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How to Write Your First Novel – Sat 17 May

Just a very quick blog to say I’m running a day course – How to Write Your First Novel. It’s at Kinson Community Centre, Bournemouth on Saturday 17 May from 10.00 a.m. to 4.00 p.m.

It should be a small group so quite intimate and fun.

We will look at the following aspects of writing a novel:

  • Do you have a big enough storyline?
  • Does your plot keep the reader guessing?
  • How do you create irresistible characters and settings?
  • How do you write that all important first page?

Don’t worry, I won’t be asking you to reveal any brilliant plots you may have in mind!

Is the course for you?

This course is aimed at students who are thinking of writing or have started their first novel. It is workshop based and you will get the chance to read out your work and gain constructive feedback.

Please email me if you’d like to book. Thank you.

While I’m here – can I just mention my novella, Meltwater, is on promotion this bank holiday weekend, just 99p, click here for more details.

 

 

Woman’s Weekly Fiction Workshops – Hot Tips

A couple of Fridays ago I was teaching again with Gaynor Davies at the Blue Fin Buildings, our subject, Writing Short Stories for Woman’s Weekly. I thought you might like an update. There are two more short story workshops planned at IPC, by the way, 15 August and 1st September 2014, click here for more details and as they are so popular I’m also in discussion with Gaynor about doing another one this year, probably in October. So don’t worry if you can’t get to one of these.

In the meantime for those who can’t make a workshop, here are a few tips from myself and Gaynor hot off the press. I must point out these are my tips, as I understand them, not direct quotes from Gaynor. (Just in case any of the Woman’s Weekly team are reading).

  • When Woman’s Weekly first came out their aim was ‘To be useful and not deal with the sordid side of life’.  An old adage which still holds true today.  But do be contemporary.
  • Today’s fiction should be escapist, but also believable.
  • Many stories are rejected because they are too old fashioned.
  • They need stories that have an individual voice so don’t copy the style of previously published stories.
  • They also want variety.
  • They are always looking for more humour.
  • Most popular lengths are one pagers (900-1000) and two pagers (1800-2000)
  • You can go up to 8000 words for the special and (top tip) they don’t get many of these.
  • On a technical level – keep the style simple. Cut adverbs and don’t get too wordy. The verb of speech ‘said’ is fine. Characters don’t need to exclaim, explain and expostulate.
  • Remember that imagery is good but too many images can cancel each other out.
  • Woman’s Weekly stories must have a proper ending – you don’t have to tie up the ends in a neat bow, but stories can’t be completely open ended either.

In the latest Woman’s Weekly Fiction Special (May – on sale 1st April to 6th May) I have a short story called By The Book (page 24 if you’re interested.) By The Book is a light romance about online dating. I don’t do many romance stories, mainly because it’s so hard not to get predictable. I was inspired however to write this story by Peter Jones’ latest book How to Start Dating and Stop Waiting which is very entertaining and also a brilliant guide to internet dating.

Woman’s Weekly are also very keen to get new serial writers. Serials go up to five parts, which is a lovely length if you want to write longer than a story but aren’t ready for a novel. The current one, called Amos Browne by Leonora Francis is excellent. If you would like to look at another example of a serial you could try my latest novella Shadowman, which was once a serial in Woman’s Weekly but is now having a second lease of life as a novella. If you buy it in the next day or two it’s only 99p too – as it’s on an Amazon Countdown promotion can’t say fairer than that!

And as I’m in ‘shameless promotion’ mode, if you’d like to read any more short stories by yours truly please do check out my collection of Daily Della titles, for example, Lessons in Love which is just £1.53. All of my Daily Della stories were previously published in magazines so they will give you a flavour of the type of story required.

There is a fabulous roof top terrace canteen at Woman’s Weekly, by the way, which does amazing shortbread – just in case you were still trying to make up your mind on whether to book up for a course.

If you’d like to know any more about the art of writing short stories, please also check out my Short Story Writer’s Toolshed which is £1.99 for kindle.

Thank you for reading. And here’s hoping none of our stories stay in the cupboard (see previous blog, journey of a woman’s weekly story) for long!

Meltwater

Novellas are the new novels, apparently. Can’t remember where I saw that. But just in case it’s true, I thought you might like to see my latest novella, Meltwater, which is all about dysfunctional families. (Are there any other kind!) Here is Chapter One. Happy reading. 🙂

Chapter One

“I’m leaving your father.” Mum’s voice on my answer phone was as clear as the winter sky outside my bungalow window, but I still couldn’t believe I’d heard her right. I pressed rewind and played the message again.

