reopen old wounds. There are scents many of us can identify and relate to. A writer uses scents to give the reader a more intense feel for a particular place, time or scene. Some smells may be a little ‘cliché’ but still work. The smell of burning leaves reminds us of autumn. Orange peel, cinnamon and clove take us back to winter and Christmas, and freshly-cut grass evokes spring and summer. As for flowers and plants, many readers will know the scent of roses, lilac, wisteria, lilies, to name but a few. A scene describing a walk in the countryside will feel more real if it includes scents, for example woods carpeted with wild garlic and bluebells or with damp, rotten leaves; a deep forest of fir trees with pine needles on the ground; the scent of grass and earth after a spring shower.

In A SPELL IN PROVENCE, my contemporary romantic suspense published by Áccent Press, Amy Carter buys an old farmhouse with a garden overgrown with wild flowers, rosemary, thyme and lavender – scents we all associate with Provence and the south of France. The scent of pine from the nearby cedar forest changes from fresh and invigorating at the start of the story to dark and overpowering as Bellefontaine’s mystery deepens. To help make characters unique and bring them to life we often give them a unique fragrance. I do confess to a predilection for sandalwood for my heroes, and vanilla, rose, jasmine or orange blossom for my heroines. In A SPELL IN PROVENCE, Amy Carter is very liberal in her use of Bourbon Vanilla bubble bath. In DANCING FOR THE DEVIL, my historical romance to be released by Áccent Press in June, my heroine loves orange blossom cologne because it reminds her of her village in the Sahara. I always have these fragrances at hand when I write to remind myself of the characters I have created.

Other distinctive scents can also help define a character’s habits and personality, for example tobacco, cigarette and cigar smoke which cling to their clothes, or the smell of brandy, whisky or mint pastilles which lingers on their breath. And let’s not forget leather… Perfumes can be associated with happy, traumatic or painful memories and the emotions some trigger are so personal they can be difficult to capture and communicate. To this day I cannot be near a woman wearing Guerlain’s Shalimar without thinking of my mother because it was her favourite perfume. Food smells are incredibly evocative too. Freshly baked bread, tomato and garlic sauce, or freshly baked fruit tarts, especially apricots (we had an apricot tree in the garden), will always remind me of childhood and home. If I close my eyes, I can almost hear my mother sing in the kitchen. So fragrances can be like little time bubbles or time machines allowing us to revisit places and moments in time, whether we want it or not.

A SPELL IN PROVENCE Blurb

With few roots in England and having just lost her job, Amy Carter decides to give up on home and start a new life in France, spending her redundancy package turning an overgrown Provençal farmhouse, Bellefontaine, into a successful hotel. Though she has big plans for her new home, none of them involves falling in love – least of all with Fabien Coste, the handsome but arrogant owner of a nearby château. As romance blossoms, eerie and strange happenings in Bellefontaine hint at a dark mystery of the Provençal countryside which dates back many centuries and holds an entanglement between the ladies of Bellefontaine and the ducs de Coste at its centre. As Amy works to unravel the mystery, she begins to wonder if it may not just be her heart at risk, but her life too.

You can find A SPELL IN PROVENCE on Amazon

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Spell-Provence-Marie-Laval-ebook/dp/B00RVQO8RM/ref=sr_1_10?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1421344692&sr=1-10&keywords=accent+press

and

http://www.amazon.com/A-Spell-Provence-Marie-Laval-ebook/dp/B00RVQO8RM

You can also buy it in print at

http://www.accentpress.co.uk/Book/13421/A-Spell-in-Provence.html

****

Marie Laval Bio

Originally from Lyon in France, Marie studied History and Law at university there before moving to Lancashire in England where she worked in a variety of jobs, from PA in a busy university department to teacher of French in schools and colleges. Writing, however, was always her passion, and she spends what little free time she has dreaming and making up stories. Her historical romances ANGEL HEART and THE LION’S EMBRACE are published by MuseItUp Publishing. A SPELL IN PROVENCE is her first contemporary romance. It is published by Áccent Press.

***

Many thanks for writing us such a great blog Marie. Good luck with A Spell in Provence.

Happy reading,

Jenny xx

Guest Post from Jennifer Young: Looking For Charlotte Blog Tour

By Jenny Kane

On May 5, 2015

In Blog, Contemporary Romantic Fiction, Fiction

I’m delighted to be able to welcome Jennifer Young to my site today, as part of her blog tour for her new release, Looking For Charlotte.

Over to you Jennifer…

About the Journey: Looking For Charlotte

They say there are only seven basic plots. I have a book about that, in fact, but as it’s almost 700 pages long and I’m time-poor I haven’t yet got round to reading it. But everyone who has (well done, by the way) tells me that it’s true and there’s nothing original in this world.

I didn’t deliberately set out to pick one of those seven, though I have done in the past. As it happens, though, my latest book, Looking For Charlotte, fits more closely to an obvious plot device than anything I’ve ever attempted, even the variations-on-a-theme-by-Shakespeare trilogy that I’m working on (the theme is Romeo and Juliet, since you ask).

The clue is in the name. Looking For Charlotte is a journey or, as it’s referred to in the book, a quest. ‘Quest’ is a wonderful, evocative word, old-fashioned to the point of medieval, bringing to mind knights on noble steeds undertaking challenges set for them by mistresses or magicians, with the ultimate objective (in which they pretty much always succeed) of winning the hand of a fair lady.

The quest which my very modern heroine, Flora, undertakes isn’t one laid on her by a wicked witch, or even something she has to do to save her relationship, win promotion or achieve fame (all of which are perfectly worthy objectives). It’s much deeper than that, and it’s also entirely self-imposed.

When Flora sees on the news the story of a toddler abducted and almost certainly murdered by her father (who then killed himself) her reaction is to take up the search for the child where the police have given up. No-one makes her do it. No-one forces her to go out looking for a lonely grave, puts the spade in the boot of the car and hands her the key, points a dramatic finger and says to her: ‘Go’.

So why does she go? It’s partly to absolve her own guilt at mistakes she’s made in the past. It’s partly to do good to someone else, a stranger. Personally she has nothing not gain from it but yet she goes, undertaking a journey which is both physical and emotional. And when it ends, on a moor in the wild north-east of Scotland on a wild-weather day to the accompaniment of birdsong, the story ends.

In success, or in failure? That’s for me to know and you, if you wish, to find out. Read on…

Excerpt

They parted just beyond the bridge across the Ness, Grace heading up the pedestrian streets and Flora cutting across to the library, fronted by the long line of cars full of Saturday shoppers manoeuvering towards the car parks. She wasn’t a regular library user, but once the idea had taken her she remembered that there was something she wanted to check.

In the reference section, she stood for a moment before selecting the Ordnance Survey map that covered the area south of Ullapool. She knew it quite well. When the children were young they’d gone walking there regularly, able to reach the open spaces without pushing the slowest (usually Amelia, though Beth was the youngest) too hard. They’d graduated to more difficult walks, then stopped walking altogether. Eventually she had developed a fondness for the slightly less bleak terrain to the south of Inverness, where she went occasionally with Philip and his brother, or with a colleague from work. She hadn’t been out all year, not since before Christmas, in fact, and even then they’d been rained off not very far in and driven back to the comfort of a tea shop in Grantown-on-Spey.

