tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86697210988756041572024-02-20T18:35:01.209-08:00Mary Wood AuthorWelcome to my Blog Here you will find - News from my book world - Creative Writing Tips - and snippets I want to share - my maxim is:
'TO WRITE WELL IS AN ACHIEVEMENT'
'TO CRAFT YOUR WRITING TO PERFECTION IS TO ACHIEVE YOUR DREAM' Mary Wood - 2010.Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-35923123404405726682015-05-13T22:55:00.000-07:002015-05-13T23:05:25.826-07:00LAUNCH PARTY DETAILS FOR 'TO CATCH A DREAM!'<br />
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Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-5004335417283305392015-04-24T02:27:00.000-07:002015-04-24T02:27:14.418-07:00Moving on from Self-Publishing<ul class="post-list" id="post-list" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
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<span style="color: white;">So, you have self-published a book and are waiting for that big publisher to spot you? IT WON'T HAPPEN OVER NIGHT, SORRY.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1;"><span style="color: white;">You need to build yourself.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1;"><span style="color: white;">Very, very, very rarely does one book of fiction work the magic for you. It may take six or seven. So, if you fall at the first hurdle, get up and tackle the next one.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1;"><span style="color: white;">Each book will be a personal growth for you, and a massive step towards the career you seek. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1;"><span style="color: white;">With each book your following will grow as new people discover you and tell others about you. A one book pony is a non starter in the race, it will gallop a little of the course, but without stable mates that's it. Where does a reader go next if they have nothing more to look forward to from you? On to the next stable of an author that they enjoy just as much but can keep their hunger fed. It took five books for me to reach my winning post.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1;"><span style="color: white;">Number one galloped for a few paces, but number two galloped further, and brought up number one to its level, and so the process had begun, number five, won me a seven book publishing contract with Pan Macmillan, two new ones and my five back list. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1;">That is now complete and I have a new two book deal. So saddle up write down that tittle and start on your next novel. This is vital, </span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1;">you MUST move on to the next as the next will be your most valuable tool in promoting your first.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1;"><span style="color: white;">And your other valuable tool is to promote. Get and keep your name out there at all times, twitter, facebook, facebook ads, join writing groups on line, blog, you do it all, and do it for each and every book and don't stop doing it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: Helvetica Neue, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 12px;">For me the promoting has been the most rewarding, not just in furthering my success, but mostly because it has brought me contact with readers, who are now my friends and have enriched my life, something money and success cannot buy. But the one came in my quest for the other - the success bit anyway, which is the most important thing that I wish for my writing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 1;"><span style="color: white;">Good luck, you can do it. I'm betting on you for the biggest race of the season. </span></span></div>
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Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-85886372813381496662015-04-15T06:15:00.000-07:002016-03-07T09:19:47.910-08:00MEET ME UNDER THE CLOCK BY ANNIE MURRAY<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: orange;">HIGHLY RECOMMEND</span><br />
***** RATING<br />
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MEET ME UNDER THE CLOCK<br />
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A book that will draw you in and keep you enthralled. One that you won't be able to put down. </div>
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Annie Murray brings to life the war years of Birmingham through the eyes of two families living next door to each other.</div>
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You experience their struggles to keep food on the table, their losses, and the heartbreak of first love - never an easy path, but during wartime when more obstacles to happiness than usual are present, then love is a fragile emotion that has to be nurtured through letters. </div>
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Many, whose paths would never usually cross, are thrown together during war . War work makes this inevitable and it is so for sisters, Sylvia and Audrey.<br />
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Betrayal and courage are at the heart of this novel. As are complicated relationships, at a time when only the norm of boy meets girl is acceptable and all other liaisons are scandalous. </div>
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Bigotry of the natural all encompassing forbidden love that Audrey is drawn to when she joins the WAAF leads to her making the wrong choices, which in turn, brings her heartache and threatens to sever family ties forever. </div>
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Sylvia's heart is broken when the actions of a new friend she meets when she takes up war work as a porter on the railway, shatters her happiness. Only for her to have her life put back together again by someone she's known forever, the boy next door. However, 'missing in action' are terrible words and are like a never-ending sentence. When Sylvia reads them her heart is once more torn to shreds.</div>
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These sister's stories and the many sub-stories of their families will hold you riveted to the end, and then you will be left with a feeling that you have lost a whole group of best friends as you have to say goodbye to them. One to read over and over.</div>
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The lasting impression left with you is a hunger for more from Annie. But as this is Annie's 19th book, there are plenty to go at. </div>
Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-7512372750072912212015-04-07T09:21:00.000-07:002015-04-07T09:21:08.025-07:00SECRETS OF THE SINGER GIRLS<div dir="ltr" id="yiv1606610704yui_3_16_0_1_1428334060833_5308" style="font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
ONE NOT TO MISS</div>
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***** RATING</div>
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The Secrets of The Singer Girls - A novel it will take time to recover from as Kate Thompson takes you into the, sometimes harrowing, sometimes funny, and sometimes heart-warming world of the East End during world war two. Not a gentle stroll, but a gripping, emotional journey, dragging you into the lives of her characters in a way that will have you not wanting to let go of the world she has set you in. </div>
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Thompson's four main characters are women, diverse in age and in what has shaped them. They are so well drawn you feel you know them as they toil for long hours in a sewing machine factory, and lighten their lives by singing as they work. </div>
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Three of them are strangled by their own dark secret and find it difficult to move on with their lives. The fourth one has a dream to break free of the restrictions placed upon her. This leads her into making choices that take her down a heartbreaking path. </div>
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But despite living in fear of their secrets coming out, even to each other, and experiencing domestic violence and prejudice, and the taking of a wrong path, they remain strong and supportive of each other, protecting one another as best they can and endearing themselves to the reader.</div>
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It is when the secrets begin to crack open that the real devastation is felt and consequences have to be faced. Be prepared to be shocked by revelations you never guessed at, and thrown into a final turmoil of emotion, the outcome of which is hope for a brighter future for the women, but a sadness that you are no longer in their lives. A riveting, and wonderful read, that will have you looking out for each new book by Kate Thompson.</div>
Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-68523114234374174072015-03-15T23:36:00.003-07:002015-03-20T03:45:05.101-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>COMING SOON!</b></div>
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Paperback and ebook versions of:</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>TO CATCH A DREAM</b></span></div>
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To be published on <span style="font-size: large;">May 21st 2015</span> - Available: WH SMITHS AND ALL GOOD OUTLETS<br />
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<b>Can she follow her dreams when she has lost everything? </b>Young Bridie O'hara is torn away from her native Ireland by her father - a freedom fighter, turned traitor - when he has to flee the wrath of the Fenians. Violated by those who should protect her and betrayed by the dashing gypsy and lover Seamus Finney, she struggles to find her way in Victorian England.</div>
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Will Hadler is a kind, hard-working miner, whose love for Bridie knows no bounds. He rescues her from a life on the streets and offers her the chance of happiness, but the demons inside her never give her peace.</div>
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When Will takes Bridie to Breckton in Yorkshire, she meets and befriends the young Issy. A strong young woman, she triumphs over adversity, but her quest to save Bridie, and Bridie's daughter Bridget from the consequences of her mother's actions, proves a step too far. </div>
Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-85501486669228500362015-02-22T11:43:00.000-08:002015-04-13T03:24:22.554-07:00<br />
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AVAILABLE IN WH SMITHS AND ALL ON LINE STORES<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Proud-You-Mary-Wood-ebook/dp/B00LB89RNG/ref=pd_sim_kinc_3?ie=UTF8&refRID=17JR4ESGJ9C919VXM5JF" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Proud-You-Mary-Wood-ebook/dp/B00LB89RNG/ref=pd_sim_kinc_3?ie=UTF8&refRID=17JR4ESGJ9C919VXM5JF</a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
EXCERPT OF CHAPTER ONE</div>
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They’d pulled it
off. No one had noticed she wasn't a man. But now, with the shrill whistle of
Luftwaffe aircraft diving towards them in wave after unrelenting wave, she
questioned her sanity in persuading Bren to let her come with him to Dunkirk.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
‘Come on, hold my hand . . .’<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The desperate soldiers, neck-high
in freezing water, didn't care that the voice urging them to make one last
effort to climb into the boat belonged to a woman. Exhausted, terrified and
near to death, they found the strength from somewhere to clamber over the side.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The glow of a thousand fires lit the face of the next in
line. She looked into his eyes and saw them glaze over. They were young eyes
and fearful in the knowledge that he wasn't going to make it. ‘Just take my
hand. Come on, you can do it . . . Please – no, no, don’t give up. You’re safe
now . . . Help me, someone help me!’ No one heard her as the crashing
explosions <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">all around them
drowned out her voice. His grasp loosened. The blood-filled water folded over
his face.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.05pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;">
Tears ran down her cheeks. They
mingled with the stinging sea spray. She’d failed him . . . <i>Oh God!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
‘’Ere, give me a hand, mate. ’Elp me
. . .’<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
The plea jolted her back from her
desperation. She had to keep going. Taking the outstretched hand with both of
hers and putting her foot against the side of the boat, she hauled with every
ounce of strength she had, until the soldier could grasp the side and slither
into the boat.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Leaving him, she turned back to
the water. Another hand reached for her, and behind him yet another. The line
of men had an end. It trailed back to the beach, where thousands of battle-worn
soldiers waited – sitting targets for the machine gun fire ripping through them,
making their bodies dance even after they had fallen.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
The futility of it all sapped her
strength until she felt herself folding with despair, but a voice stopped her
desolation. ‘I’ll take over, lass. Move over, get below for a bit. I’ll get
them in. I’m Corporal Moisley, Yorkshire Regiment. Some of me muckers are in
the line. How many can you take on board?’<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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‘Fifteen.’ <i>Such an inadequate number</i>. ‘Thanks. I’m Alice . . . Alice
D’Olivier.’<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
His face held a look of
astonishment, before changing to one of disgust. She was used to that. Her name
often provoked such a reaction.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 13.85pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 13.85pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;">
But then, just as if she hadn't spoken, he turned from her
and carried on where he’d left off, discussing the business in hand. ‘Well, I
reckon as this one’ll do it, then. Come on, Barrowclough, hitch yourself up.
Good lad. You made it.’ To the others, in a voice that might have been turning
them away from a football-stadium turnstile instead of a chance to survive, <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">he shouted,
‘Sorry, lads. But there’s more boats coming. A reet Armada of them. You’ll
catch the next one. Keep encouraging those behind you – good lads! Tell them
I’ll be back with the skipper on his next trip, as this young lass here is a
toff and out of her depth.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
The way he said ‘toff’ stung
Alice and confirmed her suspicions that the disgust she’d seen in his look
meant he must have heard of her father. Would she ever live down the shame?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
She didn’t want to berate him for
the insult – she’d allowed so many jibes over the years, unable to challenge
them. So what did one more matter? Instead she went to thank him, but the words
were subsumed into a blast that blocked her ears, leaving high-pitched sounds
zinging around her trembling body. The violent motion of the boat flung her
onto her back. Others landed near her; one fell onto her feet. As the motion
steadied they lifted themselves up. In the distance behind them flames engulfed
a huge ship. A gaping hole showed where its guts had been ripped out, by what could
only have been a mine. Wood and steel screeched as the water devoured it. Men
screamed the agony of a burning hell. At that moment the thought came to her
that the world was coming to an end. <i>Oh,
God, help them, help them . . . help us all . . .</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
A hand shoved her. ‘Get yourself
to the skipper. Tell him we’re ready for the off. Go on, there’s nowt as we can
do for them.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Pushing through the men slumped
on the deck, Alice made it to Bren’s side. ‘We’re full. We need to go.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘Oh, my darling, you shouldn’t
have come. I shouldn’t have given in.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.05pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.05pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;">
The endearment grated on her. She didn’t want it. Nor did
she want to see his hurt as she rejected his outstretched arm wanting to pull
her to him. The edge of her irritation showed <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">in her voice as
she shouted, ‘This isn’t the time, Bren! Just get us out of here. Please.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 68.6pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
‘There never
will be a time, will there?’ She didn’t answer this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Bren reacted by taking on a
professional stance. Handing her a torch and compass, he said, ‘Right, I know
my way along the coast to where the naval officer said we should head for, but
once we get to buoy six, you’ll have to take over the navigation from there. He
said we were to turn nor’west on a direct course for Dover.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
‘How far is it, Skip?’ Moisley’s
voice came from behind her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘It’s thirty-nine nautical miles,
according to my information.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
‘Reet. Have you any refreshments on
board, or fags maybe?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘We have both. Though whether
there’s enough or not is another matter. Alice will show you where they are,
Corporal <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
. . . ?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘Moisley. We met up on deck. He
helped me to get the last of the men in the boat. Follow me, Corporal. The
galley is down here.’ Holding the rail and swinging her body downwards, Alice
found the steps with her feet. ‘I can make tea,’ she told him, ‘but we only have
four mugs, so the men will have to pass them round. We have sandwiches, and . .
. and smoked salmon, a salad, cold potatoes . . .’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
‘Toff’s grub, eh?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
‘I take it you know who my father
was?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘Aye, and more of your family.