“Hi, Nina, I just thought you ought to know, I’m leaving your father.”

That was it. No preamble, no explanation. She didn’t even sound overly concerned about it. What kind of a message was that to leave on my answerphone at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning? Sometimes I could have happily throttled my mother.

Picking up the phone I pressed the memory button that stored my parents’ number. I let it ring ten, twelve, fourteen times. No answer. Yet she’d only left that message twenty minutes ago. I’d been out doing the horses’ morning feeds, as she’d known I would be. My parents weren’t early birds. They weren’t even normally up at this time of day. Perhaps she’d already left Dad and he didn’t know because he was still in bed asleep. My mind raced through the possibilities. I was about to try again when the phone rang. I snatched it up.

“Mum?”

“No, it’s me, Ingrid,” came the clear, bright voice of my sister in law. “Sorry, have I called at a bad time? I’ve been trying to catch you for a couple of days.”

“You’re OK.” I sighed. “Mum just left a bit of an odd message on my answerphone, that’s all.”

“What sort of an odd message?”

“Well – what she actually said was that she was leaving my dad.”

“You mean getting a divorce?” I could hear the surprise in her voice. “I didn’t realise they were having problems, your parents?”

“They’re not – well at least I didn’t think they were anyway. I’ve probably got the wrong end of the stick.”

“Maybe they’ve just had a row or something?”

“Yes, that must be it,” I said, although that seemed almost as unlikely as them splitting up. As far as I knew my parents didn’t have rows. Mum told Dad what to do and he did it. It had been the same for as long as I remembered. “I expect I’ll find out soon enough,” I said thoughtfully. “Anyway, what were you trying to get hold of me for?”

“Just about the arrangements for Tuesday.” She hesitated. “I’m going to the remembrance garden on my way home from work and I wondered if you’d like me to pick you up on my way by?”

“Yes, please, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” Her voice was warm. “It’s easier, isn’t it, if we go together?”

“Yes. Yes it is. Thanks.” I swallowed. I’d been trying not to think about Tuesday. The first anniversary of Carl’s death – my husband and Ingrid’s twin brother. Sometimes it felt as though he’d been gone forever. I had moments of panic when I couldn’t remember the details of his face. Other times it seemed as though no time at all had passed. I still turned over in bed, reaching for him.

“Are you OK?” Ingrid asked.

“Yes. Yes I’m fine.”

“The other thing,” she continued, “was that I wanted to ask you if Stewart Taylor ever got hold of you about booking a riding lesson for Oliver? You remember me telling you about little Oliver in my class? The kiddie with the problems?”

“They’re coming this morning,” I said, relieved at the change of subject. “Pop in for a coffee if you’re free later and I’ll tell you how it went.”

“Yes I’d like that. See you then.”

I put the phone down and pressed redial without much hope. Still no answer from my parents. They lived two hundred miles away, which had its advantages, but it also meant I couldn’t just nip round and find out what was going on. Not that I could have dropped everything anyway. Not with five horses to look after and a day of people booked in for lessons.

I hovered by the phone for a bit longer, but it stayed silent. And eventually I gave up, pulled my woollen hat back on, buttoned up my wax jacket and went outside again. It was a bright, icy morning, the sky an arc of blue over my head. My breath puffed in the air as I crossed the lane back to the stable yard, which was a five second walk from the bungalow Carl and I had bought five years ago. I’d been tempted to sell up and move away when he’d died. Away from this Dorset village and all the memories it held, maybe somewhere a bit closer to my parents inCornwall. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to bear staying where there were so many echoes of Carl. So many ghosts.

It had been Ingrid, who’d persuaded me not to.

“You can’t sell the horses,” she’d said, her voice sharp with grief “It’s not what he’d have wanted. You know it isn’t.” She’d looked at me, with the same blue eyes as her brother and added more softly, “He had two great loves in his life: you, and the horses. You might think it’s impossible, but it is the horses that will keep you sane. Believe me.”

Ingrid had been right I thought as I picked my way across the frozen mud in the field and broke the ice on the water trough. The horses had kept me sane. The routines of looking after them, the sheer physical hard work of them, had kept the structure from crumbling completely from my life.

I put out some piles of hay. The grass wasn’t much good at this time of year – not enough nutrition for my two thoroughbred crosses, Anton and Buska. Or the two horses that belonged to a couple in the village. They hardly rode in winter, just kept their horses at full livery, which meant they paid me to do everything, including ride them, which suited me fine. Not because I needed the money, that was one problem I no longer had, but because then I didn’t have to make small talk about trivia. I’d never been very good at small talk; Carl had been all the social life I’d needed.