A nostalgic yearning for a good long walk swept over her as she unfolded the map and smoothed it out across one of the desks. She and Danny used to look at maps together plotting their routes. His stubby forefinger, with its bitten nails, had traced the most challenging route to start, sliding along the steep and craggy ridges until he remembered the children and reluctantly redrew, shorter, safer.

She thought she knew the place where Alastair Anderson had left his car, and found it easily enough. Under her fingers the map was a flat web of never-parallel lines, of ugly pock-marking that told of steep, loose rocks and inhospitable terrain, just the type of place they used to walk. Somewhere up here, Charlotte Anderson was buried. Carried there, already dead? Or walked there and then killed? Surely neither was realistic; surely they would have found her, with their dogs and their mountain rescue helicopters scouring the ground for new scars, and all the rest of the equipment they had at their disposal.

Looking at the map had been a mistake. It was obvious now. Besides, she couldn’t see it any more; all she could see was the image of Suzanne Beauchamp, that beautiful face with the cold façade, like a wax death mask from Madame Tussauds. More poignant, of course, since it must hide a struggle, a struggle to conceal or to suppress a deadly mixture of grief and guilt.

‘Go away!’ she said softly to this mirage of a grieving woman, a little afraid of its power. ‘Go away!’ And then, in the only defence left to her, she began to fold the map away…

****

Blurb

Divorced and lonely, Flora Wilson is distraught when she hears news of the death of little Charlotte Anderson. Charlotte’s father killed her and then himself, and although he left a letter with clues to her grave, his two-year-old daughter still hasn’t been found. Convinced that she failed her own children, now grown up and seldom at home, Flora embarks on a quest to find Charlotte’s body to give the child’s mother closure, believing that by doing so she can somehow atone for her own failings.

As she hunts in winter through the remote moors of the Scottish Highlands, her obsession comes to challenge the very fabric of her life — her job, her friendship with her colleague Philip Metcalfe, and her relationships with her three children.

***

GIVEAWAY!

Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/jennifer-young-2/

a Rafflecopter giveaway

***

Buy Links

Tirgearr Publishing

http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Young_Jennifer/looking-for-charlotte.htm

Amazon UK

http://amzn.to/1D7pNY6

Amazon US

http://amzn.to/1JmAwBR

Smashwords

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/526032?ref=cw1985

Author bio

I live in Edinburgh and I write romance and contemporary women’s fiction. I’ve been writing all my life and my first book was published in February 2014, though I’ve had short stories published before then. The thing that runs through all my writing is an interest in the world around me. I love travel and geography and the locations of my stories is always important to me. And of course I love reading — anything and everything.

Links

Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/jenniferyoungauthor

Twitter

@JYnovelist

Website

http://www.jenniferyoungauthor.com/

***

Many thanks for visiting today Jennifer. Good luck with the rest of the tour!!

Don’t forget the giveaway folks!!

Happy reading,

Jenny xx

Writing Champagne, with a Coffee Cup to Hand

By Jenny Kane

On May 4, 2015

In Blog, Contemporary fiction

Okay- I admit it, I have a serious coffee shop habit! I am addicted- not just to the caffeine- but to the coffee and teashops themselves. I just love them- all of them! I love to watch the people around me, to smile at strangers to see how they respond, to wrap my hands around a coffee mug and inhale the aroma of the drink within. For me, there is something very soothing about these places. Whether they are jammed packed and noisy, or as quiet as the proverbial grave, with myself as the only coffee swiller in residence, I simply feel at home in cafes.

It won’t surprise you to learn then, that every novel I have ever written has taken shape in various coffee shops up and down the UK. I can’t write at home, with the distractions of ironing and dusting, so I pen all my words at cafe tables. There is even a plaque on the wall of my cafe, denoting where I write! It seemed totally natural to me therefore, that when it came to creating my first non-erotic novel, to make a coffee shop the focal point of the story.

For the last five months, I’ve been sat at my usual table in a local coffee shop each day, working on my latest novel, Another Glass of Champagne, the fourth in my Another Cup of… series.

It is eighteen months since the first in this contemporary romance series, Another Cup of Coffee, was released. I never dreamt it would become a series! (Book 2 – Another Cup of Christmas. Book 3- Christmas in the Cotswolds)

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…

The coffee shop that features most within Another Cup of Coffee is Pickwicks, a tucked away cafe in Richmond, run by the ever bubbly Peggy, and her husband Scott. It is there that, newly arrived in London from Scotland, Amy Crane finds a refuge from her troubles, a temporary job, a possible future, and a potential friend in Kit.

In my latest work in progress (which should be out in early 2016), Amy, Jack, Kit and the Pickwicks crew are all five years older. Life has dealt them each a life changing situation to overcome- all of which should (if things go to plan), lead to the chance to celebrate…

Of course, until I have consumed a great deal more coffee myself, and edited at least another 80,000 words, the Pickwicks regulars won’t be getting anyway near that glass of champagne!!

***

If you’d like to read Another Cup of Coffee, you can buy it from all good bookshops, as well as from…

http://www.amazon.com/Another-Cup-Of-Coffee-contemporary-ebook/dp/B00EVYZC7M/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=15EFJ85882KQYAJ71KED

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Another-Cup-Of-Coffee-contemporary-ebook/dp/B00EVYZC7M/ref=pd_sim_kinc_4?ie=UTF8&refRID=12DHKX85NFP0DNJJCKDS

Happy reading,

Jenny x

Novel Progress 6: Concluding

By Jenny Kane

On April 28, 2015

In Blog, Contemporary Romantic Fiction, News

A special kind of feeling occurs when I can see the end of a novel draft in sight. It’ a very physical thing- my fingertips tingle as if I have mild pins and needles, I type faster, my heart rate speeds a fraction (possibly due to increased coffee consumption)- oh, and I can’t stop smiling.

I want to reach the end, the goal post of the concluding sentence- and yet, at the same time I don’t want to get there. Being lost in the world that I’ve been creating- the lives of my fictitious friends- is a comfortable place to be. The moment I place that final full stop in place I have to step back- remove myself a little from the world I’ve invented. And that is precisely where I am with the fourth in my Another Cup of… series- for today I have placed the last word of Another Glass of Champagne on the computer screen!

This distancing myself from my own creation is vital for the next stage of the novel. For the completion of the final sentence is far from the end of a the writing story. Now comes the redraft- the polishing- the editing- the objective overview of my work. It’s time to make sure that every word is perfect for the job it has to do, that all the story threads have been tied up, that the time scale between events is physically possible, and then to track down and remove as many typos as humanly possible!

So while the conclusion brings me a feeling of immense satisfaction – it also heralds in the next stage. A process I enjoy a great deal- Another Glass of Champagne is about to be edited to within an inch of its life…

Happy reading,

Jenny xx

Guest Post from Della Galton: The Morning After the Life Before

By Jenny Kane

On April 27, 2015

In Blog, Contemporary fiction, News

Writing The Morning After The Life Before was probably one of the worst commercial decisions of my writing career. I knew when I began it – after discussions with my agent – that this book would not be taken on by a big mainstream publisher. Why? Because they deemed its predecessor, Ice and a Slice, not suitable to be sold in a supermarket. They felt it ‘showed alcohol in a bad light’ and might upset their alcohol advertisers. Who knew that supermarkets had so much control over the publishing industry? Tongue firmly in cheek.

