A Good Friend I Never Met

A few days ago I learned that author Sue Roebuck died. Sue and I never met although we got to know each other through our shared publisher, Crooked Cat Books. She was originally from the UK but lived in Portugal after marrying a man from that country.

I considered Sue a friend. She offered a great deal of support to her fellow authors, including myself. I smile when I reread what Sue posted on social media and in the messages we exchanged. I bought and read her books. She did the same for me.

I wrote twice for her blog. When I suggested I give her a post about how I write about sex, she responded: “Perfect – that should get the blog readers sitting up!” I also wrote one called Portuguese Forever, about my ancestry.

Here is one Sue wrote for me last year prior to the launch of Forest Dancer that will let you know a bit about her. It was part of my 6Ws series.

Who is author Susan Roebuck?

If you happen to be in the Lisbon area of Portugal and you take the road to Cascais, you might see me at the window of my office which overlooks the mighty Tagus River. I’ll be watching the cruise ships and tankers coming in and out of Lisbon. You might think I’m Portuguese but I’m not – I’m British born and bred. I was just exported to Portugal by my husband many moons ago.

I taught for the British Council for many years and then the Portuguese civil service, creating e-learning courses. I think the creativity that was needed for that started me writing fiction.

What does she write?

I have four books published:

1. Perfect Score, an LGBT romance suspense (hardly any sex involved) set in the USA in the 1960s and dealing with subjects such as being gay, having dyslexia, corruption in the pharmaceutical industry, and how a phoenix can indeed arise from the ashes.

2. Hewhay Hall. Dark fiction, set in contemporary UK about unsung heroes – in this case a fireman caught up in a terrorist bomb. This won the EPIC (Electronic Publishing Industry Coalition) award for Horror in 2013.

3. Rising Tide. The first in the Portuguese series. This is set in a tiny fishing village on the Alentejo coast – somewhere the world and most of the world has forgotten. The place brings together the two main characters: Piper from Norfolk, UK and Leo from Alaska, USA. Both are seeking answers that only the village can answer.

4. Forest Dancer. The second in the Portuguese series. Published by Crooked Cat Books in February 2018 and set in the magical fairytale forests just twenty miles to the west of Lisbon. A classical ballerina from London is seeking her self-worth in these forests. But does she find it?

5. Joseph Barnaby. The third in the Portuguese series. Again, published by Crooked Cat Books, this one is set on the island of Madeira. Joseph is running – but from what? And will he ever be able to join society again? This will be published in late 2018.

When did she begin writing?

A few years ago I got ill with a serious illness and had a few years when I was disabled. During that time I couldn’t work. So I found I had time to indulge much more in my favorite pastime – writing. (I’m OK now by the way, but I keep on writing!)

How does she write?

I think if I had to rely on pen and paper like Jane Austen, I wouldn’t. I do too much deleting and changing. I write quite fast but that does mean I miss, on first draft, details such as names – but not only. Characters have been known to change names, change hair colour, know things they couldn’t possibly know, make startling quick moves to a new house… It’s a good job I do four or five edits and often get a professional edit before sending my manuscripts off to publishers.

Where does she write?

(See number 1) in a spare bedroom which my husband and I use as an office. He sits at one end of the table and I the other. The TV is in here too which doesn’t help my concentration. I really envy those who can have a writing hidey-hole where they’re alone, cut off from the world. Does anyone know of a garret going cheaply?

Why does she write?

Like any other writer, I think. To give an outlet to creativity, to let that jumble of words and ideas out. I certainly don’t do it for the money! I also like to paint but, unlike writing, I’m very slow at that and can take days dabbing on paint and days taking it off again (I work in acrylics). Come to think of it, I also take days writing something and days deleting it, so maybe the two arts are closely related.

Isabel Long Mystery Series

Back At It

After a three-month break, I have returned to writing my next novel. It’s the fourth in my Isabel Long Mystery Series, and I was a hundred pages into it when I was hired to run the editorial department of a daily newspaper. (More on that another time.) I gave myself permission to put the book down while, first, I learned the new position and then in reality, worked two jobs while I tried to hire a news editor. There were long, long days working in the newsroom and at home, plus weekends. I had a paper to get out, and frankly, there was nobody available to do what I was doing.

But mercifully, I knew it would go on for only a limited amount of time.

And guess what? As of Monday, time’s up. I hired a news editor, and thankfully, my workload has decreased significantly. I am back writing fiction.