But it’s a long story, and I ain’t for telling it now.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘I can’t imagine how you can
possibly know any other members of my family! I accept that you have heard of
my father – everyone has – but I am not my father, Corporal. He <o:p></o:p><span style="text-indent: 0cm;">. . . he died the year I was born. I have
no memory of him.’ </span><i style="text-indent: 0cm;">And the memories I tried to make up were
tainted and destroyed when I found out what he had done. Will I ever come to
terms with it all? </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 0cm;">Shaking this thought away, she was determined not to
lose her dignity in front of this man, who already held her in disdain. Instead
she set about gathering what they would need for the tea. ‘There’s some tobacco
in that drawer. We took a minute to buy plenty before we left, guessing it
would be the first thing the men would want.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
He ignored her attempt at a
smile. His insolence made her angry, and she found anger a better companion
than the thoughts of her father or the fear of their situation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Trying to make tea with the boat
rocking precariously from side to side took all her attention. Water ran around
her feet. Looking down, she saw about an inch swirling around, but it wasn’t
enough to worry about. The lamp she’d lit after pulling the blinds down creaked
as it swayed, but thankfully the noise of the battle raging behind them was
lessening, though it didn’t wipe itself from her mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Moisley left her, his hands
filled with packets of tobacco and papers. Picking up the matches, she caught
up with him and shoved them into his pocket.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘You may not be your da, but
you’re still of him – and that’s enough for me to hate the guts of you,’ he
said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.35pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;">
A sob racked her throat. The tears followed. Tears of
stupid, bloody hurt pride. Wiping them away, she was determined not to give in.
If she did, she’d be lost.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.05pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
The day had started out with the excitement
of being with Bren. He’d asked her to accompany him on a trip on his boat to
Henley. ‘We’ll take a picnic, and I have a surprise for you,’ he’d said. His
voice had held an expectation that told her he meant to propose. She had
thought if it was that, she could <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">handle it – even
hoped that she would have a spark in her that would enable her to accept. But
with the scuppering of their plans, none of it had mattered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
The order had come whilst they
were filling the cupboards in the galley with food. The owner of the local
boat-building yard had called out to Bren, ‘Not a good day for messing about on
a boat, sir. I’ve bad news, I’m afraid.’ Explaining further, he’d told
them he’d been charged with letting the owners know that the Navy was
commandeering all shallow-draught boats. The Allied forces in France were
retreating and were trapped on the beaches of Dunkirk. ‘Everything and anything
that can float is needed to get them off,’ he’d said, and then told them,
‘There are upwards of three hundred thousand of them, sir. A disaster.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Fear had dried her throat. If the
forces had failed to keep back the Germans in France, then the invasion of
their shores must be imminent!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Bren saying he would go and help
with the evacuation had overridden her fear and given her a way to try and wipe
out the stigma of her father’s name. She would go too; she’d show that not all
D’Oliviers were cowards.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
None of Bren’s arguments had
dissuaded her. Running to the boatyard owner’s office, she’d telephoned home,
leaving a message with her mother’s maid to say that she would be staying at
Bren’s overnight. There had been no need to say more, as her mother wouldn’t
care one way or the other. Bren had phoned his own mother. Telling her the
truth, he’d begged her to keep up the charade of the overnight stay.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: #181717; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 111%;">When they reached Ramsgate a naval engineer had met them and told them
they were to leave the boat and allow Navy personnel to take </span>it from there. Bren had stood firm, telling them, ‘I’m
Brendon Wellingham – Officer Wellingham. <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">Completed my
training at the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth last week. On leave for three
weeks awaiting deployment. This is my yacht, and I am taking her over myself. I
have an experienced mate with me.’</span><div>
<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
The engineer had looked over at
her. She’d prayed that her huge sou’wester and the height of a man hid the fact
that she was a woman.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Saluting and clipping his heels
in respect for Bren’s rank, the naval engineer told them they would be given
their orders when they reached Dover. But before they were allowed to set sail,
their boat had to be checked over by him and his team and passed as seaworthy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
As he’d left them, Bren had
turned to her and asked, ‘Alice, do you think you can march?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘I should be able to,’ she’d told
him. ‘You drilled me enough when we played military games as children.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
The lightness of this statement
hadn’t moved him from his anger at her. He just said, ‘Well, do so as we walk
over to the mess-hut, otherwise the men will cotton on that you’re not a man.
I’ll be in all sorts of trouble if they do!’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
This had been the longest
sentence Bren had uttered to her since they had left his mooring on the Thames.
But she knew that he dealt with his feelings by remaining silent, so she had
accepted it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.05pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;">
His anger with her hadn’t just been because of her
stubbornness in asserting her right to come with him on this mission, but
encompassed his need to change their lifelong friendship into something deeper.
She wanted that to happen too, and had been determined to try, but it wasn’t
easy for her to accept love, or to give it, not even to Bren. And yet Bren was
her life. For most of it he’d been the only normal presence she’d known, and
his weekly visits when they were <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">children had been
the one good thing she’d had to look forward to.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Those visits were something
Mother couldn’t stop happening, though she often threatened to. Threats, Alice
knew, along with all the other cruelty she’d suffered at her mother’s hand,
were Mother’s way of punishing her for being who she was – her father’s
daughter! But in all this Alice had an
ally. Lady Elizabeth, Bren’s mother and the only friend Mother had left – and
didn’t want to lose – had insisted on Alice and Bren spending time together.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Although reverting to her
pre-marriage title of Lady Louise Fuller, Mother had never been fully accepted
back into the society from which she’d been ostracised when her husband’s
wrongdoing to his king and country had been made public. The only real contact
with society that she’d had, and the only chance of getting the occasional
invitation, had lain with Lady Elizabeth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Alice often wondered if Lady
Elizabeth had realized what was going on. If she had, surely she would have
intervened and stopped the cruelty? She had to believe that Lady Elizabeth
hadn’t known, and remained grateful to her for accepting that a child should
have at least one friend, and for making sure her son was allowed to visit each
and every Saturday afternoon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Bren and his mother had been her
sole contact with the outside world in those days. Never leaving her house and
garden, she had been brought up by her nanny and schooled by her governess, and
rarely even had a chat with the servants scurrying around her large home, which
stood on the border of Bexley’s Danson Park in south-east London.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
When that wonderful day had come
for her to leave home and go to boarding school, parting from Bren had broken <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">Alice’s heart and marred her joy. But she
had found her school </span><span style="color: #181717; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 111%;">in Belgium to be both a release from the horrors of her home life and a</span><span style="color: #181717; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 111%;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0cm;">bringer of new
experiences – not least the language used, which alternated between French and
German, with very little English being spoken. It had taken her a surprisingly
short time to adapt to that aspect, but a little longer to adjust to life in
what had been to her a strange environment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
At first afraid of everybody and
everything – and in particular the noise made by hundreds of children – she
had grown in confidence over time. She’d become a leader, and had been popular
with the other girls. Holidays had been spent in France with her father’s kin,
her Uncle Philippe and his family, and her ancient grandmother – a woman who
had taught Alice that she had a backbone and that she had to strengthen it in
order to deal with life’s knock-backs. It had worked: she’d found a way of
dealing with everything. At least she’d thought she had, until at eighteen
she’d returned and met up with Bren again. Oh, they’d picked up the threads of
their bond easily enough, and had found them woven just as tightly as if they’d
never been apart, but there had soon been challenges to the foundations of that
friendship as other feelings started to develop. But she wouldn’t think about
them now. They spoiled what had always been so simple, and made it all
complicated.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Bren had grown from the shy,
gangly ginger-haired boy she’d known into a tall, handsome man. They’d always
been the same height as children, but he now stood a couple of inches taller
than her, at six feet. His hair had darkened to a rust shade and suited the
short-back-and-sides that the Navy had given him, making his strong features,
square chin and freckled complexion all the more defined.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.05pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;">
He’d chosen to take up a career as a doctor and was in his
fourth year when war was declared last September, and he’d <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">been called up.
He’d omitted to tell the naval officer at Dover that his training in sea
warfare had been limited to a few weeks for fear of them refusing him
permission to go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
He was to continue his training
in the medical field with the Navy working in the naval hospital in England at
first and then later wherever he was needed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Alice had gone on to work in the
War Office as a secretary and driver to General Stuart Westlin, a key figure in
the talks leading up to that fateful day last September when Britain had
declared war on Germany. But although Westlin had played a significant role in
the planning of the Allied forces’ cooperation in this initial defence of
France, she wasn’t sure of his role at present. It seemed less defined, as
greater responsibility had been given to a team of coordinators of which he was
a part. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
The generals made decisions together, and all decisions had to be
passed by the PM; only an elite few had a specialized area. The secrecy was
such that leading up to the outbreak of war all personnel at the War Office
were conscripted into the Army and had to swear an oath of allegiance. Most,
like herself, held the rank of officer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
As if tuning into her thoughts,
Bren took the mug of tea she offered him now and asked, ‘What is Westlin’s view
of this retreat, Alice? Did you know the scale of the rescue operation that
would be needed?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘No, there was no talk of an
evacuation. I knew, like everyone, that the Germans were pushing us back and we
were struggling to stop them, but this is a disaster!’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘That’s an understatement. God,
those poor chaps! I’ll have to go back for more, once we get these unloaded.
But, Alice, no matter what you say, you’re not going back with me. <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">Moisley has offered, and I think that
best.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 13.5pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘I agree. I haven’t the strength
to give it another go. It wouldn’t be fair. Has Moisley said anything to you?’<span style="color: #181717; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 111%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<span style="color: #181717; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 111%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
‘About what?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
‘Oh, you know . . . about me and
about my father.’ ‘No, why should he? How can he possibly know anything? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
Let it go, Alice.
For God’s sake, let it go.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Turning from him, she wished it
was that easy, but what her father had done had driven her whole life from the
age of ten, when she had first been told. The trembling started at this
thought, and she fought against the memories that were surfacing, but that
never helped. As she sat down on a bench next to the helm, they possessed her
once more, filling her with loathing and disgust as she relived how her mother
had disclosed the truth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
‘You are your father personified.
That disgusting, disgraceful man lives in you and makes you as evil as he was!’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
She’d stood, bewildered and stinging
from the constant assault of slaps that her mother meted out as she said this,
taking her punishment for whatever imagined misdemeanour she was thought to
have committed and telling herself, <i>Mother
isn’t well in her head. I have to remember that</i>. And she had also to
remember that her own birth had been the cause of Mother becoming unbalanced.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
She’d learned this from their
doctor. In an effort to help her to understand, he’d told her, ‘The difficult
pregnancy and birth, and all she endured during it, has left your mother
mentally sick. She cannot help her outbursts, Alice.’ It was as if this made it
all right that her mother knocked her about until she was almost senseless.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
This talk had come after the
doctor had been fetched, following a violent attack that had left Alice
unconscious. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.15pt; margin-left: -.75pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;">
She’d learned afterwards that he’d told the
household and <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">garden staff that
they should look for the signs of Mother becoming agitated and keep Alice out
of her sight until the bout passed – and that was it, that was all the
protection she had been offered. There was to be no other help for her. And
worse was to come.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt; text-indent: 0cm;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Being hit and abused became a
normal everyday occurrence in her life. Nanny had done it too. Huh! There was
never a more inappropriate title for the woman whose graveside she’d stood
beside only weeks after the most shocking revelation of her life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Although Alice had stood with
dignity and made herself look as if she was sorry, inside she’d been cheering.