But… and this is a big but… Why do novelists write books? Love? Money? Fame? Well, for me, this one was a no brainer. It’s feedback from my readers. I have been touched beyond words by the number of people who have emailed and messaged me and left reviews on Amazon for Ice and a Slice. Thank you so much if you are among them.

Knowing you have written a book that has changed people’s lives – in a good way – and that has helped them to face their own demons is priceless. Many, many people asked me if I was writing a sequel to Ice and A Slice. In the end I simply couldn’t not write one. I wrote this novel for all of those people. Once again, I have used my own experiences – as well as researching thoroughly the bits I don’t know about. I do NOT – just for the record – know anything about being a dominatrix. Neither have I ever had a cocaine addiction. Or some of the other wackier things that happen in this novel. But I do know a lot about heartbreak and friendship and love.

Heartbreak and friendship and love are some of the themes that run through this novel.

Without giving too much away and spoiling the book for you – The Morning After the Life Before is about how SJ copes – four and a half years on – with sobriety when it seems as though the whole world – even God – is against her.

Will she even cope? Or will she cave in under the pressure?

I must admit I didn’t know the answer to this one when I set out.

And I’m not about to reveal the ending. But here is the beginning.

Chapter One

SJ gave a very deep sigh and glanced once more at the phone. For the last two hours and twenty-two minutes, not that she was counting, the phone had become the focal point of her front room. No, not just her front room – her entire life.

The phone had sat in its cradle on the table by the television. She had sat on the sofa next to it, flicking surreptitious glances at it, while pretending to read Cosmopolitan and occasionally getting up to check that the display was still working in case there was a power cut.

“What if there is a power cut?” she’d said to Penny when they’d done the handover. “I have the plug-in kind of phone – it won’t work unless it has power.”

“I wouldn’t worry – they’ll phone back.”

“But what if they don’t? I thought you said it’s a matter of life and death. What if they’ve spent the last three weeks plucking up the courage to phone the helpline and this is their final desperate plea for help and then no one answers because there’s a power cut. What if they die?”

“They might die anyway,” Penny pointed out, with unnecessary sharpness, SJ thought, considering she was only trying to get things right. And considering that Penny had actually said – when she’d been trying to persuade SJ to sign up for phone service – that the helpline was a matter of life and death.

“We are the fifth emergency service,” she’d said, a mite pompously, SJ had thought. Especially as she hadn’t bothered to explain what she meant. Clearly, as everyone knew, police, ambulance and fire were the first three emergency services. But what was the fourth? And why weren’t they the fourth?

It was slightly crushing to realise that the Alcoholics Anonymous helpline couldn’t be all that important. Not if they were only the fifth.

“What if I miss the phone ringing because I’m out of the room – say I’m in the bathroom?” SJ had asked.

“I thought you said you had a carry-around phone.” There was a gleam of triumph in Penny’s voice.

“Yes I do, but if there was a power cut I’d be using my back up phone. My in-case-of-emergency, old fashioned, plug-straight-into-the-mains phone, wouldn’t I? So I won’t be able to carry that around, obviously.” SJ sighed patiently and resisted the urge to add, ‘so what have you got to say to that then, Miss Goody Two Shoes, know-it-all, pompous Penny?’ Which she would have done without hesitation once when someone like Penny wound her up.

But which she couldn’t do now because she was no longer that person any more. She was no longer judgmental and impatient and prickly – which she’d only ever been because she was lacking in self-esteem obviously. These days, she was serene and calm and peaceful. Serenity was her middle name. She’d considered, in fact, making Serenity her actual middle name by deed poll. Only there didn’t seem much point because no one ever asked you what your middle name was anyway. And deed polls were probably expensive.

“Someone might be trying to get through right now while we’re talking,” Penny said wearily.

“Right. I see. Yes, okay. Point taken.”

“Someone might be dying right now. So maybe if I could just put the phone down, SJ? Please – if you’re ready to take over. Are you?”

“Of course. Sorry. Um bye.”

“Goodbye, SJ.”

Penny disconnected. The phone rang almost immediately and SJ was so surprised she dropped the handset. Then when she reached to pick it up she knocked over her cup of calming peppermint tea which was on the glass-topped coffee table between her and the phone. Oh crap. The phone was still ringing. The tea pooled across the glass and began to drip down the wooden leg.

Double crap. What if there was some raging, desperate, suicidal alcoholic on the other end of the phone? What if they were pissed off because they hadn’t been able to get through? What if they shouted at her? What if they were an utter maniac? Don’t judge, SJ. Deep breaths, in, out, in, out, in, out. Try to stay calm. Serene and calm is where it’s at. If you feel serene your voice will be serene. Nothing to it. She punched the green button with a finger, intending to say, ‘Yep,’ in that ultra-cool voice that ultra-cool receptionists – usually the ones that worked in PR and marketing companies – were fond of using.

What actually came out of her mouth wasn’t yep. It was yip. She tried again. “Yip, yep, yip, yap.” Oh crap. Now she sounded like the next door neighbour’s Jack Russell terrier.

“SJ it’s me.” Penny’s voice held a note of incredulity. “I’m just – er checking that the phone line transferred okay. “Is – everything all right?”

“It’s fine. Absolutely fine. Couldn’t be better. Sorry, I was practising my – um – my dog whisperer voice. I’m doing evening classes.”

“You’re doing evening classes in dog whispering!”

“Yep. I mean yip. Yip yip, yap, yippety yip – ha ha! What do you think?”

“Very – er – authentic, but do you suppose you could do it when you’re not answering the helpline?”

“Of course. Sure. Sorry.”

SJ disconnected and put her head in her hands, before realising belatedly that her elbows were now in a pool of peppermint tea. Fantastic. Why had she ever thought she could do this? She must be mad. She shouldn’t have volunteered. She should have contented herself with making tea at meetings or acting as treasurer. Even she couldn’t make too much of a hash-up of that. What did she know about giving up drinking anyway? What was she going to say to someone if they did phone up the AA helpline? Oh it’s easy – you just swap your vodka for a mug of peppermint tea. Nothing to it. No one was going to believe that, were they? Everyone knew it wasn’t easy to give up. Not when you’d been drinking on a daily basis for months, or years, or possibly even decades.

She’d only managed to give up because she’d had an utterly brilliant counsellor who she’d gone to see, week after week after week. And let’s face it she probably wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t also been utterly gorgeous and if she hadn’t also had the most humungous crush on him. Would she have given up drinking at all if she hadn’t fallen in love with her counsellor?

Ironically, it was the thought of the utterly gorgeous Kit that snapped her out of the beating herself up mood she’d fallen into. She cleared up the peppermint tea spillage – grabbed her iPad from the kitchen and found her latest To Do list. At the top of the page she wrote:

Things not to say when answering the AA helpline

Yip or yap, or yippety yip – or any possible derivative of the word yip.
Yep. (Mainly because it was very hard to inject a decent amount of empathy and sympathy and understanding into the word yep. Yes with a question mark would be better – or yeah if you stretched it out a bit or maybe even yo – that was a pretty cool word around youngsters, these days. Except that yo didn’t sound very sympathetic either. Yo dude – you gotta problem with your drinking? Hey that’s tough. And anyway she wasn’t exactly young. Forty-two might be the answer to life, the universe and everything – but as an age it was well over the hill. How on earth had she got to forty-two anyway?)
“Hello, this is the Alcoholics Anonymous helpline – how can I help?”