Ingrid said I was in danger of turning into a recluse. “You never go out, you never mix with anyone,” she told me often. “You can’t hide yourself away forever, you know.”

“I teach four days a week,” I’d protested. “I see plenty of people.”

“That’s not the same,” she’d said. “You’re not going to meet anyone teaching.”

“I don’t want to meet anyone,” I’d said stubbornly.

“I’m not suggesting you jump headlong into another relationship,” she’d said. “But you could do with making some friends, Nina. It’s not good for you to spend so much time alone.”

It had been Ingrid who’d persuaded me to give Oliver a riding lesson. I didn’t usually teach kids. She was a primary school teacher and he was in her class. Apparently he’d become very withdrawn when his mother had walked out on him and his father six months earlier.

“He’s only eight. Far too young to lose his mum.” Ingrid’s voice had been indignant. “I’m very worried about him. He used to be such a bright little thing and now he hardly speaks. I’ve had a word with his dad – nice man – and apparently the only thing he shows any interest in is horses.”

I’d been sceptical at first, half suspicious that Ingrid was more interested in me meeting Oliver’s father than me teaching Oliver to ride, but eventually I’d given in. Ingrid could be very persistent when she wanted something and besides I knew I wouldn’t have coped without her this last year. It would have seemed churlish refusing to do this one small thing in return.

I went back to the stables and changed the horses’ night rugs for their day ones, fumbling with buckles and clips. Everything was harder work when it was cold. Then I put them all out in the field, except Leah, the pony that Oliver would ride for his first lesson. I leaned on the gate, watching for a moment, as the horses milled around the field, ears flattening, tails swishing, snorting white plumes of breath into the air as they sorted out whose pile of hay was whose.

Then I went back home to check the answerphone. There was a message from my three o’clock lady cancelling because she had a cold, but there was nothing else from Mum and there was still no answer when I tried phoning her. I didn’t even know the numbers of any of their friends, but then I suppose that wouldn’t have helped much. I could hardly have just phoned up and said, “Hey what’s this about Mum and Dad splitting up?”

I stood in the kitchen warming my hands on the Aga and thought about the last time I’d spoken to Mum. It had been two, possibly three weeks ago. We kept in touch regularly, if sporadically. She’d been moaning about Dad then, I thought, frowning. Something about him mooching around the house and never helping her with anything. Mum had always been house proud, but according to Dad she’d got worse since he’d retired two months previously.

“I’m not even allowed in some rooms until after four o’clock,” he’d grumbled, when she’d finally handed the phone over so he could speak to me. “And she makes me wear my slippers everywhere. Can you believe that?”

I’d laughed. “She doesn’t mean it, Dad.”

“Oh yes, she does. If I’ve got my gardening clothes on she puts a piece of newspaper on the kitchen chair before I’m allowed to sit on it.” He’d lowered his voice and added, “She’s obsessed, Nina. Obsessed with cleaning.”

“I expect she’s just adjusting to you being around more,” I consoled, and he’d sighed and said, “I hope you’re right. I don’t know if I can stand this much longer.”

Mum’s message couldn’t be anything to do with that, surely, I thought, glancing round my messy kitchen. I took after Dad where tidiness was concerned. There was mud on the floor by the back door, a pile of plates in the washing up bowl from last night and you could hardly see the table for bits of paper. The stable yard was immaculate, but I didn’t bother with the house much. No-one except Ingrid ever came round anyway.

It was odd though that I couldn’t get in touch with either of my parents. I glanced at my watch. I couldn’t afford to hang around for much longer. I had five stables to muck out and I had to get Leah ready for Oliver Taylor’s lesson.

If you fancy reading the rest, please click here to buy for kindle. Thank you for reading.

 

The Journey of a Woman’s Weekly Short Story – from arrival to publication

Last Friday I was lucky enough to be teaching at Woman’s Weekly’s offices in London with Fiction Editor, Gaynor Davies.  While I was there, I thought it would be very interesting to find out exactly what happens to our stories when they arrive. So if you have ever wondered what happened to your manuscript after you posted it – here is the journey of a Woman’s Weekly Short Story.

Woman's Weekly

Step One. All manuscripts are logged in date order and put in this cupboard.

The Manuscript Cupboard

Step Two. They are sorted out and read. If you have been published by Woman’s Weekly before they will be read ‘in house’. If you have not they will be sent out to two very experienced readers who Gaynor says she trusts with her life.

Step Three. If your story is a near miss or a possible it will be sent back to Clare for a second read.