She’d even imagined dancing on the woman’s grave, scattering the flowers with
their kind endearments written on little cards. And the thought of doing so had
lifted her, for never again would that evil woman be able to vent her cruel
streak on her, or do those vile things to her body.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
Nanny starting to abuse her and
Mother spitting out the truth of her hatred for Father, during a particularly
violent and vitriolic attack, had both happened on the same day. ‘Your father
was a traitor! A filthy rotten traitor to his country. And he was shot! Shot by
his own regiment for giving information to the Germans – information that led
to the death of thousands in the Great War. The dirty womanizing coward!’ For a ten year old this had been hard to take in, but she had understood what was meant by the word 'traitor' and the information had shaken her world</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -.75pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.75pt; text-align: center;">
STORY OUTLINE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.75pt; text-align: left;">
Alice is recruited into the Special Operations Executive, and elite secret agent force who work with Resistance groups behind enemy lines, She is sent to Paris where she meets Gertrude, and ex-prostitute who is also working for the Resistance Movement. together they discover that they have a connection to the same man, a man shot as a traitor in the First World War.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.75pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.75pt; text-align: left;">
Gertrude is working under cover for a top German Officer. Her remit is to prostitute herself to him to discover planned operations and movement of troops. But Gertrude makes the terrible mistake of falling in love with him - this forbidden love leads to heartache and threatens her life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.75pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.75pt; text-align: left;">
Alice too finds love for the first time with Steve, a fellow SOE, Their capture leads to their separation. Alice escapes, but it is not known if Steve does. Lifted out after reaching safety, Alice is taken to a hospital for wounded officers where she meets Lil, a nurse, and a working-class northern girl. Though worlds apart, Alice and Lil form a deep friendship, and Alice discovers Lil has a connection to her too. She is the wife of Corporal Moisley. Remembering that man's treatment of her on her rescue mission to Dunkirk, Alice is shocked to discover that Moisley is the illegitimate, and shunned son of her uncle. Moisley harbours a bitter grudge against all with the name D'Olivier.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.75pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: -0.75pt; text-align: left;">
Soon the war irrevocably changes Alice, Gertrude and Lil as they are thrust into a world of heartache and strife beyond anything they have had to endure before. Not all of them make it, and those that do have to reconcile the past with the present. Justice is sought and found, but is it too late? Or will the betrayer prevail and leave disaster and heartbreak in his wake?</div>
</div>
Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-14625506556600187832014-08-16T08:36:00.000-07:002014-08-31T02:11:14.093-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-9669812475091956702014-07-19T02:13:00.002-07:002014-07-19T02:13:27.849-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"><b>TIME PASSES TIME</b></span><br />
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Available in PAPERBACK from: WH SMITHS - MORRISONS SUPERMARKET - THE BOOKSHOP KIBWORTH - PLACKITT & BOOTH LYTHAM AND ALL GOOD BOOK STORES AND AT:</h3>
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<span style="background-color: purple;"><span style="color: white;"><b>She found love and courage in her darkest hours. A thrilling saga love story by top ten Kindle bestselling author, Mary Wood. <i>Time Passes Time</i> is perfect for fans of Margaret Dickinson, Pam Weaver and Lily Baxter.</b><br /><br />TIME PASSES TIME: THERESA'S WAR. It is 1941, and the world is at war. Young Theresa Compton is left devastated after giving up her illegitimate child and joins the Special Operations Executive, an organisation of undercover agents working behind enemy lines. Her mission is to assist a Resistance group run by the handsome Pierre Reuben and it is not long before they fall in love. Soon Theresa becomes pregnant but circumstances tear Pierre and the child from Theresa.<br /><br />In London, 1963, an older Theresa is haunted by her experiences during the war. In her damaged mind, the past tangles with the present and Theresa soon feels she has to make a terrifying decision. Her long-lost children are seeking answers. Will Theresa be reunited with them, before it's too late?<br /><br />A thrilling saga love story by top ten Kindle bestselling ebook saga author, Mary Wood. <i>Time Passes Time </i>is perfect for fans of Margaret Dickinson, Pam Weaver and Lily Baxter.</span></span><br />
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Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-68820015386489560132014-07-12T10:08:00.000-07:002014-07-12T10:08:46.144-07:00In conversation with Fiona McVie<br />
<br />
http://authorsinterviews.wordpress.com/2014/07/03/here-is-my-interview-with-mary-wood/Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-29712312919137387112014-06-29T23:45:00.001-07:002014-06-29T23:45:56.504-07:00<span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">NEWS FLASH!!!! BOOK TOUR....BOOK TOUR...</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 25.67999839782715px;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">TIME PASSES TIME<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 18pt; line-height: 25.67999839782715px;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">BOOK TOUR 2014</span></span></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQW2Zv1VIMP4QWGeqsc8FTWzT-NT904nVamwJofiRttkYuUj9NxaQDRnR2VZv8xHC4b6tU16jEmHP6kH8TUzKGKpancjMUBHlBzTHdkCDzU_oScb0mLJdDJmzMJqnxKJdYMmYnL-DVpy8/s1600/bookmark+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQW2Zv1VIMP4QWGeqsc8FTWzT-NT904nVamwJofiRttkYuUj9NxaQDRnR2VZv8xHC4b6tU16jEmHP6kH8TUzKGKpancjMUBHlBzTHdkCDzU_oScb0mLJdDJmzMJqnxKJdYMmYnL-DVpy8/s1600/bookmark+(2).jpg" height="320" width="167" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #351c75; font-size: 19px; line-height: 19.97333335876465px;"><b><span style="color: white;">THE TOUR HAS BEEN AMAZING SO FAR - HERE ARE THE DATES FOR THE 'LAST LEG OF THE TOUR' </span></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: red; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.973331451416016px;"><span style="color: white;">JULY 2014</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.973331451416016px;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.973331451416016px;"> MAIDSTONE – WH SMITH 10 – 2PM<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.973331451416016px;">BRIXTON – WH SMITHS 10- 2PM<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.973331451416016px;">STAINES – WH SMITHS 10 – 2PM<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b>TIME PASSES TIME</b><br />
<b><br /></b><b style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: cyan; font-size: large;">She found love and courage in her darkest hours. A thrilling saga love story by top ten Kindle bestselling author, Mary Wood. <i>Time Passes Time</i> is perfect for fans of Margaret Dickinson, Pam Weaver and Lily Baxter.</span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /></b></span><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>TIME PASSES TIME: THERESA'S WAR. It is 1941, and the world is at war. Young Theresa Compton is left devastated after giving up her illegitimate child and joins the Special Operations Executive, an organisation of undercover agents working behind enemy lines. Her mission is to assist a Resistance group run by the handsome Pierre Reuben and it is not long before they fall in love. Soon Theresa becomes pregnant but circumstances tear Pierre and the child from Theresa</b></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span><span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>A THRILLING SAGA THAT SPANS THE WAR YEARS AND BEYOND AS AN OLDER THERESA BATTLES WITH A TANGLED MIND AND HER LONG LOST CHILDREN TRY TO FIND HER.</i></b></span></span><br />
<i><span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="background-color: cyan; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">FOR THERESA THERE IS A FINAL DECISION TO BE MADE, FOR HER DAUGHTER AND HER SON, THERE IS THE DISCOVERY OF EACH OTHERS EXISTENCE AND HEART-RENDING QUESTIONS TO BE ANSWERED</b></i></div>
Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-39606257610711864392014-06-11T02:23:00.000-07:002014-06-11T02:24:21.383-07:00BOX SET OF THE BRECKTON TRILOGY<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">THE BRECKTON TRILOGY</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;">ALL THREE BOOKS IN A BOX SET</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">BOOK ONE</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">TO CATCH A DRE</span><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">AM</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">BOOK TWO</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">AN UNBREAKABLE BOND</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">BOOK THREE</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">TOMORROW BRINGS SORROW</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5ZrVLIjEZudbbWYJKFflbD37nJOxEoJzAtl_Q86QXpZhSwurk7O7WHmDIeacde6d4hDvEhhaxNvD3bVfxcCpBZgG_tBM_qOJiUlsmKD3L4vMOnDw7tVGZwHDEeBbvjRFrJmCP-mX6Rc/s1600/TBTboxset+(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5ZrVLIjEZudbbWYJKFflbD37nJOxEoJzAtl_Q86QXpZhSwurk7O7WHmDIeacde6d4hDvEhhaxNvD3bVfxcCpBZgG_tBM_qOJiUlsmKD3L4vMOnDw7tVGZwHDEeBbvjRFrJmCP-mX6Rc/s1600/TBTboxset+(3).jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Breckton-Trilogy-Three-Books-ebook/dp/B00DX87IAQ/ref=pd_sim_kinc_2?ie=UTF8&refRID=1CPVW49BKEQKTHG5FMN7</span></div>
Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-21613880046549705472014-06-11T02:17:00.001-07:002014-06-11T02:17:17.507-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;">JUDGE ME </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;">NOT</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiUZ2kirvEU1o0yfnhwlCDpv29zd1WEVDgPFZXRQ9UGyZOMaJwyFSA5jjMNLvZhezWOj85bACMuNw19ckXCkMWvN5gioFOeL6EtUuZBc5qvmiEeYnssnY7OS8-l45rAw4sWjHyqu4Ic4/s1600/judge+me+not+cover++to+keep(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiUZ2kirvEU1o0yfnhwlCDpv29zd1WEVDgPFZXRQ9UGyZOMaJwyFSA5jjMNLvZhezWOj85bACMuNw19ckXCkMWvN5gioFOeL6EtUuZBc5qvmiEeYnssnY7OS8-l45rAw4sWjHyqu4Ic4/s1600/judge+me+not+cover++to+keep(3).jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: purple;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Judge-Not-Cotton-Mill-Saga-ebook/dp/B00EBFQG8K/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1387616725&sr=1-1&keywords=judge+me+not</span></span></div>
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<br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">Ruth, a beautiful young woman, has an affliction that sets her apart in the eyes of the ignorant peasants of the early nineteenth century. Suffering the aftermath of the industrial revolution, they see her as a figure of ridicule. But they also fear her as they believe she has special powers as she hobbles around dragging her clubbed-foot. It is said that most of what has befallen them can be laid at her door and those she curses come to a bad end. </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">Evicted from their home after her da’s death, Ruth, her ma and her siblings trudge across the Pennines in search of work in the cotton mills. An accident takes Ruth’s ma from them and Ruth and her siblings are thrown into prison where they endure terrible and terrifying conditions as they are held responsible for the death of The Earl of Harrogate. Ruth manages to escape. </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">The new Earl of Harrogate, though grieving for his brother, does what he can for the others in gratitude to the family for not having run away from the accident, but instead choosing to help his badly injured mother. </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">When the earl comes across Ruth and tries to help her, he falls in love with her, but he cannot cross the class divide, nor can he betray his betrothed, Lady Katrina even though theirs is not a love match, but one of necessity for the Earl, whose family fortunes have been squandered. But, can he live with this decision - must he, even after Lady Katrina becomes his wife and betrays him with another man? </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">Ruth, afraid the earl will turn her in sets out to cross the Pennines to try to find a man who has shown an interest in her. Things change for her when, half-starved and unable to go on, she is found by hill-farmer, Josh. Together they build a love that Ruth knows will sustain her, but when a child falls ill after crossing her path, she is thought to be a witch and is hounded. A horrific ordeal by fire awaits her as she is dragged to Pendle Hill. </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">Now her whereabouts are known she is given a hard-labour sentence for her part in the accident. </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">The sexual abuses she suffers whilst in prison bring her low. The death of her gaoler sees her facing the gallows as it is thought fear of her, after his rape of her,</span></span></span></div>
Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-69448579560766201572014-06-11T02:05:00.001-07:002014-06-11T02:07:30.776-07:00TOMORROW BRINGS SORROW<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: magenta; font-size: x-large;"><b>TOMORROW BRINGS SORROW</b></span></span></div>
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http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tomorrow-Brings-Sorrow-Breckton-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B008PH7V7A/ref=pd_sim_kinc_3?ie=UTF8&refRID=0NWKDYYQHCFXJ5H8FHFG</div>
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">Set in 1939 – 1959, this is a story of passion and love that is sometimes forbidden and sometimes driven by fear as the world faces many changes brought on by war. </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">Megan and Jack have found stability in their lives, but the threat of Megan’s schizophrenic son Billy, still casts a shadow over them. His release is imminent and for Sarah, Jack’s daughter, this opens up a fate she cannot fight. With her love and respect for Billy eroded over the years as she came to realise he has an evil core, Sarah now lives in fear of him and what he will do if she refuses him. Forsaking her true love, she marries Billy in an attempt to protect those who are very dear to her, but love and hate will out and the consequences are devastating </span><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: start;">Those consequences are compounded by the incestuous love between twins Theresa and Terrence Crompton and their taking of all they need from whatever source they please. But, revenge is sweet for some, even if it eventually unearths a secret that will shake the very roots of the rich of Breckton and tie Jack’s life forever to those who have caused him heartache.</span></span></span></div>
Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-68088360363838369142014-05-19T08:04:00.001-07:002014-06-29T23:44:29.806-07:00<span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">NEWS FLASH!!!! BOOK TOUR....BOOK TOUR...</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">TIME PASSES
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<b><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">BOOK TOUR 2014</span></span></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQW2Zv1VIMP4QWGeqsc8FTWzT-NT904nVamwJofiRttkYuUj9NxaQDRnR2VZv8xHC4b6tU16jEmHP6kH8TUzKGKpancjMUBHlBzTHdkCDzU_oScb0mLJdDJmzMJqnxKJdYMmYnL-DVpy8/s1600/bookmark+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQW2Zv1VIMP4QWGeqsc8FTWzT-NT904nVamwJofiRttkYuUj9NxaQDRnR2VZv8xHC4b6tU16jEmHP6kH8TUzKGKpancjMUBHlBzTHdkCDzU_oScb0mLJdDJmzMJqnxKJdYMmYnL-DVpy8/s1600/bookmark+(2).jpg" height="320" width="167" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #351c75; font-size: 19px; line-height: 19.97333335876465px;"><b><span style="color: white;">THE TOUR HAS BEEN AMAZING SO FAR - HERE ARE THE DATES FOR THE 'LAST LEG OF THE TOUR' </span></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: red; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-highlight: red;"><span style="color: white;">JULY 2014</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> MAIDSTONE – WH SMITH 10 – 2PM<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: red; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">4<sup>th</sup></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">BRIXTON – WH SMITHS 10-
2PM <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: red; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">5<sup>TH</sup></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">STAINES – WH SMITHS 10
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<b>TIME PASSES TIME</b><br />
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<b style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: cyan; font-size: large;">She found love and courage in her darkest hours. A thrilling saga love story by top ten Kindle bestselling author, Mary Wood. <i>Time Passes Time</i> is perfect for fans of Margaret Dickinson, Pam Weaver and Lily Baxter.</span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" /></b></span><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>TIME PASSES TIME: THERESA'S WAR. It is 1941, and the world is at war. Young Theresa Compton is left devastated after giving up her illegitimate child and joins the Special Operations Executive, an organisation of undercover agents working behind enemy lines. Her mission is to assist a Resistance group run by the handsome Pierre Reuben and it is not long before they fall in love. Soon Theresa becomes pregnant but circumstances tear Pierre and the child from Theresa</b></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>A THRILLING SAGA THAT SPANS THE WAR YEARS AND BEYOND AS AN OLDER THERESA BATTLES WITH A TANGLED MIND AND HER LONG LOST CHILDREN TRY TO FIND HER.</i></b></span></span><br />
<i><span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<b style="background-color: cyan; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">FOR THERESA THERE IS A FINAL DECISION TO BE MADE, FOR HER DAUGHTER AND HER SON, THERE IS THE DISCOVERY OF EACH OTHERS EXISTENCE AND HEART-RENDING QUESTIONS TO BE ANSWERED</b></i></div>
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Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-6870727699632558462014-05-15T01:14:00.001-07:002014-06-10T23:34:48.740-07:00J Carmen Smith: In conversation with Mary Wood<a href="http://www.jcarmensmith.com/2014/05/in-conversation-with-mary-wood.html?spref=bl">J Carmen Smith: In conversation with Mary Wood</a>: Mary, welcome to my website. Your writing career has recently taken a very exciting turn, but before I ask you about that, I would like t...Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-87809405056998171682012-04-25T14:13:00.001-07:002014-06-10T23:41:02.399-07:00AN UNBREAKABLE BOND read the first two chapters<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 26pt;">PART ONE<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 26pt;">INNOCENCE LOST</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 26pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 26pt;">1913</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 26pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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CHAPTER ONE</div>
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<span style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">The draughty, stone-walled corridor echoed Megan and
Hattie’s walk to the Reverend Mother’s office. Within feet of it Megan
paused and motioned Hattie towards the internal window. Using this as a
mirror they checked their appearance. Making sure their grey, serge
frocks were crease free and their stiff white collars immaculate.</span></div>
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With shaking hands Megan tried to tuck the stray,
unruly locks of her auburn hair under her mobcap. As soon as she tamed
one curl, another escaped. Hattie giggled at her attempts. Megan
made a face at her, ‘It’s alright for you,’ Hattie’s smooth, dark hair always
looked neat for next to no effort. Giving up the battle, Megan knocked on
the door.</div>
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‘Enter!’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Reverend Mother’s tone cracked Megan’s already frayed
nerves. Hattie squeezed her hand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The small comfort the gesture gave dissolved the moment she
trod the deep carpet and smelt the wax polish. Both a stark contrast to
the cold flag-stone floors and the stench of carbolic soap and boiled cabbage
of the quarters they, and the other, born-of-sin and orphaned children,
occupied. </div>
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They waited for the Reverend Mother to acknowledge them.