That would have made the most sense. But unfortunately she couldn’t say that in case it was her mother phoning, or her sister, Alison, or her best friend, Tanya. Not that her mother and her sister and Tanya didn’t know she was a recovering alcoholic. But there were people in her life, these days, who didn’t know. And it wasn’t the sort of thing she wanted to advertise when she answered her own phone. That was the trouble – she had no way of telling whether she was answering a call diverted from the helpline or whether it was someone who wanted to speak to her. It was a conundrum.

Although not that much of one because the phone hadn’t rung for – what – coming up for three hours now anyway. Soon her phone service shift would be over and she could go back to doing her housework or planning her Poetry and a Pint session. In fact, what the heck, why didn’t she do that now? What was she waiting for?

She had barely reached the door when the phone began to ring. SJ stared at it in surprise. She wasn’t imagining it, was she? It was ringing? She took a deep breath and strolled back into the room. This time she was going to get it right. She would be pleasant, polite, with a touch of concern. She would be relaxed, calm, the model helpline attendant. She felt her chest swell a little with pride at the thought. This was her chance to make a difference.

She picked up the phone. “Hello, can I help you?” Oh so simple – why hadn’t she thought of that before?

“Hello,” the girl’s voice was tearstained. “Is that the AA?”

“Yes it is.”

There was a small silence and SJ wondered if she’d sounded sympathetic enough. Maybe she’d been a bit matter of fact, or even abrupt. She sat back down on the sofa, pressing the phone close to her ear. “Are you okay?” she said softly.

“I don’t think I am,” said the girl and now she sounded so scared and so vulnerable that SJ forgot all about herself and how she was coming across and she just wanted to say something, anything that would help – even if it was only for a few moments, a few seconds.

“You’ve done the hardest part,” she said. “You’ve just phoned for help. You’ve made a phone call that could save your life. I know how hard it is to do that. I did it myself once.”

“Did you used to drink a lot then? I mean, really a lot. I don’t just mean wine. I mean, well, bottles and bottles of voddie?” The girl’s voice grew a little fainter and SJ realised she’d drawn away from the phone. She could hear sounds in the background, the clink of a bottle against a glass and the unmistakable glug of liquid.

“Are you drinking now?”

“No,” the girl said. There was a pause and SJ heard her swallowing and the slur in her voice when she spoke again. “No, I’m not drinking. I’m not phoning for myself. I’m phoning about a friend.”

“And is your friend able to come to the phone, honey?”

Another pause to swallow. “No – not really. She’s er… she’s asleep. Maybe when she wakes up.”

“Sure,” SJ said, knowing there was no friend. “So tell me about you. Are you okay?”

There was another long pause followed by a little beep and SJ realised as she held the phone away from her ear again that the display was blank – that the girl had hung up. She sat back on the sofa feeling terribly sad and also a little sick. So her very first call and she’d done nothing. Nothing at all. Somewhere out there was a very scared, very lonely, very drunk young girl and she – SJ – had been utterly powerless to help her.

***

And if you’d like to read on for a mere £1.99 – less than the price of a glass of Chardonnay! Please click here.

Thank you 🙂

***

Bio

Della Galton is a novelist, short story writer, and journalist. Writing is her passion.When she is not writing she enjoys walking her dogs in the beautiful Dorset countryside where she lives.

Ice and a Slice

The Morning After The Life Before

***

Many thanks Della, for a fabulous blog!!!

Happy reading,

Jenny xx

Coming Soon: The Tiverton Literary Festival

By Jenny Kane

On April 20, 2015

In Blog, Books For Children, Contemporary Romantic Fiction, crime, Historical fiction, News

Between the 3rd and 7th of June this year, Tiverton in Devon, will be hosting its very first literary festival!

I am delighted to be one of the organisers, along with fellow author Kerstin Muggeridge, and the town mayor, Susie Griggs.

When we took this venture on, we weren’t at all sure if any one would want to take part- how wrong we were! We have been so overwhelmed with authors wanting to take part that the festival has already expanded from being a two day affair to a five day celebration of books, reading, writing and the imagination.

Over the next few weeks I’ll be sharing more details about the festival, as we confirm more and more guests. But I can already announce a fantastic romance panel with the brilliant Julie Cohen, Rachel Brimble and Alison Rose, hosted by yours truly at the gorgeous Oak Room in Tiverton (3rd June, 7pm)

Julie Cohen

There will be an exclusive talk by the wonderful medieval murder mystery writer, Michael Jecks, about Devon in the Hundred Years War, at The Oak Room in Tiverton (4th June 7pm)

Michael Jecks

Saturday 6th June sees a jam packed day full of children’s stories, fancy dress competitions, a best selling author packed crime panel (with Simon Hall, Nicola Upson, Cal Moriarty and Clare Donaghue),- and then there is a family literary quiz at the Costa café on Bampton Street.

Simon Hall

There will be a number of workshops for writing fiction, screen writing, self publishing and children’s story writing, as well as much much more!

Keep an eye on the web site for all the latest events and the forthcoming ticket sales!!

Come back soon for more news!

Happy reading,

Jenny xxx

The Lovely Blog Hop!

By Jenny Kane

On April 18, 2015

In Blog, Contemporary Romantic Fiction, Historical fiction, News

The Lovely Blog Hop

I’ve been invited by the wonderful Rachel Brimble to join in the Lovely Blog Hop. This blog hop is intended to let you in on a few of the lesser-known things about my life that have helped make me who I am.

First Memory

At the risk of starting on a negative note- my earliest memory is of being hit by a car when I was 3 years old!! It was my own fault- I should not have been playing in the road. I vividly remember the smell of smoke and petrol as I was hit, and then waking up in Bristol Royal Infirmary with a broken collar bone, and a giant poster of Noddy and Big Ears on the wall opposite my hospital bed.

Books

It won’t surprise you to know that I adore reading, and my home is packed with books. With the exception of Horror and Dark Fantasy (I scare too easy!), I read all genres. I like the variety of reading one of Terry Pratchett’s Dicworld novels one week, and then a Carol Hedges Victorian mystery the next.

Although I occasionally read romance, I usually avoid reading the genres I write myself very often- too much like a busman’s holiday!

At the moment I’m reading The Strings of Murder by Oscar de Muriel

Libraries/Bookshops

My very first holiday job as a student was at Melksham Library in Wiltshire. I loved that job so much, that I went on to work for a large number of public libraries and a university library once I’d left education.Bookshops are dangerous places for me- I just want to buy everything! The very smell of them – the feel- the atmosphere. It’s so special. I love bookshops- it’s as simple as that!

What’s Your Passion?

Writing- no question. I’m not truly me unless I have got at least a few words written on a page first thing in the morning. I’m dreadful at taking holidays- I get so grumpy without my daily wordage!

Beyond the world of writing, I adore history- especially anything medieval. I have a lifelong obsession with Robin Hood!

Learning

I was very lucky to have the opportunity to do GCSE Archaeology while I was at school. This led to me taking Archaeology as one of my A’levels, and then for my degree at University.

My degree was the most amazing fun! I got to travel widely, and help excavate a range of sites. My moment of Indiana Jones style glory came when I was helping dig a Roman town in Wales. I was the first person to see, and then stand on, a pavement from a Roman forum for over 1000 years!