To get restarted, I printed the hundred pages and am going through them, marking word changes here and there. I make notations where a paragraph might need expanding or where a piece of information needs to be resurrected later in the book. Nothing major. Frankly, I like what I wrote months ago very much.

Marking up the pages also helps me get back into the book’s flow.

After I have incorporated the edits into the manuscript, I will be ready to take off. In my mind, I am already a few chapters ahead of where I left off. Ideas come to me doing household chores or yardwork, in the shower, or just before I fall asleep.

My tendency is to get up early, say 5-5:30 a.m., fix myself coffee and toast, and get at it. I aim for 500 words. A thousand words is golden. The pages add up pretty fast.

So, what is the new book about? Isabel is onto her fourth case. So is her sidekick, Maria, her 93-year-old mother.

They find their new case while attending the open house for the Pit Stop, a gas station and convenience store now owned by cousins Marsha and Annette. The owner of a small weekly newspaper, who is covering the event, asks Isabel to look into the death of his mother years ago. At the time, everyone including the son thought Estelle Crane died when she slipped on ice while walking home from the newsroom and banged her head on something hard and sharp. But then Emerson Crane found the contents of a briefcase that indicate his mother, who was the paper’s editor, had been working on something big about the small town of Dillard. It might even involve dirty cops.

Isabel takes the case because as a former longtime journalist she still has an affinity for newspapers. Plus she feels a kinship with Estelle, who shared the same high journalist ethics and the fearless pursuit of them.

Yes, Isabel is still working at the Rooster, and so far, she and Jack, its owner, are having a great time together. But I promise to get Isabel into hot water again while she works on this case.

By the way, the title for this book is Killing the Story — a term when a news story is yanked before it goes to print, oh, for a variety of reasons. Maybe that’s what happened to Estelle Crane. I will be sure to let you know when I find out.

ISABEL LONG MYSTERY SERIES: While I am writing, you could be reading the series’ first three books, published by Crooked Cat Books. This will be the last one for the publisher as it is winding down. I will be looking for a new publisher. If you know of one, please contact me via the comments section.

If you have read my series, thank you for your support. For those who haven’t, here’s the link on Amazon: Joan Livingston books

characters, Crooked Cat Books, Fiction

Finding Nina

UK author Sue Barnard shares a post she wrote about the main character in her new novel, Finding Nina. This is the second time Sue has used Nina as a character. As she says, Finding Nina is part-prequel, part-sequel to Nice Girls Don’t.

Another character is Nina’s mom, Alice. Or as Sue says, “There are two sides to every story, and I wanted to give Alice the opportunity to tell hers.”

I thoroughly enjoyed Sue’s last novel Heathcliff, which fills in those missing years when Emily Bronte’s character disappeared. We are fellow authors at Crooked Cat Books. I like her humorous Facebook posts about public displays of typos — alas, unintentional by those who wrote them.

Read on.

WHO IS NINA?

Back in 2012, when I first started writing Nice Girls Don’t, I intended it to be a stand-alone story and I had no plans for a sequel. Only after it was published (in 2014) did it dawn on me that a loose end had been unintentionally left dangling. The book is set in 1982, but in one key scene, mention was made of something which had occurred almost forty years earlier – a baby girl, born in secret during World War Two, and given up for adoption. This was not referred to again in Nice Girls Don’t, and thankfully it didn’t affect the outcome of that story, but it did leave open the possibility of another one: What could have happened to that wartime baby?

The baby was Nina, born in mid-November 1943, when World War Two was still at its height. Her mother was seventeen and unmarried, and although the war had changed many things, the prevailing post-Victorian attitude to illegitimacy was not one of them. So one month later, just before Christmas 1943, Nina was handed over to a childless couple who formally adopted her and changed her name to Stella.

Finding Nina is part-prequel, part-sequel to Nice Girls Don’t– but it isn’t just about the eponymous Nina/Stella. It’s also the story of Nina’s mother Alice, who is always present in the background in Nice Girls Don’t, but who (for reasons which anyone who reads the book will appreciate) never really steps out of the shadows. There are two sides to every story, and I wanted to give Alice the opportunity to tell hers.

Here is how that story begins:

Wincanton, Somerset, England – 14^thNovember 1943

“PLEASE! Help me! I can’t do this!”

Alice panted in agony as the pains increased. She had never imagined that it was possible to suffer like this. It felt as though a vicious steel band was being tightened around her stomach.

The boot-faced middle-aged midwife threw her a look which was at best unsympathetic, at worst downright hostile.