Megan’s eyes fixed on the butterfly wings of stiff, white linen cascading
from each side of the Reverend Mother’s bent head. The sudden lift of the
head made her jump. She tugged Hattie’s frock to bring her attention back
from looking around the room.</div>
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‘Well, Megan Tattler and Hattie Frampton, you are now
thirteen years of age and you are to leave us. And, I don’t have to ask
to know how pleased you both are, do I?’</div>
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Neither of them answered, but Megan thought, if she did, it
wouldn’t be to say she was pleased. Not altogether pleased as both she
and Hattie had a lot of sadness in them at the thought of their pending
separation.</div>
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‘Hattie, you go later today I understand – and, Megan, you
are to leave tomorrow,’ The Reverend Mother’s eyes, shrouded by a brow squashed
into a bulge by her veil, darted between them. Her smile pinched her
face, ‘Now, Hattie, I see you have a very fitting placement, a scullery maid in
the household of Lord Marley’s country residence. Very good! Are
you prepared?’</div>
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‘Yes, Reverend Mother, but…’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘No buts, Hattie. Lord Marley is one of
our benefactors and has given many of our girls a good start in life by
providing them with jobs. It’s up to you to make something of yourself.’</div>
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‘Yes, Reverend Mother.’</div>
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‘Good! So, Megan Tattler, it seems to me you think
you can take up a placement far above your station. It is unheard
of, someone of such low status becoming an apprenticed seamstress!’</div>
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The insult and the look that went with it froze Megan’s
hopes.</div>
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‘However, Sister Bernadette has been
very persistent on your behalf. And, though aware of the sinful
circumstances of your birth, Madame Marie is still inclined to give you a
chance. Therefore, I have had to give the proposal due
consideration and am persuaded to agreeing after seeing what Madame has put in
her letter to me. She states she is taking you on merit as you show
exceptional talent in the drawings and the sample of stitches shown to her by
Sister Bernadette. But, she makes it clear you will be expected to know
your place and to keep it at all times. You are not to try to engage with any
of the young ladies who are training there and you will have a room in the
attic away from the others. Do you understand?’</div>
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‘Yes, Reverend Mother.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘I hope you do.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Megan struggled to hold down the joy surging through
her. She stood still, head held high as is befitting and polite.
Knowing, Reverend Mother, aggrieved at having allowed her to take up the
apprenticeship, would take it away from her if she gave her an excuse to do so.
</div>
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The wings of the veil crackled as the Reverend Mother
inclined her head, ‘You are dismissed. But remember, whatever you make of
yourselves is up to you. If you work hard and stay true to the teaching
you have received here you will prosper. If you don’t...’ The pinched
smile reached her eyes, ‘The gutter is where you will find yourselves as many
have before you.’</div>
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They turned to leave. The woman whose care they had
been under since birth did not venture to say goodbye. Megan didn’t want
her to and knew the same feeling would be in Hattie. She did turn as she
reached the door, but only the top of the stiff veil remained visible. A
feeling settled in Megan that she and Hattie had never existed in the Reverend
Mother’s eyes. She closed the door, glad
to be free of the tense atmosphere. Now she could give a release to her
feelings. But, before she had time to, Hattie’s words dulled her joy,
‘Will we ever see each other again, Meg?’</div>
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‘Aye, we will. We’ll make sure of it. We’ll
write regular. As soon as we get our first wage we can get paper and stamps…’</div>
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‘I’m not for working in service, Meg. I’ll be off
from there just as soon as I can.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘What – why?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘’Cos, I’m scared of ending up like Daisy.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Daisy? I didn’t
know she’d been in touch, doesn’t she like her placement?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘I saw her on the day I had to go into <st1:place w:st="on">Leeds</st1:place>
to have me tooth pulled. Sister Bernadette made me wait outside a shop. I
wandered up the street and bumped into Daisy. She told me she’d left her
placement.’</div>
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‘You didn’t say…’</div>
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‘I know, I couldn’t think how because of what I found out,
and you had worries enough over what would be happening to you. Anyroad,
Daisy’s working the streets. She hadn’t eaten for two days so I gave her me cab
fare as Sister’d pinned to me coat in case we got separated. I told
Sister it must have come unfastened.’</div>
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‘Oh, Hattie, is that the gutter as the Reverend Mother
spoke of, this working the streets?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Aye, I reckon it is by the looks of Daisy. But she
said things’ll get better for her. She’s being accepted on the patch and
has a couple of customers of her own.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘But, what is it she has to do, is it cleaning or
something?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Oh, Meg! You daft ha’p’orth!’ Hattie’s giggling
infected Megan and they both doubled over, but she couldn’t help feeling Hattie
was party to something she didn’t know of.</div>
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‘They sell themselves. You know. To men.
They let men do things to them. Things as men do to make you have
babbies. Only they don’t keep having babbies ’cos they have ways to stop
that happening.’</div>
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‘How do you know of such things, Hattie...?’</div>
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‘Daisy told me everything as a sort of warning because she
knew I’d most likely end up in service. She wanted me to watch out for
meself. She told me her master forced her to do it with him so she had to
run away. She made her way to <st1:place w:st="on">Leeds</st1:place> and looked
for a job, but no one would take her on as she had no reference. She met
this girl who tried to help her, but in the end all the girl could do was to
take her to the house where she lived. Daisy said she had no choice after
that. There’s this bloke who owns the house and he made her work the
streets or she’d be for it.’</div>
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‘Oh, Hattie…’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘I know, it's why I’m scared, Meg. The girl said
it happens a lot. Some top-drawer folk seem to think they have a right to
do it, and him as did it to Daisy is known for it.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘What will you do?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘I’ll sort something. I'll work hard until
Christmas and give them no reason not to give me a reference and then make up a
story about having to leave. I don’t know what, yet.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘You know, Hattie? I don’t even know how – Well, how
babbies happen. I’ve been on with thinking about it since we started our
bleeding and Sister Bernadette sent us to Mrs Hartley.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Aye, I know. I was the same. It was with Mrs
Hartley saying we had to watch ourselves and not let boys have their way with
us or we’d end up pregnant. It set me thinking on it too, but I know
now. I could tell you if you like?’</div>
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Megan said nothing, wanting to know, but not wanting to say
so.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Well,’ Daisy said, ‘the man…’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
A tickly feeling in her private part, as Sister Bernadette
called that part of them she never allowed them to expose, shocked and
embarrassed Megan as she listened to Hattie. And all she could think to
say was, ‘Does it hurt?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Daisy said it did the first time, but it isn’t bad after
that.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘I suppose it can’t be ‘cos women keep having babbies,
don’t they? Anyroad, happen as poor Daisy was unlucky in the placement
they sent her to. Where was it?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘I don’t know. With the shock of what she told me I
forgot to find that out. Still, I shouldn’t be going on. Your
placement doesn’t sound that good either, not with that Madame woman thinking
of you as she does.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be right. It’ll be worth it. Just
think. I’ll be learning to make frocks and gowns. And, maybe something’ll come
of me drawings. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, eh?
To see me drawings being made up, out of satins and such like…’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Ahh, Megan, and Hattie, here you are.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Megan held her breath. Being caught in idle chit-chat
was one of the deadliest sins. She hadn’t heard the chinking of keys or the
dull jangle of huge wooden rosary beads. Sounds, warning a nun
approached. She peered into the dim corridor. The outline of a plump
figure, hazed by a flowing cream habit, came towards them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Eeh, Sister Bernadette, it’s you. You gave us a
fright.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘I expect I did, Hattie,’ the twinkle Megan saw in Sister
Bernadette’s eyes belied the strict retort, ‘I have been looking for you both
this good while. Tell me, my wee ones, is it your placements Reverend
Mother has been confirming with you? And are you happy now you know for
sure where it is you are going?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Megan and Hattie nodded, but the feeling that had taken
Megan on hearing of Daisy’s plight and Hattie’s fears, deepened. Sister
Bernadette was the only person they could share their worries with. But
she couldn’t talk to her about this. Not with her being a nun, she
couldn’t. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘And you, Megan. Are you pleased to know at last
you can go to Madame Marie’s?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Oh, yes, Sister. I can’t believe it! Ta ever so
much.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘It is the Good Lord you have to be thanking for giving you
such a talent, Megan. Not that He missed out giving you something when He was
at the making of you, Hattie dear. You have many virtues, your kind ways and a
willingness to help others, amongst many others. You will do well, too. I'm
sure of it.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Tears rolled down Hattie’s cheeks as she nodded her head
and Megan knew her own eyes to fill up at the sight. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Sister
Bernadette patted Hattie on the shoulder, ‘The house you are going to, Hattie,
is beautiful, so it is. Lord Marley’s Country residence is on the
outskirts of Leeds on the road to <st1:place w:st="on">Sheffield</st1:place>.
And, Megan, Madame Marie’s is in the centre of <st1:place w:st="on">Leeds</st1:place>
itself and her salons are wonderful…’ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-indent: 14.2pt;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">***</span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
The
journey to and from the station on the motor-bus, a new experience for Megan,
didn’t lift her. The suffocating nearness of the strangers travelling
with them, the rumbling and vibrating of the engine and the discomfort of the
jolting over cobbled roads, intruded on her feelings. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Sister Bernadette held her hand throughout the return
journey but didn’t speak. Megan didn’t want her to. Never had she
felt so miserable. She’d known the parting with Hattie wouldn’t be easy,
but hadn’t expected to feel the utter desolation she did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The pebbles crunched under her feet as they walked across
the courtyard of the convent, Sister Bernadette squeezed her hand, ‘Megan,
dear, I have things to tell you of, so I have, and ’tis as I am having
something to give you which belonged to your dear mammy.’ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The words spoken softly and in the lovely Irish lilt of
Sister Bernadette, jolted an instant shock through Megan’s body. Her mam
had never been spoken of. Questions had always been suppressed. All
she knew of her birth was that it had taken place in St Michael’s, a convent
for sinful, unmarried, pregnant girls. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Once they were inside the convent doors Sister Bernadette
took her to her room, ‘Sit yourself down, wee one, whilst I am getting for you
what I know will be very special to you.’ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
No thick carpet hushed the nun’s footsteps, or dulled the
sound of her keys bouncing on her hip as she crossed the room to her desk. Megan sat on the cane chair next to the brass
bed which, along with the desk, was all the sparsely furnished room, held.
Square shaped and with only one small window, its flagstone floor resembled the
ones of the children’s quarters except these had a shine on them as if painted
with lacquer. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Tension, set up in her by the revelation she was to hear
about her mam, fidgeted her, making her feel over-warm. She watched Sister Bernadette sort through
her keys and insert one into a drawer before putting her hand inside. A
panel to the side of the desk shot open making her jump. The sister pulled something from the opening,
‘Megan, what I have here is a locket. Inside is a picture of your granny
and granddaddy,’ she paused and made the sign
of the cross. ‘To be sure, ’tis sorry I am to have to tell you, dear, but…’
She crossed herself again and looked heavenward, ‘’tis as your poor mammy
died just after giving you your life. I
helped at the birth of you, so I did.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The pain Megan had held in her chest since saying goodbye
to Hattie expanded into her throat and threatened to strangle the life from
her, ‘She – she can’t be. I have to find her. She…’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
She had been about to say her mam had been the daughter of
rich parents who’d turned her out of the family home and only allowed her back
if she gave her babby away – but that had been the make-believe she’d lived
along with Hattie, who'd always imagined her mam had been a princess shipped
away in disgrace leaving her 'sin' behind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Now, now, my wee one...’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The urge to shout:<i> ‘I’m
not your wee one. I’m nobody’s wee one,’</i> fought with the part of her
that could never hurt Sister Bernadette. But though she didn’t utter the
words she knew them to be a truth. The child she’d been, had gone.