After my degree I was lucky enough to be able to indulge one of my main passions in life- Robin Hood- by doing a PhD on the subject!! (You can read some of my research in my novel Romancing Robin Hood!)

Writing

My first short story was published in 2005, in a book of erotic short stories (under the name Kay Jaybee). That tale was the first story I’d written since childhood, and I had no expectations of it being taken. If it hadn’t been accepted for publication, then perhaps I wouldn’t have tried to write another one- but here I am, ten years later, with 2 identities (Kay Jaybee and Jenny Kane), over 100 publications, both long and short, and 2 new novels on the way!!- Abi’s House (out June 2015) and Another Glass of Champagne (out Jan 2016)

***

Thanks for stopping by today! If you’d like to read some more on the lovely blog hop circuit, check out:

Laura Wilkinson- https://lauracwilkinson.wordpress.com/2015/04/15/my-lovely-blog-hop/

Happy reading,

Jenny xxx

Medieval Crime within a Contemporary Romance: Romancing Robin Hood

By Jenny Kane

On April 16, 2015

In Blog, Contemporary Romantic Fiction, crime, Historical fiction

Romancing Robin Hood is a contemporary romance all about history lecturer Dr Grace Harper, who is nuts about Robin Hood and the historical outlaws that may have inspired him. So not only does Romancing Robin Hood tell the story of Grace’s fight to find time for romance in her busy work filled life, it also contains a secondary story about the fourteenth century criminal gang Grace is researching- the Folvilles. This family, based in Ashby-Folville in Leicestershire, were a group I researched in-depth as a student many moons ago.

In the novella she is writing, Grace’s fourteenth century protagonist Mathilda is getting to know the Folville family rather better than she would have liked. As well as living with them, she suddenly finds herself under a very frightening type of suspicion.

I must confess I’m rather enjoyed weaving this sub plot around the main romance of the modern part of Romancing Robin Hood.

In my last blog I shared a little of the modern side of my time slip novel, Romancing Robin Hood. Today I thought I’d share a little of the medieval side of the tale.

***

Mathilda thought she was used to darkness, but the dim candlelight of the comfortable small room she shared at home with her brothers was nothing like this. The sheer density of this darkness seemed to envelop her, physically gliding over Mathilda’s clammy goose-pimpled skin. This was an extreme blackness that coated her, making her breathless, as if it was stealthfully compressing her lungs and squeezing the life from her.

Unable to see the floor, Mathilda presumed, as she pressed her naked foot against it and damp oozed between her toes, that the suspiciously soft surface she was sat on was moss, which in a room neglected for years had been allowed it to form a 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 out her arms 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, still clapped in irons, abandoned and rotting. Mathilda battled the voice down; knowing it that would do her no good at all. Her father had always congratulated Mathilda on her level headedness, and now it was being put to the test. She was determined not to let him down now.

Placing the very tips of her fingers against the wall behind her, she felt her way around. It was wet. Trickles of water had found a way in from somewhere, giving the walls the same slimy covering as the floor. Mathilda traced the outline of the rough stone wall, keeping her feet exactly where they were. In seconds her fingers came to a corner, and twisting at the waist, she managed to plot her prison from one side of the heavy wooden door to the other, without doing more than extending the span of her arms.

Mathilda decided the room could be no more than five feet square, although it must be about six foot 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 her determination to be brave, and the cold brought her suppressed fear to the fore. Suddenly the shivering Mathilda had stoically ignored overtook her, and there was nothing she could do but let it invade her small slim body.

Wrapping her thin arms around her chest, she pulled up her hood, hugged her grey woollen surcoat tighter about her shoulders, and sent an unspoken prayer of thanks up to Our Lady for the fact that her legs were covered.

She’d been helping her two brothers, Matthew and Oswin, to catch fish in the deeper water beyond the second of Twyford’s fords when the men had come. Mathilda had been wearing an old pair of Matthew’s hose, although no stockings or shoes. She thought of her warm footwear, discarded earlier with such merry abandon. A forgotten, neglected pile on the river bank; thrown haphazardly beneath a tree in her eagerness to get them off and join the boys in their work. It was one of the only tasks their father gave them that could have been considered fun.

Mathilda closed her eyes, angry as the tears she’d forbidden herself to shed defied her stubborn will and came anyway. With them came weariness. It consumed her, forcing her to sink onto the rotten floor. Water dripped into her long, lank red hair. The tussle of capture had loosened its neatly woven plait, and now it hung awkwardly, half in and half out of its bindings, like a badly strapped sheaf of strawberry corn.

She tried not to start blaming her father, but it was difficult not to. Why hadn’t he told her he’d borrowed money from the Folvilles? It was an insane thing to do. Only the most desperate … Mathilda stopped her thoughts in their tracks. They were disloyal and pointless…

…Does Mathilda seem miserable and scared enough? Grace wasn’t sure she’d laid the horror of the situation on thick enough. On the other hand, she didn’t want to drown her potential readers in suffering-related adjectives.

No, on reflection it was fine; certainly good enough to leave and come back to on the next read through. She glanced at the clock at the corner of the computer screen. How the hell had it got to eight thirty already? Grace’s stomach rumbled, making her think of poor Mathilda in her solitary prison.

Switching off her computer, Grace crammed all her notes into her bag so she could read over them at home, and headed out of her office. Walking down the Queen’s Road, which led from the university to her small home in Leicester’s Clarendon Park region, Grace decided it was way too hot, even at this time of the evening, to stand in the kitchen and attempt, and probably fail, to cook something edible, so she’d grab a takeaway.

Grateful it wasn’t term time, so she didn’t have to endure the banter of the students who were also waiting for associated plastic boxes of Chinese food, Grace speedily walked home, and without bothering to transfer her chicken chow mein to another dish, grabbed a fork, kicked off her shoes, and settled herself down with her manuscript…

***

Romancing Robin Hood – 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…

***

Buy Links

Available in e-format and paperback.

Amazon UK- http://www.amazon.co.uk/Romancing-Robin-Hood-Jenny-Kane-ebook/dp/B00M4838S2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1407428558&sr=8-1&keywords=romancing+robin+hood

Amazon.com- http://www.amazon.co.uk/Romancing-Robin-Hood-Jenny-Kane-ebook/dp/B00M4838S2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1407428558&sr=8-1&keywords=romancing+robin+hood

Kobo link – http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/romancing-robin-hood

Nook link- http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/romancing-robin-hood-jenny-kane/1121088562?ean=9781783754267

***

Happy reading everyone!

Jenny Kane xx

Robin of Sherwood Dreaming: Romancing Robin Hood

By Jenny Kane

On April 14, 2015

In Blog, Contemporary Romantic Fiction, crime, Historical fiction

Last night I enjoyed a rare moment of pure television indulgence- I watched the first two episodes of wonderful 1980’s television series, Robin of Sherwood with my teenage daughters. They bore up remarkably well with me pretty much quoting every line spoken before it came out the actor’s mouths!

Ever since I was a teenager I’ve had a serious outlaw obsession- all thanks to Robin of Sherwood. The moment I saw the first episode I was hooked- not just on the show, but on anything and everything to do with the legend. I watched every film and read every book on the subject of Robin Hood I could find. This interest lasted through my GCSE years, took me through an A’ level history project, a degree, and a PhD in Medieval ballad literature and crime!