Step Four. If Clare likes it, she will pass it to Gaynor Davies, fiction editor.

Step Five. If Gaynor likes it she will pass it to Diane Kenwood, the editor for a final read/approval. Which is hopefully followed by a yes.

Step Six. If it’s a yes, Clare will contact you by phone or email to tell you the good news.

Of course, a ‘no’ can happen at any stage of this process.  If it’s a ‘no’, you will have an email from Maureen Street.  Now it has been rumoured that Maureen Street doesn’t exist. That she is just the pseudonym or ‘fall guy’ if you like – the made-up person who sends the rejections.  I can confirm she does exist and she is a very very nice lady. Here she is with Gaynor.

Gaynor Davies (left) Maureen Street (right)

And here are the two desks where so many decisions regarding the fate of our stories are made 🙂

So now you know!

 

Gaynor's desk (closest) Maureen's desk (by window)
Gaynor's desk (closest) Maureen's desk (by window)

 

 

Workshops and Writing Courses Happening Now

We are suddenly awash with writing courses – must be spring 🙂  In date order, soonest first, below are some of the ones I am personally involved with:

From 17th February, 2014 – 2nd March – Purbeck Literary Festival

There are all sorts of exciting events going on across the Purbecks. I am teaching How to Write and Sell Short Stories on 18th February, at the Limes Hotel in Swanage. 10 a.m. till 4.00 p.m. Cost £18.50 including lunch. Click here for details.

21 February 2014 – Woman’s Weekly, London (also running 11 April, 15th August and 1st September)

Woman’s Weekly Fiction Workshop (short stories with Della Galton and Gaynor Davies): 21 February at IPC Media, The Blue Fin Building, London SE1. 10 a.m till 4.30 p.m. Cost £65. Click here for details.

28 February to 2 March (weekend course) – Fishguard, Pembrokeshire

Write a Short Story Step by Step with Della Galton. Also other courses at Fishguard this weekend. Cost £229. Click here for details.

Saturday 22 March – Bournemouth

How to Write and Sell Short Stories. 10 a.m. till 4.00 p.m. Cost £45.00 Click here for details.

Sunday 23 March – Southend on Sea, Essex

This one’s not writing – but who doesn’t want to be happy? And I can personally vouch for the course because I’ve been on it.

How to Do Everything and be Happy. 10 a.m. till 4.00 p.m. Workshop leader, Peter Jones. Cost £45. Click here for details, and to book online.

Saturday 14th June – Bournemouth

How to Write and Sell Your Memoir. 10 a.m. till 4.00 p.m. Cost £45. Click here for details.

I also teach weekly classes in Bournemouth if you would like a weekly injection of inspiration. Please see this website for details or email me.

Happy writing all.

Books? We’ve got them covered. Guest Post from Soundhaven.com

Today I’d like to welcome Soundhaven.com to my blog.  And it’s all about covers. Oh and just in case you were interested – From Invisible to Irresistible is free today too 🙂  Over to you, Soundhaven.com…

Soundhaven.com hasn’t been around long. About two years give or take. But in that time we’ve published twenty four titles under our own imprint, and helped several authors start their own. We’ve learnt a fair bit in those two short years, particularly when it comes to designing covers.

That age old advice, “never judge a book by its cover”, is as ignored today as it’s ever been. Perhaps more so. In a world where book-covers are more likely to seen as thumbnails on a screen (than through the window of a bookshop) it’s never been more important to make sure the cover of a book stands out from its competitors, and in that briefest of moments communicates some semblance of the wonders that might lay within the pages it enshrouds.

Just for fun then, here are a handful of soundhaven.com covers that we’ve designed, and what we were thinking when came up with them.

cover paperback



Ice And A Slice by Della Galton

Popular magazice Author Della Galton had some pretty clear ideas about what she wanted for the cover of her latest full length novel. From our perspective it was important that the cover worked just as well in print as it does on the screen – for this reason we were keen to find an image we could wrap round the spine and continue onto the back. We’re particularly fond of strong photographic imagery, but sometimes the image needs a helping hand communicate what the book is about, which is why we played around with some of the words and letters in the title. Does the word ‘and’ seem out of focus to you? And did you happen to notice what the pink letters spell out?

toolshed1 kindle covertoolshed2 kindle cover


The Writer’s Toolshed Series by Della Galton

Sticking with Della, The Short Story Writer’s Toolshed was one of our earliest titles. This short book is a based on a series of articles Della wrote for the rather excellent Writers’ Forum magazine, so it seemed logical (to us) to give the cover that authentic ‘magazine’ feel in an effort appeal to those same readers that the articles had originally been written for. A year later we persuaded Della to bring out a follow up book, and again we went for that magazine look. However, even though Della is wearing a different jacket, and standing in front of a different shed(!) in retrospect I wish we’d made the covers more different, perhaps by changing the colour of the font, or the overall layout. I still wake up in the middle of the night fretting about whether her readers have figured out there’s two books!

RGB versionFITI kindle


How To Start Dating And Stop Waiting Series by Peter Jones

When it came to our most recent ‘series’ we went all out to try and make sure that whilst the titles are clearly related (same font, similar layout, similar colour pallet), they’re very different (if anyone confuses them I think I might just cry). It was important too to come up with a design that could be used to brand the associated website and a facebook page. And finally we were keen to continue the graphical theme that Harper Collins established with Peter’s first book and pick icons that give you some idea what each book is about. Have we succeeded? You decide.

Shadowmanmeltwater


Shadowman and Meltwater by Della Galton

Our two most recent covers are amongst our all time favourites. And whilst the titles aren’t related (they’re not even the same genre) we rather like how they look together. Fiction titles don’t generally have a subtitle, which is partly why we’re strong believers in the importance of an intriguing ‘movie-style’ strap-line.

We hope you like our covers as much as we do. You might be interested to know that even if you’re not one of our authors for a small fee we can be bought! We offer a number of publishing services of which cover designing is just one.


‘Meltwater’ will be available on Kindle in the coming weeks.

 

H E Bates Short Story Competition. Winners and Presentation

I was honoured to be asked to judge the 2013 H E Bates Short Story Competition, and last Friday 17th January I presented the prizes to the winners, which was both humbling (I wish I’d written some of those stories) and nerve racking (I had to do a short talk too). By the way, do these two gentlemen in the foreground and on the right of the photo look as though they are asleep? I’m sure I didn’t “hold forth” for that long!

So without further ado, here are the results and a brief summary of why I chose them.

Adult Section
1st prize: Last Tango in Space by Anne Corlett
2nd prize: Ancient Wing by Tracy Fells
3rd prize: Make Mine Mythical by Rosa Johnson

Under 18s
1st prize:Something In The Mist by Katie Bunting

Best short story written by a Northamptonshire writer:
Memories Through My Grandfather’s Eyes by Dave Martin

Why did I choose these stories? There were different reasons, but… they all had the X Factor. I’ve gone into a bit more detail below:

Memories Through my Grandfather’s Eyes was both warm and poignant and a lovely portrayal of an ordinary family.

Something In The Mist was both gripping and full of insight and I was impressed by the author’s grasp of storytelling and structure. It was in male viewpoint and I was even more impressed when I discovered the author was female.

Make Mine Mythical was very funny and had brilliant characterisation and dialogue.

Ancient Wing  was original, unusual, and beautifully written.  Tracy managed to make me love the ‘at first’ unsympathetic main character – well done.

Last Tango In Space was fabulous. I cried when I read it. I cried again when Anne read it out on Friday.  It was about an older couple on the first manned trip to Mars. Written in diary form, it was both amusing and deeply moving and ended with a fabulous universal truth. Thank you Anne for writing this. I wish I’d written it myself. I can give you no higher compliment.

Well done to all the winners of this incredibly hard to judge competition.

Thank you to everyone who entered.

 

And here is Anne Corlett, winner of the H E Bates, with Morgen Bailey, Chair of the Northampton Writer’s Group, and myself.

 

 

Shadowman

Shadowman drop shadow

Just in case anyone fancies a preview of my new novella, Shadowman, here’s the blurb and first chapter 🙂

Karen and Rob’s show-jumping yard is in trouble. And so is their marriage.

Then someone starts sending anonymous letters. They seem to have an enemy who is determined to wreck their lives, but who? Is it a vindictive stranger or could it be someone closer to home? Karen is determined to find out before she loses everything she loves.

Previously only available as a large print paperback, ‘Shadowman’ by Della Galton is now available as an ebook novella from amazon (.co.uk | .com)

Chapter One

It was a beautiful day. Autumn was just beginning to steal across the forest, turning the trees shades of red and gold, but I shivered as I leaned on the five bar gate that separated our land from the tangle of woodland that lay beyond. I had to talk to Rob again. Find a way to make him understand how worried I was that if we didn’t do something soon, we were going to lose all that we’d worked for. It wasn’t going to be easy. Rob and I didn’t have the same attitude to money. I was used to having a nest egg in the bank – I needed the cushion of financial security. Rob had an easy come, easy go attitude. To everything, I was beginning to think.

The differences between us hadn’t been so apparent when we’d first married. But lately things had been tough, financially. We’d had a couple of big bills we hadn’t budgeted for. Murphy, one of our horses, had been spooked by a backfiring car and had run into a barbed wire fence. The vet’s bill had been horrendous and it had taken weeks of care to get him right again. Then we’d had a drainage problem in the stable yard and the builder had discovered subsidence, which had cost a fortune to sort out. We’d used our savings and now we were deep into our overdraft and every time I raised the subject, Rob told me I worrying too much.

“Things aren’t that bad, Karen,” he said later that evening. “The bank’s hardly going to foreclose on us, are they?”

He smiled as he spoke, his eyes confident. There wasn’t a trace of grey in his black hair, not a trace of worry.

“We can’t just keep on borrowing. I think we ought to do something more positive.”

“Like what?” He raised his eyebrows and I took a deep breath because he definitely wasn’t going to like what I had in mind.

“We could sell a horse.”

“That’s not going to make much difference.”

“It would if it was the right horse. Ben Darley phoned me this morning. He saw you riding Shadowman at Lulworth last week. He wants to buy him.”

“Does he?” Rob’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “What’s he offering?”

I told him and he whistled. “If he’s that keen, then he obviously thinks the horse is going to be as good as I do. Excellent.”

“So you’ll think about it?”

“No way. I’m not selling our best horse. It would be madness.”

I sighed and he came round the table and took my hands. “Look at it this way, Karen. If Ben thinks he’s worth that much now, then he’ll be worth even more by the end of the season. I’ve got big plans for Shadowman.”

His eyes were sparkling, his face animated as it always was when he talked about the horse he’d reared from a gangly long legged foal, and I knew I’d lost the battle, at least for now.

“It’s going to be fine, Karen, I promise.” He went across the kitchen, dragged his coat from the back door and shrugged it on. “Look, I’d better do the evening feeds; we’ll talk some more later.”

I nodded, even though I knew we wouldn’t. Rob hated talking about money. It was ironic really; Rob had been brought up with next to none and I’d always taken things like holiday homes, private schools and my own pony for granted, but I was the one who constantly worried about it.

The only thing Rob wasn’t laid back about was his riding. He dreamed of being in the British show jumping team one day and he was probably good enough to do it. The first time I’d seen him ride we’d been competing against each other in the same show jumping class.

“That’s the one you want to watch,” Mum had said, as we walked the course, and I’d looked at the tall, dark haired man strolling ahead of us.

“I don’t think I’ve seen him before. Who is he?”

“Rob Patterson, he’s a bit of a rough diamond, but he can ride. He beat Suzy Canton last week, effortlessly, if the rumour mill’s to be believed. Caused quite a stir.” She patted her hair and raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows.

I hadn’t taken much notice of the rough diamond bit. Mum’s always been a snob, but I’d watched Rob jump a perfect clear round, with growing interest.

He was an instinctive rider, so much a part of the horse, that it had been breathtaking to watch him.

“Must be a good horse,” I’d murmured, but Mum shook her head.

“It’s not his. Belongs to some small yard the other side of Salisbury. He’d never sat on its back until a week ago, apparently. The girl who normally rides it had a fall and couldn’t jump today.”

I remember thinking that it must have been a lucky round, but that was before he beat me by a good ten seconds in the jump off.

As we lined up to collect our rosettes, Rob glanced across at me and nodded an acknowledgment. “Nice mare, you’ve got there,” he said, and I could feel myself softening beneath his gaze. “See you again, I hope.”

And then he was gone, cantering ahead of me around the ring and I thought, oh yes, I’d very much like to see him again. And not just on a horse.

A couple of weeks later we competed against each other again – he won that class too – and this time he asked me for a celebration drink. That was how it had begun. We’d soon discovered we were opposites in every way. Looks, backgrounds and personalities. I’d led a pretty sheltered life, really, I’d had relationships before Rob, but I’d never fallen in love, never wanted to get married. He’d said it was the same for him, but I wasn’t so sure. Rob could have had his pick of women. Why had he chosen me?

Deep down, I’d always been afraid it wouldn’t last, that our differences would somehow drive a wedge between us, and I had a horrible feeling that it was beginning to happen.

Nothing’s ever as bad in daylight as it seems in darkness, is it? As I crunched across the grass to check the horses’ water troughs the following morning, I felt my spirits lift. Maybe Rob was right. Shadowman would certainly be worth a lot more if they had another good season and there was no reason why they shouldn’t.

Besides, it was hard to feel depressed out here in the crystal air. The first thick frost had silver-plated the grass and villages of bejewelled spider’s webs sparkled in the hedgerows. The sun, which hadn’t long risen, slanted across the fields, turning ice crystals to diamonds so it was easy to imagine you were walking through some winter fairyland, a place touched with magic instead of just our back field. I swallowed. I never wanted to leave this place; we had to make it work.

When the estate agent had showed us round two years ago, it had been a bright summer day and we’d fallen in love with the place. The house had needed a fair bit doing, but the stables were beautiful, a white painted block that was big enough for twelve horses. We planned to offer a livery service and we were both qualified riding instructors. We knew it would be tight while we got established, but we thought we could make it work.

The house was on the edge of the New Forest and had only been in our price range because the owner wanted a quick sale, although I was well aware that we couldn’t have afforded it had my parents not given us a hefty deposit as a wedding present and also acted as guarantors for our mortgage. This worried me too, because neither of my parents had accepted Rob at first. I’d felt their unspoken disappointment that I could have done better. They’d come round eventually when they’d seen how serious I was about him. They’d trusted my judgement, both about Rob and my certainty that we could make a success of running our own yard, my parents were like that, but it meant that I couldn’t afford to let them down. Anyway, they couldn’t help us financially any more, even if pride would have let me ask them. Dad’s business hadn’t been too good lately either.

I was on my way back to the stables when my mobile rang.

“Hi, Karen, it’s Lynne, any chance you could turn out my horses. Slight change of plan. I’ve got to go into work today; my boss has called some emergency meeting.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, well, I hope so.” Lynne sounded distracted and I hung up, hoping that it was. Lynne was our best customer. We had three of her horses, all at full livery, which meant that she paid for us to look after them, although she exercised them herself when she had time.

Another reason things had been a bit tight lately was because we weren’t full. We only had six liveries. Rob had also been pretty busy with Shadowman this summer, going to shows most weekends, which took a lot of time out and was expensive and even though they’d done well, it was mostly investment for the future, not real income.

At four Lynne’s Range Rover drew into the yard, and I smiled as she got out and came across. “Hi, how’s it going?”

“Er, not too good actually.” She brushed a hand through her immaculate blond bob. “Karen, I’m really sorry, but I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

“Oh?” I felt a little shiver run through me.

“Yes, it’s work. That meeting this morning was to tell us that the company has just been bought out. There are going to be quite a few redundancies, and some relocations. I’m one of the relocations. I’ve got to go to Leicester.”

I stared at her in horror. “When?”

“Next month. It means I’m going to have to move the horses. I’m so sorry.”

I touched her arm. “Don’t worry; it’s not your fault. Are you OK? It must have been a huge shock.”

“It was.” She flushed and stared at the ground.

“When do you have to take them?”

“At the end of this week. I’ll pay up to the end of the month, obviously. But I need to put things in motion.”

I wished I could tell her not to bother about the money, but I couldn’t. Anyway there was no point in pretending to Lynne. She was well aware of our financial problems because her father owned the feed merchants, who we always paid at the last possible minute.

“How are things here?”

“So, so.” I forced a smile. “We’ll manage. We always do.”

“I’ll ask Dad to recommend you to his customers. You never know, you might get some replacements pretty quick.”

Even Rob looked worried when I told him this latest development.

“We’ll have to extend the overdraft,” he said. “You can go to the bank; you can sweet talk Jack Dibbens any day.”

I booked an appointment for the following week, but I didn’t feel in the slightest bit confident in my ability to sweet talk anyone as I walked into the branch. Jack Dibbens was young and very shrewd. He was going to see straight through my assurances that this was just a bad patch, especially as I wasn’t sure what we were going to do about it.

He was as polite as ever, though. He pulled out a chair for me and offered me coffee and asked after Rob. Then he steepled his hands on the desk and gave me a serious look.

“Well, I think I can guess why you’re here, Karen.”

God, did I look that desperate? I felt myself redden under his steady gaze.

“We’d like to increase our overdraft. We’ve just lost our best livery owner, which has rather put us out. She had three horses with us.” I stopped gabbling, aware of his growing seriousness.

“I’d heard that things weren’t going well,” he said, at last.

I didn’t answer. News travels like wildfire in our village. It was no surprise that he’d have heard that.

He looked at a sheet of paper on his desk. “However, I am prepared to let you go a bit deeper into the red, if you think it will help?”

“It will,” I murmured, feeling dizzy with relief. “We are going to sort this out. I’m going to persuade Rob to sell a horse.” I told him about Shadowman and he listened, frowning.

Then to my surprise, he said, “I think I’m with your husband on this one. Yards like yours are built on reputations. If you sell your best horse, then you might find you’ve killed the golden goose, so to speak.”

I stared at him. I hadn’t thought of it like that and he smiled.

“Just a suggestion. Karen, there is something else I think you ought to know.” He produced an envelope from a drawer in his desk. “The bank received this a couple of days ago. It was hand delivered.”

I opened it and found a single piece of paper with a typed message.

The Patterson’s are sinking fast. Even their livery owners are leaving. Can your bank afford to throw good money after bad?

 A Well Wisher.

Coldness spread through my stomach. It was hard to breathe. I met the bank manager’s concerned eyes.

“If someone sent you this, then why are you lending us more money?”

“I don’t like being told what to do,” he said simply and held out his hand. “Good luck, Karen.”

If you enjoyed chapter one and would like to read the rest you can buy it on amazon (.co.uk | .com) for a very reasonable £1.53. It’s also available in large print format.

 

NaNoWriMo So Far

If you’ve read this blog lately, you’ll know I’ve been doing the NaNoWriMo challenge, i.e. I signed up to write a 50,000 word novel during the month of November. Well, actually, I’m a nano rebel. I decided it would be more fun to write 50,000 words of short stories instead of writing a novel.  So that’s what I’ve actually been doing. Here’s how it’s going so far.

I’m behind.  It’s day 22, so I should have written 36,666 words. I have actually written 30,625 words.  But hey, the good news is that I’ve written a whole pile of short stories.  I’ve just had a bit of a tally. So far I’ve completed:

8 stories of approx 1000 words

2 of 3000 words

2 of 2500 words

(The rest of the words are beginnings and ideas that aren’t fully developed – might be interesting to come back to later)

Of the completed 8 short stories, 3 are edited, polished and submitted to mags. 1 is sold. It’s called the Lebkuchen Heart and Take a Break bought it for their New Year issue of Fiction Feast. Yippee. The other short ones are complete (ish) but need editing and polishing.

Both the 3000 word stories are also complete, but need editing and polishing.

1 of the 2500 word stories is polished, edited and submitted. The other I just finished writing today, so still needs an edit and polish.

But that still means I have 12 stories done so far up to at least draft stage.

Plus a pile of beginnings that I may go back to and develop.

Plus a pile of words that may have the nugget of a character or idea in them but that aren’t very structured.

So being behind on my word count isn’t a problem. I am thrilled. I never really expected to do this much. Especially as I’m in the throes of moving house so lots of packing and sorting out is going on.

It’s really inspiring and magical writing short stories every day without having to worry too much if they are a) any good and b) finished.  Some of them I haven’t bothered finishing because they’re not working.  Usually I’d struggle with that and waste loads of time flogging a dead horse – excuse the cliché.  I’ve used all my original phrases in Nano stories 🙂

My top tip for doing Nano – or at least the thing that’s worked best for me, is to do it first thing. I don’t do anything else, not even check emails or go on Facebook or Twitter when I get to my computer. I just open up my Nanowrimo document, type the date, and start on today’s story.  (I don’t – even if I really want to – edit yesterdays. Although I have let myself finish it if I didn’t manage to finish it the day before.)

It’s fantastic.  Wonderfully Liberating.

Better get back to work.  But I’d love to hear about other people’s Nanowrimo experiences. How are you getting on?

Wednesday Writing Spot – Wells Literature Festival

Me outside the Bishop's Palace where I'm about to teach

Just a little bit of feedback from me this week regarding the Wells Literature Festival where I did a workshop on Writing and Selling Short Stories on Sunday 13 October. I hadn’t realised I’d be teaching in the Bishop’s Palace. Wow! I felt quite intimidated when I saw the building. But on the other hand, what an inspiring place to work! Here are some pictures I thought you might like.

These are the stairs to my classroom
And we're inside the palace - what an inspiring place to write

My group of 21 students wrote an opening paragraph and then read it out for feedback. I think they enjoyed it as much as I did. At four pm I gave out the prizes to the first, second and third prizewinners of the short story competition. Well, actually I didn’t, as none of them were there. So if you did enter, and you didn’t go to the prizegiving you may well be in for a lovely surprise. Do check out the results which should be on the website here any day now. My lips are sealed until the festival has updated its website.

And in the meantime, thanks to the students who came to my workshop. I hope to see you all in print very soon.

While you’re here, please check out my two writing guides. How to Write and Sell Short Stories published by Accent Press and The Short Story Writers’ Toolshed published by Soundhaven.com

Tell your friends!

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