How could it not with all she had learned today?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Cold in her warm palm, the locket seemed to mock her.
She clamped her fingers closed. She didn’t care that the clasp dug into her
flesh, just as long as she couldn’t see it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘It will be better you look at it later, if that is what
you have a mind to do, my wee Megan.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The night hours ticked by with Megan lying awake, her mind
in turmoil, wracked with emotion and confusion, and her hand never letting go
of the locket. When the feeling came to her that she wanted to look
at it she sat up. No one questioned her. She waited. If any of the
girls she shared the dormitory with woke, they would whisper something.
Nothing happened. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Cold shivered through her as she tip-toed towards the door
leading to the corridor. Once there, she opened her cramped
fingers. The light from the gas mantel shone through the window of the
door and lit up the locket. Anticipation heightened in her, but she
hesitated, almost afraid. Opening the locket would reveal her
grandparents. Did she look like them? Had her mam looked like them?
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Sister Bernadette had said her grandparents had died long
before she came into being. That thought gladdened her. It meant
they hadn’t abandoned her mam when she’d most needed them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Turning the locket over, she read: ‘To Catch a Dream’
inscribed into the tarnished, dented silver. Had her granddad had that
done for her granny? So many questions… </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
A tiny click and it opened.
Two people looked up at her and though neither looked like a grandparent, the
feeling within her as she gazed at them gave her a sense of belonging to
someone. Her heart filled with tears. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Taken when they were young, her granny’s huge, smiley eyes,
held love, and her granddad, though not smiling, had a twinkle in his
expression. Both were beautiful. The tears dried and a warm feeling
filled the space where they had been, taking the fear and coldness out of her
as she saw she had some likeness to both of them. Granny had unruly, wavy hair,
just like her own and the freckles on her nose were identical. Granddad
had the same high-cut cheekbones as she had, and her eyes, with their slight slant
upwards giving them a near, Oriental look, mirrored his. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The shades of brown of the images didn’t hide her
granddad’s complexion having a darker tinge to it than her granny’s did.
People often remarked, she had an olive skin, so in this too, she took after
her granddad.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Sister Bernadette had said she couldn’t remember their
names. She hadn’t written them down and she’d hesitated over her mam’s
name as if she’d forgotten that, too, “I think her name was, Br…Brenda, that’s
right, Brenda Tattler,” she’d said. Then she’d told her, her mam hadn’t
been wicked and the conceiving of her had been the result of an attack by
someone she’d trusted. She’d gone on to say: “Everything isn’t for being
straightforward in life, Megan, and ’tis better you are not after dwelling on
things how you would like them to be, but to get on with how they are.
Just be thankful, your mammy left you something to hold on to.”<span style="color: magenta;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Getting
back to her bed and laying her head on her pillow, Megan mulled the words over
in her mind. She would do as Sister had said. She wouldn’t dwell on
the sadness inside her of parting from Hattie, nor of finding out her mam was
dead, or think on her fear of being alone in an attic and not being good enough
to talk to the others at her placement. Instead she would think of her
family and talk to them. You could do that with dead people. They watched over you and helped you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
CHAPTER
TWO</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-indent: 14.2pt;">The stagnant view of the symmetrical lawn bordered by a tall, tailored hedge
epitomised what life had become for Laura Harvey as she gazed out at it from
her window. Beyond, lay the view she wanted to see: fields coloured with
crops, chimneys releasing the gasses from the bowels of the earth, where the
men and boys sweated long hours to bring up the coal, the mainstay of hers and
Jeremy’s income. And yes, the stables, once the centre of her life, but
now a painful memory since her dream had been ended.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
How often
she’d wanted to have the hedge chopped down. But Jeremy had laughed at
her. Thinking he knew better about what privacy she would need in her own
little sitting-room, as he called it. He never referred to it as her study.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Yes, she’d had
the two Queen Anne, carved sofas brought in, smothered them with soft cushions,
and placed them each side of the ornate fireplace, making a comfortable sitting
area. But the mahogany desk on the opposite side of the room, huge in its
proportions and flanked on each side with floor to ceiling shelves stacked with
all manner of books and files, told of the real purpose of the room. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Her father-in-law’s
death whilst Jeremy still served as an Officer in the army had necessitated her
running the estate and had been the original reason for commissioning this
room. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The hedge
hadn’t bothered her, then. The room had been a hive of activity.
After all, the whole of Breckton breathed life from the Harvey Estate. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Her mind went
over how she’d had to learn the ins and outs of the running of the colliery,
the farm, and the stables as well as continuing to manage Hensal Grange, this
grand twenty-bedroom house, she and Jeremy now rattled around in. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
On top of all
of that, overseeing the maintenance of the tied cottages had been her
responsibility, as had the shops, the leased farms, and the buildings housing
businesses, such as the blacksmiths. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The work
involved in administering it all had been an immense task. Especially for
her, a woman who had never worked in her life up to that point. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Every day had
presented her with decisions and she’d risen to the challenge. Revelled in it, even,
but now her life had become tedious. Household accounts she could do with
her eyes shut and listening to the whining of the senior household staff were
hardly riveting tasks. Even her marriage held nothing for her. Not since – No.
She’d not dwell on that. Her loneliness would crowd her. Suffocate her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<i>Oh, how one
hoped Emily Pankhurst would win through.</i> Not that one altogether agreed
with the woman’s methods, but to be liberated enough to have the vote would
help towards being seen in a different light. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Turning away
from the window she decided it best to sit at her desk to carry out the task
facing her. Observing a certain formality would be less of an intrusion on the
woman’s feelings. She allowed herself a moment of dread. Meeting with Tom
Grantham’s widow wasn’t something she looked forward to doing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The
realisation of how much Tom’s death had shocked and hurt her, pulled her up.
She’d always thought of staff as dispensable commodities. But then, Tom had
been different. He had been an expert horseman and the best damn groom in these
parts. His death had made her realise he’d become a kind of friend, a father
figure of sorts. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘God!
What has one become when one has to seek companionship from one’s groom – and
now, I’m bloody talking to myself!’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
She would have
to do something. Write to Daphne. Yes, that would be the thing. It
wasn’t often she envied her sister. Daphne’s life as the wife of a Lord,
the adorable Charles Crompton, meant she had a full social diary and had to
embroil herself in charitable work. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The charitable
work wouldn't suit at all, but she could do with socialising more. Jeremy just
wasn’t interested since… Anyway, she’d ask Daphne to come to stay for a few
days. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Daphne would
probably insist she visited her in York, instead. She wouldn’t say so, but
Laura knew Daphne found the cold, polite atmosphere of Hensal Grange
embarrassing, to say the least. Still,
it didn’t matter which. Just to be with
Daphne and to talk silly talk, gossip about the latest goings on and maybe a
dinner party, where young men would flirt with her and tell her she is beautiful,
or just notice her even…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
A knock at the
door interrupted her thoughts. <st1:city w:st="on">Hamilton</st1:city> announced
Isabella Grantham. One glance told this was a homely woman used to eating copious
amounts of her own cooking. She had the appearance of one who had scrubbed her
face until it gleamed, but this didn’t hide the sadness and apprehension in her
eyes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Laura knew the
words of condolence she uttered sounded empty. She knew from experience they
made no difference; they helped the speaker rather than the bereaved. She
supposed she should offer the poor woman a chair, but thought she’d probably
refuse.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘I held Mr
Grantham in high esteem and as a very valued member of my staff, Mrs Grantham. Consequently
I want to do all I can to help you. The accident was most unfortunate. There
being no warning the horse would kick out in that manner. I am very sorry. It
is sad too, to think this has come at a time when your daughter is to leave to
take up the placement I found her at Tom's – Mr Grantham’s, request. Are
you still of the mind to let her go?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Yes, Ma’am, I
can’t see her waste a chance like this. I am grateful to you for getting it
sorted for her. She leaves this afternoon.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘A good
decision. Such placements are not easy to come by. I hope your daughter doesn’t
let me down. Madame Marie took her solely on my recommendation. The type of
employee she usually takes on are educated and from middle class families.
Vicar’s daughters and the like…’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘My Cissy is
as good as the next one, I’ll have you know. Oh – I – I beg yer pardon,
Ma’am…’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Although the
woman had apologised, the outburst had shocked Laura, aware she had alienated
her she had no idea why! Better to ignore it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Now, about
your own future, I understand you work at the local shop?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Aye, I do,
Ma’am, I do three days and some cleaning for Manny’s wife.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Well, Mr
Harvey and I have decided you may stay on in the cottage. There will be a
rent of one shilling, three farthings per week and you will be expected to help
out in the house from time to time to cover for staff sickness or any social
events. We are not looking to employ a new groom in the foreseeable future so
your tenancy is safe for some time to come. The new enterprise Mr Grantham and
I were working on, the building of a stud farm, is not to go ahead at present.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
The act of
telling someone gave her the reality of it. Jeremy had been adamant. Was it
just another way to punish her? Or does he really believe war is imminent? She
took a deep breath. If the woman noticed her pain she didn’t show it. She only
showed a relief for her own position.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Ta. Oh,
ta, ever so much, Ma’am.’ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘If we decide
in the future to hire another groom we will inform you in good time and will
re-house you. In the meantime, Henry Fairweather and Gary Ardbuckle are going
to manage the stable. Henry hasn’t lost his skills. He taught your husband, as
you know.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Aye, Ma’am,
he did. I can’t grasp yet how someone like my Tom could be killed by a
horse. Not with him being best in County with horses and him being so strong.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Yes. It
is unbelievable…’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Me and my Tom
thought as we had a lifetime together. We didn’t count on that being
until I was forty-five and him just on fifty. We…’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Yes of
course, I am very sorry. Do let me know if there is anything more we can do for
you.’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
She didn’t
want or need to hear about how this woman’s hopes and aspirations had
disappeared. She had enough of her own dashed hopes to contend with.
Reaching behind her she tugged the bell cord. <st1:city w:st="on">Hamilton</st1:city> appeared immediately.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Do wish your
daughter good luck in her position and remind her not to let me – us, down.