For the past twenty years I’ve been looking for an excuse to go back through my old books- and with the writing of my latest novel, I found it. Although Romancing Robin Hood is 60% modern contemporary romance, the remaining 40% is a fourteenth century adventure. It was a real joy to read through all my old Robin Hood notes and relive the obsessions of my formative years.

Romancing Robin Hood – 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…

Here’s an extract from the modern part of the story to whet the appetite…

It was all Jason Connery’s fault, or maybe it was Michael Praed’s? As she crashed onto her worn leather desk chair Grace, after two decades of indecision, still couldn’t decide which of the two actors she preferred in the title role of Robin of Sherwood.

That was how it had all started, ‘The Robin Hood Thing’ as Daisy referred to it, with an instant and unremitting love for a television show. Yet, for Grace, it hadn’t been a crush in the usual way. She had only watched one episode of the hit eighties series and, with the haunting theme tune from Clannad echoing in her ears, had run upstairs to her piggy bank to see how much money she’d saved, and how much more cash she’d need, before she could spend all her pocket money on the complete video collection. After that, the young Grace had done every odd job her parents would pay her for so she could purchase a myriad of Connery and Praed posters with which to bedeck her room. But that was just the beginning. Within weeks Grace had become pathologically and forensically interested in anything and everything to do with the outlaw legend as a whole.

She’d watched all the Robin Hood films, vintage scenes of Douglas Fairbanks Jr and Errol Flynn, Richard Greene, Sean Connery, and Barry Ingram. As time passed, she winced and cringed her way through Kevin Costner’s comical but endearing attempt, and privately applauded Patrick Bergin’s darker and infinitely more realistic approach to the tale. Daisy had quickly learnt to never ever mention Russell Crowe’s adaption of the story – it was the only time she’d ever heard Grace swear using words that could have been as labelled as Technicolor as the movie had been.

The teenage Grace had read every story, every ballad, and every academic book, paper, and report on the subject. She’d hoarded pictures, paintings, badges, and stickers, along with anything and everything else she could find connected with Robin Hood, his band of outlaws, his enemies, Nottingham, Sherwood, Barnsdale, Yorkshire – and so it went on and on. The collection, now over twenty years in the making, had reached ridiculous proportions and had long since overflowed from her small terraced home to her university office, where posters lined the walls, and books about the legend, both serious and comical, crammed the overstuffed shelves.

Her undergraduates who’d chosen to study medieval economy and crime as a history degree option, and her postgraduates whose interest in the intricate weavings of English medieval society was almost as insane as her own, often commented on how much they liked Dr Harper’s office. Apparently it was akin to sitting in a mad museum of medievalism. Sometimes Grace was pleased with this reaction. Other times it filled her with depression, for that office, its contents, and the daily, non-stop flow of work was her life – her whole life – and sometimes she felt that it was sucking her dry. Leaving literally no time for anything else – nor anyone else. Boyfriends had come and gone, but few had any hope of matching up to the figure she’d fallen in love with as a teenager. A man who is quite literally a legend is a hard act to follow…

***

Buy links (Available in all e-formats and paperback)

Amazon UK- http://www.amazon.co.uk/Romancing-Robin-Hood-Jenny-Kane-ebook/dp/B00M4838S2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1407428558&sr=8-1&keywords=romancing+robin+hood

Amazon.com- http://www.amazon.co.uk/Romancing-Robin-Hood-Jenny-Kane-ebook/dp/B00M4838S2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1407428558&sr=8-1&keywords=romancing+robin+hood

Nook- http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/romancing-robin-hood-jenny-kane/1121088562?ean=9781783754267

Kobo- http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/romancing-robin-hood

***

I hope you enjoyed that little extract from my time slip novel.

Happy reading

Jenny

xxx

Guest Post from Jane Risdon: Life gets in the way

By Jenny Kane

On April 13, 2015

In Blog, Contemporary Romantic Fiction, crime, News

Today I’m welcoming a fellow Accent author to my site- the lovely Jane Risdon.

Over to you Jane…

Hello Jenny and everyone, thanks so much for this opportunity to introduce myself and to chat about my writing and blogging with you. I really appreciate it and I hope you will find something here of interest which might lead you to delve into my work a little further.

A little about myself for those of you who have not already made my acquaintance. I came to writing a little later than I had wished. I’ve always wanted to write, but you know how it is, life gets in the way.

When I was young – still at school – I met a young rock musician whose band came to live next door whilst they were in England touring; it was love at first sight but I was due to go overseas and so it was four years later, and a lot of trips back and forth to England to visit him, before we got together long enough to get married. By this time I had a career in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in London – I got a posting from Germany where I was working with the Ministry of Defence, to be near him eventually — so at least we got to spend some time together in the same country, and town, and sometimes even the same building now and again. Though we did share a house with some of his band in the early days. If you have a vivid imagination, let it wander….you won’t be far off the truth. My dreams of writing were put on hold. Someone had to have a regular income.

Later we ventured into the Music Business on the other side of the desk, and went into Artist Management, Production and Publishing. We managed Recording Artists, Song Writers, Record Producers, and Actors, for our sins, and we worked, travelled, and lived all over the world but mainly in Singapore, America, and Europe. So you can imagine touring with rock bands and spending months on the road, then months in recording studios trying to babysit a bunch of eighteen years olds, isn’t really conducive to writing, or anything else for that matter. Life as I knew it went flying past as I spent my time working hard to create and sustain success for our artists. Writing? Well, that was something I’d get round to one day.

I guess one of the good things to come out of my life experience working in the FCO and various other government-related jobs and within the International Music Business, is a wealth of stories. Stories about life on the road, and stories inspired by my time working within the corridors of Whitehall and stories about life in Hollywood living and working with the movers and shakers in the Movie and Music Industry. We worked with some of the most iconic people in those businesses and yes, I admit it, Pamela Anderson kissed my cheek and everyone told me not to wash for a week, and working on Baywatch was a blast; the guys liked it anyway. David Cassidy was a babe, Alice Cooper was a real gent, Gloria Estefan a star, Weird Al was a laugh, and working with the guys from Queen, was, well, an experience! Just name dropping a few to get you in the mood.

Having survived earthquakes, tornadoes, race riots in LA, fires, floods and mudslides, I am waiting for the plague of locusts, knowing my luck they are sure to come. So I knew that there was something out there, keeping me alive, so I could write.

I’ve always been an avid reader of Crime, Thrillers, Mysteries, and Espionage, so it is little wonder that when I eventually got the chance to have some time to myself, I found myself writing Crime stories, sometimes with an Espionage edge, and often with a musical theme as well. Write about what you know, right?

If it hadn’t been for an old friend, someone who is now a very successful writer in her own lunch-time, I might never have had the courage to go naked with my work. She was originally my husband’s Fan Club secretary – well, the group’s – and she was also a rock and pop journalist working on music magazines, interviewing rock stars, and writing for Jackie and Romeo and the like as well. Later she wrote books which became a huge hit with fans of romance and comedy, and she still is.

We got chatting about my stories and she was kind enough to read a load of them, and she loved them, some made her laugh, others made her cry and some made her nostalgic for the good old days of Rock n’ Roll. The cool thing is she encouraged me to carry on, and because of her I am now writing full time.