“Help? You must be joking. There’s a war on. Even if we had the stuff, we wouldn’t waste it on the likes of you. You got yourself into this mess, my girl, and you can get yourself out of it. If you’d kept your legs together nine months ago, you wouldn’t be here now!”

Alice didn’t need to be reminded that there was a war on. It was because of the war that she was now in this dreadful predicament. Without the war, she would never have left her home village to work as a Land Girl. She would never have lost her father in the freak air raid two years earlier. And she would never have met Tom, the handsome Scottish soldier who had been stationed in the nearby town, and who had captured her heart.

Closing her eyes to shut out the midwife’s glares of condemnation, Alice clenched her teeth in a vain attempt to suppress another scream. Through her pain-soaked consciousness she clung desperately to the one thought which could sustain her: the distant but already fading memory of the baby’s father.

Tom had never even known about her pregnancy. He had been posted to India eight months earlier – and his letters home had ceased before Alice had even realised she was overdue. She had no idea exactly what had happened to him, but for him to cut off all communication was so out of character that she knew she could only fear the worst. Any remaining hope of ever seeing him again was fading with each passing day.

Was it a crime to fall in love? Was it a crime to seize the moment, knowing that it might never come again? If so, she was certainly being punished for it now. Not just through the physical agony of a long and difficult labour, but also with the mental anguish which came with the knowledge that she was about to break the most damning commandment of all. The unwritten Eleventh Commandment which had been drummed into her for the whole of her short life: Thou Shalt Not Bring Shame Upon Thy Family.

“Come on, Alice. You’re doing fine.”

These words were spoken by a different voice. It was a few moments before Alice realised that the bullying midwife had been joined by a younger nurse, who was now holding a cool damp cloth against Alice’s burning forehead.

“It doesn’t…feel…like it…” Alice gasped.

“You are. It won’t be long now.”

The older midwife, who was crouching down by Alice’s feet, spoke again. “It’s breech.”

Through the fog of pain, Alice wondered if she detected a trace of malice in the woman’s tone.

“Breech? What does that mean?”

“It’s coming out feet first,” the younger midwife explained. “It means it might take a little longer.”

A little longer? How many more hours can this go on?

“I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. Come on, now. Push gently, and I’ll guide the baby out. We can do this together.”

“No! I…” Alice’s next words were lost in a piercing scream, then another, then another. Then, suddenly, it was all over. She lay back, panting and exhausted.

“Well done, Alice,” the younger nurse said, as she covered her with a rough utility blanket. “You’ve got a beautiful baby girl.”

The older midwife snatched up the baby, marched across the room and placed her on the scales. “Six pounds five,” she barked.

“Is that good?” Alice asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s not bad, considering,” the younger nurse answered. “What are you going to call her?”

“I don’t know…”

As her daughter was placed in her arms, names were the very last thing on Alice’s mind. She glanced down at the wrinkled features, and the tiny fingers which were already gripping her own.

Yes, she thought, she is beautiful. And she is going to need a name. But what’s the point? I can’t possibly keep her.

She looked up at the young nurse. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Nina.”

Alice looked up at her through brimming eyes. “That’s a lovely name. I’ll call her Nina, after you.”

FINDING NINA is officially released June 3, but is already available for pre-order.

1943: A broken-hearted teenager gives birth in secret. Her soldier sweetheart has disappeared, and she reluctantly gives up her daughter for adoption.

1960: A girl discovers a dark family secret, but it is swiftly brushed back under the carpet. Conventions must be adhered to.

1982: A young woman learns of the existence of a secret cousin. She yearns to find her long-lost relative, but is held back by legal constraints. Life goes on.

2004: Everything changes…

ABOUT SUE:

Sue Barnard is a British novelist, editor and award-winning poet who was born in North Wales some time during the last millennium. She speaks French like a Belgian, German like a schoolgirl, and Italian and Portuguese like an Englishwoman abroad. She now lives in Cheshire, UK, with her extremely patient husband and a large collection of unfinished scribblings.

Her mind is so warped that she has appeared on BBC TV’s Only Connect quiz show, and she has also compiled questions for BBC Radio 4’s fiendishly difficult Round Britain Quiz. This once caused one of her sons to describe her as “professionally weird.” The label has stuck.

Sue’s own family background is far stranger than any work of fiction. She would write a book about it if she thought anybody would believe her.

Finding Nina, which is her sixth novel, is not that book.