Goodbye, Mrs Grantham. <st1:city w:st="on">Hamilton</st1:city>,
take Mrs Grantham through to the kitchen. Give her some supplies…’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘I don’t need
none, ta very much, Ma’am! I have plenty in me pantry and me pot’s still
full. Full enough for me own care anyroad, and I’ve no-one else to care for
now, have I?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
‘Come along,
Mrs Grantham,’ <st1:city w:st="on">Hamilton</st1:city>
ushered her out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Laura looked
at the closed door in bewilderment. She shook her head. Whatever had she
said to alienate the woman in that manner? Surely she didn’t blame her for the
accident?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
Opening her
silver cigarette case released the tang of fresh tobacco. Her hands shook as she placed a cigarette in
her holder and lit it. The smoke stung the back of her throat. Coughing brought
tears to her eyes. <i>Good God! She was going to cry! Damn and blast the
woman! Damn and blast everything! <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-10446053537912095412012-04-25T12:17:00.000-07:002013-03-18T10:45:15.000-07:00The Vital First Chapter - ConflictYou don't need me to tell you how important the first chapter is - it is your taster - your tool to draw the reader in - your selling pitch - it is everything. <br />
<br />
So, why do so many writers begin with mundane events like the weather, a description of the place or the character, or an everyday occurrence such as having the character carrying out a task while sharing their thoughts - Ugh - sharing thoughts, boring. <br />
<br />
What should be your opening lines, how should you construct them, what 'lead' into your story do you need - one word - <u>conflict</u>. Hit your reader in the face with something happening, or about to happen that pique's their interest and makes them want to know more.<br />
<br />
Let's suppose you are writing a murder mystery. The main character is going to find the body and be accused of the murder. You could start with the weather and a gentle run into the finding of the body..<br />
<br />
The clouds rolled above, one moment the sun bathed her in warmth the next a chill shivered her. Vanda paid no attention to it other than to pull her jacket round her slim body or undo it when called for. Her mind had other avenues to travel, <em>why was it her marriage had failed, they still loved each other, didn't they?</em><br />
<br />
But then, she knew why, Tom's eye for the ladies. And, he'd stopped looking and had touched. Touched in a big way. His affair had lasted two years. <em>Two years! God, how come she didn't find out about it sooner? </em>Angelina Brooks, the bitch with stunning looks and a body to die for, and supposedly her own very best friend - <em>she hated the cow to distraction! </em><br />
<br />
Taking a left she could see Angelina's apartment block. Her anger rose up. Knowing it wouldn't do any good, didn't matter. She had to tackle her. Had to tell her just what she thought of her. Drag her through something of what she'd done, make her realise how it hurt.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
Okay, there is a small amount of conflict there, we know Vanda is upset and is going to tackle the cause of it. But three paragraphs in and all we have are her thoughts and the weather. No hint of what she might find when she got to the flat. Our own imagination might give us a cat fight, but not much more. So, who is going to be murdered? This is a thriller isn't it? Or is it a chic lit? Here is the same scenario we intend for our opening scene, but haven't yet got to, but this one plunges us straight into the action:<br />
<br />
Blood dripped from Vanda's temple and on to her hand. Reaching the top of the stairs she could see Angelina's flat. Hate welled up in her. Shaking from her fall, and with fear, she moved forward. The door swinging open compounded her fear. She stood a moment before entering and looked back down the spiraled steps. The hooded figure of the man who had knocked her over disappeared. A clattering echo of the banging of the door behind him shuddered through her. <br />
<br />
Stepping inside froze her in a capsule of time she knew she would never forget. Her scream stuck in her throat. Vomit choked her, stinging and burning as she swallowed it back. The carpet squelched with the ever increasing blood surrounding Angelina. Staring at the still, twisted body shattered the very core of her, tangling her emotions, leaving her stranded between love and hate for this woman, her one time, best friend, who had stolen her husband, <em>Oh God</em>... <br />
<br />
Aware of a sore place when she knelt, Vanda ignored it and bent over Angelina. The once beautiful face masked with horror. Dead, unseeing eyes looking back at her. There was no pulse. Leaning back on her legs released the breath Vanda had held. With it came a moan holding all the pain of what had happened between them, and of now. The black pit of her despair reached up to her taking her into its bottomless hole. Her hand dropped onto a cold steel rod...<br />
<br />
Which one has you wanting to read more? <br />
<br />
Well, that is what it is all about. Dragging your reader by the scuff of the neck into your novel. Make them want to click the button to 'buy now'. Don't waste time setting the scene, giving background information, or introducing anyone. All of that can come later. <br />
<br />
Look at your own beginnings. Have you immediate conflict? No? Then re-write.Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-12901695394591042132012-01-31T13:19:00.000-08:002014-06-10T23:38:21.020-07:00EditingOne of the most difficult tasks for an author is the editing of the completed novel.<br />
<br />
You have reached the final scene, you create it, and it is finished. You cry, you laugh, you feel a sense of achievement. Depending on your genre - the mystery is solved, you have tied up all the ends, come to a satisfying conclusion, the lovers are together at last, the good guy has triumphed. <br />
<br />
You type 'The End' And it's done!<br />
<br />
Sorry, it isn't.<br />
<br />
The most difficult process is about to begin. In all articles to do with editing your manuscript, you will read: 'Now, put your MS away for at least three weeks and do anything and everything you can other than think about or look at your work. <br />
<br />
Well, you won't read anything different here. It really is the very best advice you could follow.<br />
<br />
Coming back to your work after this time you will see it in a different light. Things you thought were there, won't be. Mistakes will glare out at you. Parts of it you thought brilliant when writing it will not appeal anymore. Flowery, over-writing will make your toes curl. This list isn't exhaustive, but you get the gist.<br />
<br />
So, what do you look for when you edit? How do you begin? It is a slow progress, so begin with time to devote to it. It is a very important process, so don't rush it. Take it one step at a time. The author's steps are scenes. Yes, it really is as critical as that so, edit scene by scene. <br />
<br />
Look at each scene with these points in mind:<br />
<br />
Is the scene really needed? Yes, that sounds odd, but some may not be. They are irrelivant to the story, but we think they are good. Our best writing in the whole story in fact. But if it does not move the story along, give vital information, link a scene to another, or build more depth into a character, it will only serve one purpose:- to slow the pace. So cut it.<br />
<br />
If it is to stay:<br />
<br />
Look at it objectively:<br />
<ul>
<li>Have you <u>told</u> / <u>described</u> this scene or did the action happen on the page? If the first, rewrite!</li>
<li>Have you used an active voice or passive? </li>
<li>Is there too much description of setting? - could slow the pace!</li>
<li>Have you started the scene with a weather forecast? (try to avoid this if poss as it <u>does</u> slow the pace) </li>
</ul>
<br />
Dialogue:<br />
<ul>
<li>If the scene involves dialogue, does it 'sound' right, yes, you do need to listen to it, so read it out loud.</li>
<li>Have you used too many speech tags? (he said, she said, he turned as he said, she grimaced and said etc)</li>
<li>Is the conversation relevant, does it give information, move the story along, add to the character's personality in any way? If not cut it!</li>
<li>Have the characters blabbed on and on, could they put across what you want them to in a better, shorter way?</li>
<li>Is there a question and answer session going on between characters? If so, give your reader a break and cut to the chase.</li>
</ul>
Repetition:<br />
<br />
Repetition needs to be kept in mind at all times as you go from scene to scene. We often say the same thing twice, give the same information again but in a different way, or use a word over and over.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Repeated Information: This often occurs when an event has happened and one character wasn't present but needs to know of it. The reader finds themselves reading the whole scene over as it is related. Or, you may have already said that a character doesn't like children, but you get the point over again later, and maybe again further still into the novel. If the scene you are looking at contains this kind of repetition, cut it, or if something has to be related, just say, John described to Ian what had taken place - something of that nature, but don't have John giving a blow by blow account of what the reader already knows.</li>
<li>Repeated words: Look out for how many times you use a word in the same sentence, paragraph or scene, it can irritate. For eg: James traced his fingers over the smooth contours of her body, the smooth texture of her skin awakened his desire. One 'smooth' should go. Use a thesaurus to find an alternative, or rewrite or just cut one: James traced his fingers over the contours of her body, etc (the smooth has gone) James traced his fingers over the smooth contours of her body, the satin texture of her skin, etc (smooth changed) </li>
<li>Repeated phrases: We come up with a great phrase and use it over:- this is called the 'dreaded, diminishing returns'. It is us using something fresh and good, but if we use it again, it has less impact, and again, even less. - As an example of diminishing returns, I read a book recently by a very famous author. She had the phrase:- <em>'Her body fragmented with the intense pleasure'</em> I loved it so much I admit to using the word, 'fragmented' myself in my own book and in a sexual scene. Problem was with this author, she used it again in a later scene and yet again, but by then it had lost its impact on me and I felt like saying, 'okay I get the picture,' instead of enjoying the fresh sounding description of the feeling after good sex. </li>
</ul>
Flowery writing, or writing that isn't 'tight'<br />
<br />
This describes writing where you have over described, or used unnecessary adverbs. <br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Over description could go like this: The sun kissed her rosy cheeks blushing them with a hue which suited her so well, painting her otherwise pale complexion as if it had been brushed with the delicate strokes from an artists pallet. Beautiful, but not in a modern day novel, so cut the crap and tell it as it is: She had more colour in her cheeks than usual and it suited her. </li>
</ul>
Adverbs, or 'ly' words<br />
<br />
Search these out and get rid. They are not needed. Verbs can stand alone and have a lot more impact by doing so. Adverbs also get in the way of pace and dampen down tension.<br />
<br />
Here is an example: <br />
<br />
Walking towards his office he heard a noise, he crept stealthily along the corridor, convinced someone was in his office. A shadow eerily passed over the window of the door. A torch light flashed. He hurriedly pulled out the gun he'd shoved into his pocket and kicked open the door. Shakily he pointed it at the intruder. His heart beat greatly increased. Could he hold his nerve and pull the trigger? The man slowly moved away from him, his hands held in front as if to ward off the threat he'd found himself under. (Yes, authors do compose scenes in this way!)<br />
<br />
So, what if you want to put over the feelings of the situation as well as the actions, how to do it without telling the reader a thing was done hurriedly or stealthily, eerily, shakily, greatly or slowly or any other 'ly'? <br />
<br />
Rewrite the scene, change it around, introduce atmosphere, stop telling what is happening, let it happen on the page, and name the 'He'. Here is an example of tighter writing of this scene:<br />
<br />
The muffled sound of movement stopped Jack's progress. Fear clogged his chest. Sweat stood out on his brow. He waited, fingering the cold metal in his pocket. Light flashed on the glass door of his office, then danced away leaving an out of proportion shadow of a man in its wake. Jack made his decision. He moved forward along the corridor, taking his time. Once level with the door he pulled out the gun, cocked it ready, aimed his foot at the frame and kicked hard. The shock of the impact vibrated through his body. His heart thudded against the wall of his chest. His hands shook, but he fought his nerves and pointed straight. The intruder backed away, his hands out in front as if to ward off the threat.<br />
<br />
So, same scene, but tighter, more tension, more atmosphere and yet all the feelings are there without one adverb. This is after just one try, sometimes, as I would with this scene, you need to write it many times over until you find the one that jumps off the page at you, then you can move on to line edit the scene.<br />
<br />
Line edit: <b>The best advice I could give you here is to engage a professional proofreader. I would say this task is too difficult for an author to do. Especially if, like me, you find punctuation a mystery. Creative writing, like above, yes, I can advise on that and edit work to inject it. But unless you are very good at spotting mistakes in your own work and excellent at punctuation, then give this stage to someone who can once you have completed your edit as above. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b> Just in case you decide to go ahead, here's what you should be looking for - good luck:</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Have you placed commas correctly? Kept sentences short when the scene is tense? Any typos or mispelling - don't rely on spell check, you may have put a correct word, but the wrong one. Take the scene above, supposing you had put: Sweet stood out on his brow. The checker would glide over it leaving you with a typo. So read each word with care.<br />
<br />
Look for the over used word, 'that' often it isn't needed at all. Do a 'find' check on it and each time it is highlighted see if you can cut it or change the sentence around.<br />
<br />
Check for 'left in words' these are random words we left behind when we deleted a sentence to change it.<br />
<br />
Look to see you have used the right word when presented with two or three version:- there instead of their or they're, or vice-versa. Always make sure you have used the correct one. This can happen with many words, here - hear, bare, bear, etc...<br />
<br />
Okay? Happy? Right move on to the next scene: - told you you need time, Good luck, hope this helps.<br />
<br />
This is how I do it, but if you read it and can add other things to check please leave a comment. I will update it as I go.<br />
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<br />Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-87716039964902571772011-09-20T08:24:00.000-07:002013-03-18T10:47:43.427-07:00POD PUBLISHINGSo, you have sent your book to umpteen agents and publishers and cannot find one willing to take you on?<br />
<br />
Don't be disheartened, I went to a seminar recently where publishing editors and agents were among the panel and they openly admitted that they are taking on very few books from wannabee writers, something like 1 in every 7,000 submissions.<br />
<br />
They also said hundreds more than that deserved publication and would have been in the past, but now it is all down to economics. It costs so much to produce a book, cost they cannot hope to get back from a debut novel unless they are guaranteed it will sell thousands of copies, and so they only take on either celebs or, they weigh up the odds of them making money in the long term. <br />
<br />
When doing this they fit the author into a certain criteria: Mostly: female by gender, young, have a probability of being a prolific writer, and have something different to offer. Do you fit this profile? No, thought not. Well, other than this you will have to have written something so excellent that they can see, 'best seller' zinging from its pages. We all think we have written that one, but proabably haven't, so what can you do?<br />
<br />
You know your work is good and want it out there, well now you can get it out there - go it alone. And that prospect isn't frightening anymore as there is very little cost involved. But there is a great deal of satisfaction - Go POD Publish:<br />
<br />
What is POD publishing? <u>P</u>ublishing <u>O</u>n <u>D</u>emand is an innovative publishing process and in my opinion the best self publishing around. The process usually only costs you the price of an ISBN. Approx £60 (The ISBN is the unique number given to a book when it is published. This number will enable your book to become available to all bookshops and Internet booksellers.) A POD published book is not printed until it is ordered. It is electronically stored by the publisher. The publisher will take a commission on every copy sold, plus costs and you will end up with a very good royalty.<br />
<br />
How to POD publish:<br />
1) Make sure your book is edited to the very best possible standard - many POD publishers offer this service at an extra cost, depending on how many words your book contains.<br />
<br />
2) Format your book: Look at a good book and note the way it is formatted and follow the design. Your POD publisher will have specifics to do with page numbers (usually, the total number of pages has to be able to be divided by four, sometimes you will have to include blank pages at the back to make this number up) and will send you a copy of the 'publishing rights' pages. Besides putting this in the front pages of your book you will need an 'acknowledgement page' and if you like, 'an about the author' page. Think carefully about your acknowledgements as you don't want to upset anyone by leaving them out, or putting them in if they don't want to be put in.<br />
Note how all of these are done in the book you are using as your guide. <br />
<br />
3) Step one of formatting is to make sure every new chapter starts on an odd numbered page, even if it means leaving a page blank - check this in any book on your shelf. Very rare to find one that has new chapters on an odd page. This is because even pages are on the left and odd ones on the right. Therefore when a reader comes to a new chapter it is facing them.<br />
<br />
4) Next justify the text, but check for massive spaces on shorter lines. You may have something like, <em>she put the book down </em>as a last line of a paragraph, which when you have justified appears like:<br />
<em>she put the book down .</em><br />
Seek these out and correct them, but again, if you are worried about the formatting process help is offered as part of the POD publishing service, it is all a question of what you can afford.<br />
<br />
5) Write the very best blurb you can for your book for the back cover, make it a real taster of what the novel is about, but also something that will sell it. This goes on the Amazon page as well as on your book.<br />
<br />
6) Download a programme that will convert your text to PDF and convert all of your text to it before you send it off. If you send in a Word Doc all sorts of things may happen to your formatting en route.<br />
<br />
7) Book cover: Once more your publisher will offer help with this, either by offering free template covers to choose from or a design service at a cost which is determined by the art work involved. If you are very clever at these things you can download from the publisher a set format in which you can put your own art work. Or, if you can afford arround £80 then visit <a href="http://www.bradleywind.com/">http://www.bradleywind.com/</a> this is a wb page of an extremely talented book cover designer, low cost, great service. <br />
<br />
8) Once you are confident your book is ready and have decided what work you need help with and a budget for that work, then you need to look for the best publisher to suit your needs. Look on the Internet for POD publishers and contact them all to see what they offer and at what cost. Check their lists to see the quality of books they have already published. Get in touch through the Internet with authors who have used the publisher and try to get feedback of their personal experiences. Remember, this is a massive step you are taking and you want the best for your wonderful book.<br />
<br />
9) Make sure your publisher offers you a sample copy for you to check over before you approve it for sale and the chance to make one set of changes for free. But, be prepared that any changes after that approval will have to be paid for. <br />
Good luck and I hope you have a good experience, this is so worth doing, nothing can surpass holding your own book in your hand, or seeing it on the shelves of book sellers - something which will be down to you as is not an automatic in this process, but that is the subject of another post.Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-52316873922970263072011-02-01T06:49:00.000-08:002011-09-20T07:26:25.570-07:00congratulations <span style="color: red;"> CONGRATULATIONS</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">To three of my authors who have achieved success with the help of my Creative Writing Edit.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">FIONA McCLEAN - FROM UNDER THE BED - A NOVEL. PUBLISHED BY ROMAN BOOKS AND NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER FROM AMAZON.CO.UK AND .COM. ON GENERAL SALE JUME 2011. WELL DONE, SO PLEASED FOR YOU AND PROUD TO HAVE BEEN INVOLVED IN THIS AND YOUR NEXT BOOK, AT PRESENT, A WORK IN PROGRESS. QUOTE: </span><span style="color: blue;"><em>Thanks so much for all your hard work, brilliant observations and wonderfully corrected. Fiona</em>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">MELANIE COMLEY - IMPEDING JUSTICE - A CRIME NOVEL. PUBLISHED BY NEW GENERATION PUBLISHERS AND ALSO AVAILABLE ON KINDLE. BUY AT AMAZON.CO.UK. GOOD LUCK MEL. GET READY! VERY PROUD TO HAVE BEEN INVOLVED IN YOUR BOOK. QUOTE: <em> <span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Mary, without you none of this would be possible,Mel.</span></em></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">CANDACE BOWEN EARLY - A KNIGHTS SILENCE - NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.COM -WELL DONE, SO PLEASED FOR YOU AND VERY PROUD TO HAVE HELPED. QUOTE: <em>I cannot begin to thank you for your help. Candace.</em></span><br />
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</span>Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-54393692919001940032010-02-10T03:10:00.000-08:002010-10-18T04:17:07.137-07:00The character driven novel, limiting speech tags and stage directionsCharacter led novels - this phrase refers to those novels where the story is told by and through, the characters. There is limited description and what there is is woven in and seen/heard/felt through the character.<br />
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The dialogue is key to this type of novel. It should not be wasted on mundane everyday chores or actions, eg: 'Do you want a cup of tea?' 'Yes, please' 'How many sugars' etc... But should carry the story forward, give insight to character, give information and set the scene and the mood.<br />
<br />
Many authors feel they need to give the actions of every speaker either before they speak or after as a speech tag, this isn't necessary, but, you ask, how can I get something over without telling it? <br />
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You have to make sure that what is said paints a picture in the readers mind. This isn't as difficult as it sounds. Eg:<br />
<br />
In this scene there is Grace and Andy. They are having an argument about money. Andy hasn't told Grace he has lost his job.<br />
<br />
The first take is with stage directions and speech tags.<br />
<br />
Grace opened the catologue and flicked the pages. 'I want to show you something, darling,' She patted the seat next to her.<br />
<br />
Andy put down his paper, 'I'm not interested, we're not buying anything, so why bother looking?' He said in a voice that seemed final. He lifted his paper. <br />
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Grace felt a shock at his words and how he so rudely dismissed her, 'And since when did it become your decision what we buy or not?' She angrily slammed the catlogue down as she glared at the newspaper.<br />
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'I didn't say it was my decision,' Andy tried to keep his voice even. He didn't want a row, didn't want her delving, he wasn't ready to tell her, yet.<br />
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Grace became more annoyed, he still held his paper in front of him, 'What else can I deduct from you saying, "we are not buying anything?" You have been a pig, lately, what's wrong with you?'<br />
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Andy slammed his paper down, 'Nothing, for Godsake, do we have to have this out now? I just don't think we should be spending money we don't need to.' Andy said, trying to bring reason into his voice.<br />
<br />
Etc...etc...<br />
<br />
The author of work like this does not have the confidence in their reader. How to get confidence? Read. Yes, it is as simple as that. Read a good book. After a time stop and analyse what you have been doing. Have you just sat there and read? Or has there been pictures in your mind? Look at the work again. Did the author tell you everything you have experienced? Or did your own imagination see what was happening? You will be shocked to find that all you have been through whilst you read isn't on the page at all. If the author is a good author, the pictures will have been painted, not told. You have been drawn into the scene.<br />
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Let's re-write the above.<br />
<br />
Grace picked up the catalogue and flicked through the pages, 'Andy, darling come and sit next to me, I want to show you something...'<br />
'I'm not interested. We're not buying anything so what's the point?'<br />
'Oh, and, since when did you decide whether we're buying anything or not?'<br />
'I didn't say it was my decision, I... Well, times are difficult, I just think we should be careful that's all.'<br />
'Don't talk to me from behind a bloody newspaper! And besides, what do you expect me to think? You've been a pig lately, you won't discuss anything, what's wrong with you?'<br />
'Oh, for Godsake! Do we have to have this out now?'<br />
'Well, at least you have condescended to look at me, that's something...'<br />
'Look, if you must know, I've lost my fucking job...'<br />
'What... No... Andy, no... Oh, God...'<br />
'I'm sorry, Grace, I'm sorry...'<br />
<br />
Okay, not the most riviting stuff, but for the purpose of the demonstration, what did you feel and see? Did you feel the atmosphere? A couple sitting in a room, one eager to show something she wanted to buy the other afraid. Did you feel the anger rise and the indignation? Did you discern the reasonableness Andy tried to bring into the conversation? The petulance of Grace, then the crisis moment when the truth is told? Did you picture the paper? Did you sense Andy's despair and Grace's shock?<br />
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And all without being told one stage direction or how everything is being said or who said what. Practice this yourselves. <br />
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*****<br />
He said/she said.... Is it necessary to have these tags every time?<br />
<br />
No, if two people are talking, once the conversation is established, just let it flow with each person taking their turn to speak as above. But, if there are more than two people it maybe, though I would still thrive not to. How? Read what follows:<br />
<br />
'Sorry, Sir, I didn't hear you come in, I...'<br />
'That's okay, Constable, as you were.'<br />
'This is Mr Perrin, Sir, he has something very interesting...'<br />
'I just thought you Coppers should know that's all, it might not be nothing.'<br />
'Well, we'll be the judge of that, obviously my Constable finds it has some substance, now from the beginning.'<br />
'I were just walking along the road, it were early on, like...<br />
<br />
etc...<br />
<br />
Now, there were three people involved, did you know who was speaking when? And not a: Mr Perrin said, The Constable said or Sir said in there at all. Nothing to slow the pace. Sir was introduced by coming into the room. The Constable by Sir. Mr Perrin by the Constable and then what they said and how they said it took over. A lot more interesting than;<br />
<br />
'Sorry, Sir, I didn't see you come into the room,' The Constable said.<br />
'Okay, as you were,' The Detective Superintendent said.<br />
'This is Mr Perrin, Sir, he has something very interesting to say.' The Constable indicated the man standing in the corner of the room.<br />
Mr Perrin stood and said...etc...etc..<br />
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*****<br />
<br />
Will my reader know how my character spoke? Eg: Angrily, with a smile, haughtily, distressed, pointedly etc etc.... Yes.<br />
<br />
What is the mood of these sentences:<br />
<br />
1) 'How dare, you? Who the bloody hell do you think you are?'<br />
<br />
2) 'Huh, see if I care, you are not the be all and end all of my life.'<br />
<br />
3) 'Oh, no...No, please, I can explain. Please give me another chance.'<br />
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4) 'A wife! You're no proper wife. You're off out of here the moment my back is turned and there's never a meal waiting for me. And as for what you're meant to provide in bed, you give that grudgingly, an all.'<br />
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5) 'Ha, whose being an idiot now? Come on, Joe, I think that is touche, don't you?<br />
<br />
Look at the sentences in your own work where you have added a direction as to how something is being said. Take away the direction and ask someone to read it. Then ask them what the mood of the person is whiltst they are saying it and what expression they imagined on the face of the character. If they are bob on, then so are you. If they get it wrong, then you have - rework it. <br />
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Email me with any questions regarding this or any of the other Creative Writing Tips. I am here to help.<br />
Become a follower and don't miss any tips, have them emailed to you.Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-63566550414792605312010-02-05T03:20:00.000-08:002010-02-05T07:54:55.996-08:00Creative Writing Tips - Point of ViewWhat is. Point of View? <br />
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The term, 'point of view' is used to describe who is telling the story or which characters point of view the story is being seen through. I will deal with just the two most popular here. <br />
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First person narrative: <br />
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The main character is the narrator and the story is only told from their point of view.<br />
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Let us look at how a scene would look from the, first person narrative:<br />
<br />
The scene is based on John coming home to find Jane has only just got in and there is no tea ready for him. He is angry. Jane has prised up a floor board in the bedroom to hide her momentos of her outings with Phil, her lover. Amongst the hotel receipts, pressed flowers and restaurant bills is a locket given to her by Phil. It contains a picture of each of them. If found it will betray her. John has stepped on the floor board and in his temper cannot stand the way it creaks any longer. He is attempting to rip it up. Jane is the narrator throughout the novel.<br />
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I held my hands clenched in balls so tight my nails dug into my palms. Oh God! Don't let him find the locket! <br />
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I must distract him... 'John, it doesn't matter for now. Leave it until later. I thought we would go out...' <br />
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His look shrivelled me. His hand raised. An ugly hatred crossed his face. I stepped back and put up my hand to stave off the blow, but reeled and fell to the floor as the viscious swipe caught the side of my head. I sank into a black hole. <br />
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This narration can be the best to choose for a first novel as it keeps you focused and helps to keep an active voice going. But, it is hard to sustain if the story is to be long and intricate as everything has to be seen through the one pair of eyes or told to that character for them to narrate it. <br />
<br />
Third Person:<br />
<br />
Most novels are told in the third person, which means the author uses the characters to tell the story through their eyes. <br />
<br />
More than one character can be chosen to have, a point of view. In the third person the above story lines from Janes point of view would read: <br />
<br />
Jane held her hand clenched in balls so tight her nails dug into her palms. She watched John struggle to prise up the floorboard, Oh God! Don't let him find the locket!<br />
<br />
'John, it doesn't matter for now. Leave it until later. I thought we would go out...' <br />
<br />
His look shrivelled the hope she'd held of distracting him. He stood, his hand raised. The expression on his face, ugly and full of hatred for her. Jane stepped back but knew she could not avoid the blow. The viscious swipe caught the side of her head. She fell to the ground and sank into a black hole. <br />
<br />
Using the third person gives the author a wider canvass for the novel. Scenes can take place where some of the characters are involved and not others. Many angles can be explored and intricate plots woven around the players, and then, using the players can be brought together to form a conclusion.<br />
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What you must avoid is, Head Hopping - using all the characters in the scene- giving them all a point of view.<br />
<br />
Each scene should be told from one point of view only.<br />
<br />
For this novel, which is about a failing relationship, the husband is a domineering, violent character who must be obeyed. The wife feels trapped and afraid to break away, but is in a passionate affair with a man who is her true love, the author could use both of these characters and also the lover to tell the story giving a wide range of scenes. Each could be used to weave the plot, and yet, not having to have all three characters present. As long as one of them is present when something is happening. But, at all times, the one chosen to have the POV should keep it.<br />
<br />
We have had some of the scene in the example of third person from Jane's point of view. If the author decides this is the best way for the scene to work, then the point of view must remain with Jane. The reader should see and feel it all through her eyes. <br />
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If the author makes the mistake of head hopping, the scene would become disjointed and the reader confused as to which one to empathise with. There would be no reader involvement. Let me give you an example of, head hopping, using the same scene.<br />
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Jane held her hands clenched. John felt his anger rising. I'm sick of coming in to a cold house and no tea, he thought. Jane saw his anger rising, her fear deepened. <br />
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'That bloody floor board!' John transferred his anger to the creaking board, he'd had enough, he'd rip it up. The wood gave way easily.<br />
<br />
'Leave it, John, I thought we would go out...' Jane hoped she could distract him, she felt her heart pounding. <em>Don't let him find the locket.</em><br />
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John turned. His anger was consuming him. Jane recoiled from his look. etc... <br />
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Can you see how difficult it is as a reader? Your empathy is going between one and then the other. You cannot identify strongly with either of them. It is like eavesdropping on an argument between two people you care nothing about. A novel told in this way will soon bore you.<br />
<br />
A reader needs to engage with the characters. Feel what they feel. Like or dislike them. Root for them or hope they get their come uppance. The only way to achieve this kind of empathy is to allow the reader to get into the skin of the characters. If you head hop, you deny them this.<br />
<br />
So, remember to have each scene or better still, whole chapters, shown through only one of your chosen POVcharacter's eyes, ears and feelings. <br />
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If it is essential to change a point of view during a chapter always mark this change of direction by inserting an extra space and having three central asterisk in this space. The reader will then know they are taking a different direction.<br />
<br />
How many characters should have a point of view? <br />
<br />
This depends on the length and the intricacy of the novel. For long complicated stories, up to five characters is acceptable, but two or three is more general. <br />
<br />
How is the choice made of which characters should have a hand in telling the story? <br />
<br />
<br />
Obviously the main two characters are chosen. After that the choice should be made from the other main players, those who have an impact on the story and are important to its resolution. <br />
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Never give a point of view to a, bit player, a walk on character. For eg: <br />
<br />
A woman walking by the house hears Jane screaming. She is going to be important for about three or four lines as she calls the police. Her point of view must be seen through either Jane or John's eyes whichever is holding the point of view for the scene. <br />
<br />
Let us see what happens when we expand the scene to include the woman (a bit player) and give her a point of view. We have been in Janes head up to the moment she is knocked out and our next paragraph reads:<br />
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Mrs Thompson pulled, Fido's lead tighter. They were at it again! That young couple at number four, always rowing. Oh dear, she's screaming. 'Oh, Fido, we'll have to call the police this time. Come on, let's hurry home. Mrs Thompson was out of breath when she reached her door...etc.. <br />
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Who cares about Mrs Thompson or her dog Fido? She is a bit player. Kind and concerned and the saviour of Jane as she is, we don't want to be taken away from the main scene to follow the thoughts and feelings of someone we may never meet again. It is a distraction. It takes us away from the drama. <br />
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Far better to have a new paragraph with Jane coming round to hear the police sirens and seeing John bent over in the agony of remorse begging her forgiveness. The reader will know the lady, seen by Jane, was the one to call the police. They may register a moment of being grateful to her, but that is it.<br />
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So, how can we bring in Mrs Thompson without going into her head?<br />
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To demonstrate we will keep the POV with Jane, but we would need to change the end of the paragraph to include her seeing Mrs Thompson:<br />
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The vicious swipe sent her reeling towards the window. Just before she sank to the ground Jane saw Mrs Thompson, a neighbour from a few doors away, hovering by the gate. Her mind registered the shock and concern on the woman's face. Help me...Help me... <br />
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Her inner cry drowned in the blackness that took her into its depth. <br />
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Something penetrated the blackness. A sound. A police siren!<br />
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Jane opened her eyes. John, the loving, caring John, she had fallen in love with held her close to his cheek. His tears wet her face.<br />
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'I'm sorry, forgive me, my darling. I promise it will never happen again... I love you...'<br />
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I hope these examples have helped you in some small way to come to grips with point of view and what an important tool it is in crafting a novel. <br />
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Contact me at: mary.wood18@yahoo.co.uk if you want any help with your manuscript in progress or a final polish edit. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You</span> can see from my paypal drop list what I charge for this service. For a full MS, I will give you an estimate when you let me have the wordage. Best wishes, MaryMaggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-72352720153531648242010-01-19T10:53:00.000-08:002013-01-23T00:17:00.411-08:00Creative Writing Tips - Show - don't - TellThe dreaded words all authors hate...Your work is passive. You tell not show. What do 'they' mean? Basically, you are telling a story not allowing the action to happen. This can be righted by using an active voice, but not always, you also need to write what you see.<br />
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Two deadly words to an active voice are, 'was' and 'were'. As in the following:<br />
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'Richard was hanging his coat on the hook when the door opened and Polly came in, angrily.'<br />
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'was hanging' is telling, it is using a passive voice. We are being told what Richard is doing. His action is being described to us. As is Polly's mood.<br />
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Adverbs join, was and were, on our sins list. If we use them, we are going into describe mode, as in 'angrily'. <br />
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You can recognise these words by their ending. Most end in, 'ly'. If they are in your work, you are describing.<br />
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Compare the last sentence with the same scene in an active voice:<br />
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'Richard hung his coat on the hook. The door opened and Polly stomped in.'<br />
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'hung' is still a variation on the past tense of the verb, to hang, but its use in this context gives your writing an active voice. Richard was hanging, is a passive voice, Richard hung, is active because we are not being told and we are subconciously carring out the action with him. Polly also has an action which indicates her mood. We are not told she is angry we know by her action.<br />
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Why is it so important to show not tell? Well, active writing is less boring. It raises the pace and the tension. It evokes the readers own senses. With the second take on the scene, we invoke a feeling, a tapping into, the atmosphere. In the first we sit there being told what the two people are doing and feeling. <br />
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Feeling is only one of the senses we want to evoke. We want our readers to see, hear, taste and smell what we write. We cannot do this when we are describing these sensations as something that is happening to one of our characters.<br />
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This following scene is told:<br />
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The chips were going down really well, they tasted nice. John was enjoying them. They made him think of lovely seaside holidays.<br />
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Okay, but we haven't felt anything or tasted anything or had our own memories come to us. We have been told that John did.<br />
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Let's analyse what is going on:<br />
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There is a man. He is eating chips. How do they taste? What will be the sensation of them on the mouth? Will they be hot, cold, undercooked, have salt and vinegar on them? What will we see? Steam, long thin fried potato pieces, newspaper, if this is a scene set years ago, or plastic carton and fork if a modern day scene. What will we smell, well that doesn't have to be listed we all know that smell. How can we convey all or some of this?<br />
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Well first of all by doing the above analysis of the scene we have created a draft version of it. In it we have listed what is happening, now we want to write a scene that evokes all those senses in our reader as they sit and read. We can't include everything, although we must do so in our draft to help us to have all the senses happening inside ourselves. Then we brainstorm the scene. This is what I came up with:<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Unfolding the grease-soaked
newspaper released an aroma that teased John’s taste buds. Holding a hot chip between
his teeth turned his breath to steam. Vinegar mixed with salt dripped onto his
tongue. Biting released a flavour that opened memories of happier times –
seaside holidays, carefree days... </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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This scene gives the taste and with it comes the smell, although we haven't mentioned that. The memories are not mentioned, just that there are some. The next scene will be the one to visit those if they are important. For now the reader will have his own memories evoked. Haven't you had yours? Everyone, well that is, everyone in Britain, will have something that connects to eating chips as a take away. Elsewhere in the world you may have to substitute chips for whatever you most buy as a take away and eat in the streets or at the seaside or fairground etc... <br />
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The following is a passive description of a dramatic moment.<br />
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Mary sat lazily dreaming on the beach. She was letting handsfull of sand trickle through her fingers. A dog barked playfully in the background. It wasn't until the sound came nearer and aggitated that she felt an alarmingly tickle of fear creep frightenly through her. She smelt a strange burning smell. A girls screams filled the air, easily blocking out the barking dog. Mary turned but could see nothing. The screaming was happening over the ridge of stones. Should she risk standing up? What was happening? <br />
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Do you feel tense, is your pulse quickening? I doubt it.<br />
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Can you up the tension? Have a go and email me, <a href="mailto:mary.wood18@yahoo.co.uk">mary.wood18@yahoo.co.uk</a> with your results. I will edit two chapters of your book for you, if you manage to.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This competition is now closed. Melanie Comley (a follower)and Michelle Hanstock of Rugby, Warwickshire, both won a free edit. </span><br />
Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8669721098875604157.post-64833193725715154642010-01-03T03:39:00.000-08:002010-01-03T05:25:25.896-08:00Creative writing tips - PacePACE- The pace of a novel is linked to its page-turning factor. Novels of different genres require different pace rates. A thriller should be fast paced with much of the action happening or being foreshadowed, just below the pace of machine gun fire, whereas a literary novel will go along at a gentle pace, giving a lot more mundane details, though poetically written of course. In between these a steady pace is required. One that doesn't bog you down in too much description or have your characters forever involved in everyday tasks like making tea or giving detail of everything everyone is doing as they speak. <br /><br />You can get an idea of the pace of your novel based on reading novels in your chosen genre. Not all published authors get it right, so think about the following as you read: Are there paragraphs you skip? Why did you skip them? Probably because they contained what the author thought was giving you a 'feel' for the characters lives or what is known as 'author intrusion' - giving you information you know the characters couldn't know but the author feels you should know. Maybe, it is because the author has suddenly gone into a long, poetic description of the scenery just when you want to know what happens next.<br /><br />Other pace-slowing gaphs are: constant speech tags coupled with stage directions - He said whilst he struggled with his cuff link - she said as she pulled up her ever so slightly tight jeans, why did she have that extra piece of pie, she sighed? You know the kind of thing. Well, if you don't, you may be making the same mistakes in your own writing so watch out for them. <br /><br />And yet, the third significant slower is, adverbs. Where everything is described as being: gradually, finally, shortly, gratefully, angrilly sorrowfully etc..etc.. known as the 'ly' words, sometimes just cutting these can increase the pace twofold.<br /><br />Pace is usually fixed in a re-write and again in the final polish as you decide what is essential for the reader to know and what isn't. What helps the story flow and what doesn't. It is then you cut, cut, cut. <br /><br />Let us look at an example: <br />Valarie paced steadily up and down coming to a halt at the window long enough to take in the calming view. She gazed longingly out at the hills, noted the various shades of green, some of the larger hills were capped with snow appearing as though they were wearing mob caps. She thought longingly and lovingly of her granny and how she used to tell her tales of her days in service. Then, her attention was taken by the Willow tree below. Its dew drops falling to the ground like the tears in her heart. The distinct sound of a cup clinking on a saucer turned her. She hadn't heard the door open or realised that Gary was making her a hot drink. He didn't look at her but walked over to the coffee table placed in the centre of this large room. The coffee tables beautifully carved legs match those of the winged chairs lovingly covered in soft green throws. The whole room had an elegance. A timelessness. Valerie crossed over and picked up her cup. It shook in her hands as she looked at the man who had raped her all those years ago. GET ON WITH THE STORY!!! TELL ME WHY VALERIE IS PACING...WHY IS SHE UPSET...WHO IS GARY, WHY IS HER HEART CRYING... NOT WHAT HE SCENERY IS LIKE OR THE FURNITURE..FOR GOD SAKE...CUT-CUT-CUT. <br /><br />Get the picture? Yes this is an exaggeration, but I have come across similar in the manuscripts I have reviewed and in some published novels. Of course we are all individuals and there are readers who enjoy this meandering around characters thoughts and surroundings, and I am not saying none should be included. Some should,to set the scene and put flesh on the bones of our story, but please don't give me so much info about none essentials that I lose the thread and interest in reading further or I skip whole paragraphs.<br /><br />Pace can be linked to word count to make it easier to grasp. If I have to read one hundred words to tell me that Gary was the man that raped Valerie in the past, words that described hills, granny's stories and room settings instead of forty words which would give just the information I need fleshed out with a feel for where we are and nice little touches that hint at feeling, like the simile to the willow tree, I will get bored and lose interest and the scene itself will lose dramatic impact. <br /><br />Take any scene you have written. How many words does it contain? Could the meaning of that paragraph and all the information it contains be told in less words? Which words could you cut? Did you need that speech tag/stage direction? Would the reader be able to imagine how a person spoke by what they said, or do you really need to tell them? If you do, could you change what was said to mean the same but convey feeling as well? eg: 'You've let yourself go since you lost the baby, look at you... ' Phil said knocking over a chair in his anger. 'And I wish, you would take more care about what you say', said Patricia as she angrily tidied the tray, trying to stack the cups which seemed to have suddenly developed bulged bottoms. 'You hurt my feelings sometimes, you swine.' A cup fell over as she lifted the tray, a small thing, but a trigger to her tears. --- Too long, needs a lot of description and props to give a feel of the anger in them both and the hurt felt by Patricia. Presuming the reader already knows Patricia and Phil are wherever they are and are engaged in a row, Try: 'You look like a slut and have done since your miscarriage... ' 'You Bastard! Cut me in two, why don't you?' 'That's right turn on the tears.' 26 words opposed to 79 it took for the first example. So in half the time the reader will know how each is feeling, there is anger in the words, and they will know Patricia is upset. They will also know who is speaking without being told. Pace is upped.<br /><br />If you need further help with pace issues, email me at mary.wood18@yahoo.co.uk. If you wish to send up to three chapters for a review on this or any other writing craft help, please give me a word count first as I make a small charge of between £15-£20 depending on length. I work by using your own piece and rewriting it to give you an example of what I am trying to convey and how it can work in your own writing. There is no charge for general queries, I am always happy to help. I have needed so much myself over the years, some of which I have spent thousands of pounds trying to get from Author Advisers, don't fall into the same trap. They pull you in with telling you they are a scout for leading agencies and then bleed you dry, play with your dreams until you feel you will never be a writer because they are saying they have gone as far as they can with you and the best thing you can do is give it all up. Well, I proved them wrong, I am a published Author. So can you be. Good luck and best wishes, Mary.Maggie Mason (mary wood)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02368002526820692477noreply@blogger.com0