I started off with online publications in writing blogs which went down well with readers, so I even ventured into Flash Fiction which I must say I really love. Anyway, eventually some of my short stories were Pod-cast and soon people were asking me to write stories for anthologies in aid of various Charities. They were published in print and e-book formats and were well received. I was chuffed to bits. I have written for a couple of online magazines too. In the past the only magazines I’d written for were Music related.

You can find some of my Short Stories and Flash Fiction with Pod-casts, over on Morgen Bailey’s Writing Blog:

http://wp.me/p18Ztn-4ID Follow this and you’ll find links to my other work or just type Jane Risdon into Morgen’s search bar and lots of my work will pop up.

I don’t want you to think I just write short stories; I don’t, but more about that a little later if you haven’t dropped off and gone into a coma.

Blogging came to my attention and so I thought I’d have a bash at it as a means of reaching potential readers and also because I love writing. I get to write about anything I want and I do. I love photography so I try and add a few photos taken when I’ve been out walking, or visiting places. Last time I looked over 2,000 people were following me on WordPress. Get a load of that!

My WordPress Author Page is at: http://wp.me/2dg55

I also have a Facebook Author Page where the numbers are creeping up to 1,500, so I think I am doing something right.

My Facebook Author Page is at: www.facebook.com/JaneRisdon2

Through my blog I got to know another crime writer who is also an Assistant Professor of Creative Writing in the USA. She has been a wonderful support to me which I appreciate so much. In 2013 she asked me to contribute two crime stories to her anthology In A Word: Murder, which had to be set in the world of publishing.

In A word: Murder is in print and e-book – UK/USA links:

http://www.amazon.com/In-Word-Murder-An-Anthology-ebook/dp/B00GFXNZYE/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1383674275&sr=8-8&keywords=in+a+word%3A+murder

http://www.amazon.co.uk/In-Word-Murder-An-Anthology-ebook/dp/B00GFXNZYE/ref=sr_1_12?ie=UTF8&qid=1383674321&sr=8-12&keywords=In+word+Murder

Various award winning authors were contributing as well, so you can imagine the trepidation I felt putting my work alongside theirs.

To cut a long story short – I can hear the huge sigh of relief – my stories were well received. Dreamer – about a London based rock band in 1989 about to hit the big time when the big money was about to roll in, with a super-star American manager wanting to sign them, who wrote what suddenly becomes an issue, leading to murder. (Extract below!)

Hollywood Cover Up – about an English girl working as a PA to a big Hollywood mover and shaker who witnesses something at an Industry bash involving a Presidential candidate, and is fired from her job. Unable to find work she decides to write a novel based on her experiences, and soon she and her publisher are in mortal danger, not just from the Politician and the Hollywood elite, but from the Secret Service too, all wanting to prevent the publication of her book.

My work came to the attention of various publishers in 2014 and after a lot of thought and consideration I am now published by Accent Press Ltd. My first outing with them was in their Halloween Anthology, Shiver.

Shiver – links: http://t.co/qw98OdKs9C

Shiver on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUofhdwu8JE

My story ‘The Haunting of Anne Chambers,’ has been really well received with some fab comments on Amazon which has cheered me no end. This was my first real attempt at a Ghost Story and I set it in Cornwall where I’ve worked over many years with some of my artists. It’s about Pirates (privateers) Anne and Andrew who are lovers. They’re planning to run away together to a new life after one last raid. But when Anne is knocked out cold, she comes round to find that the world has changed disturbingly.

Wishing on a Star followed Christmas 2014 with my short story, ‘Merry Christmas Everybody,’ included.

Wishing on A Star – links: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Wishing-Star-seasonal-collection-stories-ebook/dp/B00PQL5H3I/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1416250379&sr=1-1-fkmr0&keywords=Wishing+on+a+Star+by+Accent+Press+Ltd

This story is based on true events with names etc., changed to preserve the dignity of those involved. There are tensions in the studio when Twister record their new album. The band members are at each other’s throats and someone is messing up their recordings. The band blames their producer, but it soon becomes clear that someone unexpected is trying to get a message of festive goodwill through to them….

If you haven’t dropped into a coma I shall add some further detail here about the full length books I am writing. As I said before I write mainly Crime/Mystery stories, although I have ventured into other genres from time to time. For the last couple of years I’ve been working on a number of projects, all in various stages of completion. I know, I know, I get it. I see many other authors publishing one, two, three books a year and here I am plodding along year after year without a full length book published. I’d hoped to have completed all my projects early last year but a fall down the stairs, Christmas 2012, put paid to that. I’ve been unable to spend too long writing as a result of breaking my shoulder and collar bones in a peculiar way. My consultant, a professor who is also an Army Colonel, says he’s never seen injuries like it on a lady of any age, and usually only on soldiers in combat or young lads coming off their Harley’s after doing the ton. When I do something, I do it well. Hence things are a little slower than expected. And following my operation saga, I am now having physiotherapy to get mobility and strength back in my left arm and shoulder.

Back to my main project. Ms Birdsong Investigates is a series I am working on. Lavinia Birdsong is a fortyish former MI5 Officer forced into ‘voluntary retirement,’ following a disastrous mission which included her now ex-lover and partner, on secondment from MI6. He got sent to Moscow and she ended up in The Vale of the White Horse, in the fictional village of Ampney Parva, where she is trying to keep a low profile, hiding from her enemies and her ex-lover, whilst also trying to make a life for herself. She can’t help herself, old habits die hard and soon she has her fellow villagers under surveillance, nothing heavy, just curiosity, causing her to keep notes on them and their activities. Lavinia soon finds herself investigating a missing woman. From the shifty playboy Solicitor to the Russian Oligarch in the early stages of Alzheimer’s; nothing is what is seems. Murder is afoot. Lavinia is in her element.

Ms Birdsong Investigates and a couple of other books I am working on in the series should, I hope, be finished later in the summer ready for publication, if my publisher likes the end product of course. You can find some information about my projects and writing, on my WordPress blog and of course the books I have been published in are available via Amazon. Sadly one book I contributed two stories towards, Telling Tales, in aid of charity, is no longer in print, but the other three are still on sale. Both books for Accent are available also. If you buy/read anything do please leave a comment on Amazon and my blog, I would really appreciate it and so would the other authors. I have an Author Page on Amazon with links to my work as well.

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B00I3GJ2Y8

I Guest Blog often and have been interviewed several times, and also written articles and you will find links on my Author page. I have a regular Guest Blogging spot on Creative Frontiers where I have 300 words, every fortnight, to come up with stories about my life and experiences in music. If you find yourself over there, do check them out and let me know what you think; they have a comments section.

Creative Frontiers: Parts 1: Snore Poison so I’ll remember it:

http://creative-frontiers.com/blog/writing-desk/snore-poison-ill-remember/

Creative Frontiers: Part 2: The Auditions: http://wp.me/p3YvQS-14Q

Creative Frontiers: I must have a criminal mind:

http://creative-frontiers.com/blog/profiles/must-criminal-mind/#comment-20529

I’ve got a blog spot over on Chill with a Book:

Chill with a book, blog spot:

http://chillwithabook.blogspot.com.es/2015/02/wishing-on-s

***

I have also contributed to the anthologies, Telling Tales Anthology by Writers for Welfare (http://www.lulu.com) and I Am Woman Anthology vol 1 (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Am-Woman-Anthology-Anthologies-ebook/dp/B00817P8DI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1427798013&sr=8-1&keywords=I+am+woman+volume+1)

***

Extract from my Short Story Dreamer published in In A Word: Murder.