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ALSO BY SUE BARNARD:

The Ghostly Father Nice Girls Don’t The Unkindest Cut of All Never on Saturday Heathcliff

Author Interview, characters, Crooked Cat Books

Meet Martin Carter of Cultivating a Fuji

Author Miriam Drori has written this post about a character in her latest book, Cultivating a Fuji. She writes about Martin Carter, the book’s main character. Here’s what Miriam says about Martin: “Probably every reader has met a Martin at some time in their lives. Did they worry about him? Did they wonder how he came to be like that? Or did they just laugh and move on?” Intriguing.

I have a confession to make. Miriam is also my editor, so I am looking forward to reading her book.

Here, I will let her tell you about Martin Carter.

Who is your character?

He’s called Martin Carter. He comes from London, lives by the sea in Bournemouth and works there as a computer programmer. This is 1977. Nowadays, he’d be called a software engineer.

What does he/she look like?

He looks normal – short brown hair, blue eyes, average height. His clothes look a bit geeky sometimes, or maybe it’s just the way he wears them. But still, he gets mistaken for normal. Until he opens his mouth.

What is your character’s back story?

What stands out in Martin’s childhood is bullying. He was the one all the children loved to make fun of. The adults in his life provided no support whatsoever. The teachers believed children had to solve their problems on their own. His parents were too wrapped up in themselves to be able to help in any way.

What is your character’s role in your novel?

Martin is the main character. His whole life is laid bare in the novel – not as a series of episodes, but rather via two main events, decades apart, that elegantly divide the novel into two parts. In the first part, Martin is sent to Japan. In the second part… you’ll have to read the novel to find out.

Why should readers care about this character?

Probably every reader has met a Martin at some time in their lives. Did they worry about him? Did they wonder how he came to be like that? Or did they just laugh and move on? Many of the characters in the novel choose the last of those options, but fortunately not all of them do. Even those who make the effort struggle to make him out. But readers have the advantage of being able to delve deeper inside his head and emerge with a better understanding and possibly empathy.

Give a brief excerpt featuring your character.

In this excerpt, Martin has just paid a visit to Kevin, who’s in hospital. Kevin was all set to go to Japan when he broke his leg. That’s why Martin’s going instead.

Martin retraced his steps to the hospital entrance, an easy task when you simply had to follow the EXIT signs. On the way, he paused at a flower shop. Inside, a man was looking around at the flowers, some in pots, others in bunches. A woman was talking to another, presumably the assistant. A pink rose leaned towards Martin from the other side of the glass, and seemed to be smiling. If the rose were a person, Martin thought, it would have tried to start a conversation with him and given up.

Martin studied the smile. Was it kind or leering? He couldn’t tell. With people he could; they were much more transparent. Often Martin was sure he knew exactly what they were thinking simply by watching their faces. Mostly, they were thinking something uncomplimentary about him.

Martin hadn’t noticed the flower shop on his way in. He’d been concentrating on finding the way to Kevin’s ward in orthopaedics. Following the signs along several corridors. Trying to look as if he knew where he was going so that no one would ask if he needed help. Turning on his heel when he reached a dead end and trying again. Once in the ward, looking carefully at each face he passed until he found the one he recognised, even at that unusual angle.

Should he have bought flowers for Kevin? He wasn’t sure, but he thought that might be something normal people did. Never mind. It would have been too normal an action for him. Kevin wouldn’t have expected it. He was probably surprised that Martin turned up at all, and he wouldn’t have gone if John hadn’t suggested it. Martin had considered making the excuse that he’d only just got back from the passport office and tomorrow he’d be busy packing, but in the end the visit went well and he was glad he’d made the effort.

A man standing in the doorway of the flower shop addressed Martin. “Excuse me, can I help you choose some flowers for a patient? We have some lovely, fresh chrysanthemums. Or our daffodils would make a fine present. Would you like to take a look?”

How dare he assume I want to buy his flowers, was Martin’s immediate thought. Just because I’m looking doesn’t mean I want to buy anything. I wasn’t even inside his stupid shop.

“No!” Even Martin was surprised at the volume of the word that came out of his mouth. The vendor was clearly taken aback. Martin turned and marched past him towards the exit. Serves him right, he thought, although he was beginning to wonder whether the flower-seller really deserved that response. He’d been annoyed at being disturbed from his reveries, and had directed his anger at the man who was really only doing his job. Never mind. That was the advantage of interacting with strangers. You didn’t have to see them again and know they remembered a previous embarrassing incident.

A brief synopsis

Convinced that his imperfect, solitary existence is the best it will ever be, Martin unexpectedly finds himself being sent to represent his company in Japan. His colleagues think it’s a joke; his bosses are certain he will fail. What does Martin think? He simply does what he’s told. That’s how he’s survived up to now – by hiding his feelings.

Amazingly, in the land of strange rituals, sweet and juicy apples, and too much saké, Martin flourishes and achieves the impossible. But that’s only the beginning. Keeping up the momentum for change proves futile. So, too, is a return to what he had before. Is there a way forward, or should he put an end to the search now?

Gradually, as you’ll see when Martin looks back from near the end of his journey, life improves. There’s even a woman, Fiona, who brings her own baggage to the relationship, but brightens Martin’s days. And just when you think there can be no more surprises, another one pops up.

Throughout his life, people have laughed at ‘weirdo’ Martin; and you, as you read, will have plenty of opportunity to laugh, too. Go ahead, laugh away, but you’ll find that there’s also a serious side to all this…

Miriam Drori on social media

Miriam Drori can be found on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Pinterest, Instagram, Wattpad and on her website/blog and social anxiety blog

Amazon page: Author.to/MiriamDroriAtAmazon

Cultivating a Fuji: mybook.to/cultivatingafuji

Social Anxiety Revealed: myBook.to/socialanxietyrevealed

Checking the Traps, Isabel Long Mystery Series

When You Gotta Write Poetry

For the next few weeks, I will be running posts that appeared in blogs by my fellow authors and others. Here is one about writing poems for my latest mystery, Checking the Traps. Not my typical form of expression, but my victim and a suspect write poetry. So, I had to. This post appeared in author Angela Wren’s blog: http://www.angelawren.co.uk/

Like what you read? Here’s how to buy the book on Amazon: https://mybook.to/checkingthetraps

I wrote poetry before I could write prose. I began in college, where I fancied myself a poet, and a few years afterward until real life, including having six kids and a 25-year writer’s block, took over. When I did resume writing, I turned to prose, that is, novels and short stories. I no longer wrote poetry. Ah, but that changed when I wrote the third book in my Isabel Long Mystery Series.

In Checking the Traps, Isabel is hired by a local bad boy drug dealer, Gary Beaumont, to find out how his half-brother died. Did Cary Moore jump from a bridge known for suicides or was he pushed? But what fires up Isabel’s interest in this case is that Cary drove heavy equipment by day and wrote poetry at night.

Gary lends Isabel the notebooks in which his half-brother transcribed all of his poems. As Isabel discovers, Cary’s poetry in the early books are really juvenile. But he gets better, well, enough that a famous poet uses the poems for his own in what turns out to be an award-winning book. (Yes, the poet is a suspect in the man’s death.)

Isabel also finds poetry that Cary wrote as gifts for other people.

So, that meant I had to write poetry, too, for this book.

Actually I found writing poetry wasn’t hard at all. I was able to channel that inner poet to come up with several complete poems plus lines from others. I tried to imagine what a man who had never gone farther than 100 miles from his country home would write about and how he would write it. I figured on a plain but sturdy style of writing. There would have lots of imagery from nature. The poems would not be long.

Poetry, including a reading where Isabel corners the famous poet, figures big in this book.

Did the experience inspire me to write more poetry? I will be honest and say no. But I enjoyed letting one of my characters do it instead.

Here’s an excerpt from Checking the Traps. Jack is the owner of the Rooster Bar, where Isabel works part-time. He’s also her love interest in this series.

Jack motions me to come behind the counter.

“I’ve got somethin’ to show you,” he says. “I forgot all about it. Here you go.”

Jack hands me a paper. I immediately recognize Cary Moore’s handwriting. It’s a poem he called “The Barman.” It’s a lot more sophisticated than his second book of poetry, aptly named Book Deuce, which I read this afternoon after Ma and I returned from our field trip and before I got myself ready for work. Cary got heavy into rhyming with Book Deuce. Sometimes it works, a lot of the time it doesn’t. They remind me of the poems I read when I was a kid in elementary school. It appears Cary read them, too.

But here’s “The Barman.”

What’ll it be tonight, boys?

The barman asks each one.

Give me some hope in a bottle.

Give me courage.

Give me love.

The barman laughs.

Sorry, boys, it’s only beer.

He even signed the bottom.

“I like it a lot,” I tell Jack. “You should frame it and hang it behind the bar. Want me to do that for you?”

Jack’s face squeezes into an amused squint.

“Really, Isabel?”

“Yeah, really, Jack. Let me put it in my bag.”

Joan Livingston

Author and editor

Author Archives: Joan

A Good Friend I Never Met

Back At It

Finding Nina

Meet Martin Carter of Cultivating a Fuji

When You Gotta Write Poetry