Dreamer

(c) Jane Risdon 2013

No-one spoke, they couldn’t look him in the eye; instead they fidgeted and stared at the floor, the mixing desk, anywhere rather than register the hurt and shock on his face; anywhere other than confront the affect their duplicity had upon their now former band mate.

‘I formed this band, at school. I asked you to join me!’ Jake nearly choked, his throat tight and dry. He stared at his three best mates in the world, his band, disbelief all over his face.

‘Why?’ he almost sobbed, ‘What the hell’s going on?’ He held his Gibson to his chest as if it would comfort him, he never felt whole without it in his hands.

‘Nothing personal mate, you gotta believe that, we can still be mates.’ Bozz, pretty-boy lead singer, and last to join the band all those years ago tried to brighten his voice as if it would soften his words.

‘Nothing bloody personal, what is it then, eh? Tell me what’s not fuckin’ personal about being sacked from my own fuckin’ band?’ Jake’s voice broke and he turned away, fighting tears welling up.

‘They want someone more, well, you know, sexy.’ Rab said bashful all of a sudden. He carried on restringing his Warwick bass, determined not to see Jake’s hurt.

‘Sexy! Fuckin’ sexy? What the fuck?’ Jake couldn’t help yelling. ‘Don’t I pull enough is that it?’ He was outraged. ‘I get totty, more than plenty. What’s it gotta do with them or the friggin’ music anyway?’

‘The record company won’t sign us if you’re still in the band.’ Mickey twirled his sticks as he spoke. He was always the ambitious one and he was damned if he’d let personal allegiances get in the way of his chance to hit the big time. If the label wanted Jake to go, Jake had to go.

‘More of a showman sort of thing; the girls like that,’ whispered Bozz, ‘a proper axe-man.’

‘Won’t sign the band? Are you friggin nuts? I write the bloody songs.’ Jake towered over Mickey, the Gibson now resting against the SSL mixing desk, his fists at his sides, ready to strike. ‘Not enough of a …..? They saw the festival video; they loved it, that’s why they wanted us they said.’

‘They think you’re too static, you don’t move enough, and I think they’ve got a point,’ Mickey smirked, ‘you just ain’t sexy mate. As for pulling, well, you pull all right but you’re too scared to do anything about it, it doesn’t look good; you’re almost married, it’s not cool.’

‘I don’t fuckin’ pull…what about you then, eh Mickey? Who do you pull eh?’

Jake grabbed a nearby mic stand, swinging it at Mickey who ducked down in his seat just in time, ‘Hey, man, cool it!’

‘Seems they want us, Jake, not you,’ Rab looked up sheepishly, ‘and the video convinced them you don’t cut it live mate. They want a real axe-man, like Page or Townsend or Slash even…’

‘Yeah, sorry mate, after coming to all the gigs, that video did it,’ Bozz shrugged at his friend, glancing at the others, ‘they don’t think you’ve got it, we tried to change their minds, didn’t we?’

‘Right! I just bet you friggin’ did.’ Jake shook his long blonde curls and grabbed the mic stand again. ‘So what’s the deal then? Who’ve you got just happened to be waiting in the wings then, eh? Not that fucker from Dawn Treader?’ Jake stuck his face right into Mickey’s. ‘Yeah, that’s about right, that wanker’s always hanging around you isn’t he, Mickey – got well in has he?’

‘Cool it Jake.’ Their engineer/producer Bo Baldacci came into the studio, DAT copies of the final mixes for their label financed demo ready to hand over to the A&R manager at Gypsy Records. ‘Take that shit outside; I don’t want any aggro in here.’

‘So you’re some sort of bloody Freddie Mercury or Robert Plant, are you Bozz? That’s a friggin’ laugh! And don’t forget our ultra-sexy bass player, what a joke! Of course we’ve got Moonie on the drums, or is it John Bonham?’ Jake fumed.

‘If I’m out the band you can’t use my songs, so hand over all the mixes Bo, let them write their own fuckin’ songs, see how far they get then.’ Jake made a grab for the DATs and Mickey leapt up and smacked Jake in the face with his unopened can of Stella.

‘They’re not just your songs you pillock, we co-wrote them, you agreed; four-way splits on all the songs, so they’re not YOUR bleedin’ songs anymore!’ Mickey ducked as the mic stand headed his way again.

‘But Mickey, we never did…..’ Bozz didn’t finish as the mic stand whooshed over his head.

‘I’m taking them back; you’ll get nothing without them, nothing without me. I can prove they’re mine, you can’t.’

‘Cut it out!’ Bo shouted grabbing the mic stand as it narrowly missed his head as well. ‘Jake, haul your arse out of here, now!’

Jake held his face where Mickey had bashed him; eyes filled with hatred he grabbed his guitar case and placed his beloved Gibson inside. He took his book of lyrics off the desk and shoved it inside his back-pack. Bozz stared at the floor, totally gutted at what had just happened to his childhood mate. He really didn’t like this one bit. Rab shook his long brown hair, his face in his hands, seriously freaked by it all. But neither would rock the boat, ruin their chances, and miss out of the chance of a lifetime, however distasteful.

Only Mickey seemed to be fine with things, he glared at Jake, and then sat back down tapping out a rhythm on the arm of the sofa with his new Zildjian sticks. The band was getting sponsorship deals for their gear, arranged by the record company; lots of perks were coming their way. And not just perks; there were the advances from the record deal and the publishing to look forward to. Why should they lose out on all this because of Jake? Nope, he wasn’t going to miss out because of that stupid bastard. No way.

‘Go home Jake, I’ll get your stack to you and the rest of your gear tomorrow.’ Bo held the control room door open.

‘This isn’t the end, you bunch of shits; you’ll come crawling back when you need new material. Well screw you, screw the fuckin’ lot of you!’ Jake kicked the desk as he passed Bo…

***

A taster from my Short Story, Dreamer, which is included in In A Word: Murder and is available on Amazon. The anthology is in memory of Crime Writer, Editor and blogger Maxine Clarke and all proceeds go to The Princess Alice Hospice where she passed away.

I really hope you enjoyed my Guest Blog and the sampler from my story. I’d love to know your thoughts.

Thanks so much Jenny for allowing me this opportunity to connect with your readers. I really appreciate it.

***

Wow!! What an amazing life!!! Thank you ever so much for visiting today Jane.

Happy reading everyone,

Jenny x

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

Tag: jenny kane Page 62 of 74

Guest Post for A SPELL IN PROVENCE by Marie Laval: Little Time Bubbles

Guest Post from Jennifer Young: Looking For Charlotte Blog Tour

Writing Champagne, with a Coffee Cup to Hand

Novel Progress 6: Concluding

Guest Post from Della Galton: The Morning After the Life Before

Coming Soon: The Tiverton Literary Festival

The Lovely Blog Hop!

Medieval Crime within a Contemporary Romance: Romancing Robin Hood

Robin of Sherwood Dreaming: Romancing Robin Hood

Guest Post from Jane Risdon: Life gets in the way

Tag: jenny kane Page 62 of 74

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: