Sam Russell's Blog, page 13

Goodreads Book Giveaway for A Bed of Barley Straw

The washing line

In our first flat the washing line was actually an airer in the corner of the bathroom. It sported tidy newly-married clothes. Secretarial blouses, skirts and tights. Polo shirts and weekend jeans (his mother still laundering the boiler suit). Undies that showed we minded – elastic firmly in place and lace on display. Socks paired uniformly. Linen from the only bed hung on the banister. Shirts draped over radiators. Hand-wash delicates caringly spread on a nifty bath-top drier.

Fast forward a couple of years. The knickers have grown bigger to accommodate developing bump. The bras are impressive – in size if not in drama. Lace ratio has diminished and pant elastic thinned to drooping point. The cheap and cheerful bed clothes have lost vibrancy. Voluminous maternity dresses hog the airer, jostling for space against faded denims and work-a-day clothes. Comfortably lived in.

A semi-detached house – with garden! A family on the cusp of blooming mayhem. Tiny wee socks, smaller than pegs. Doll-sized button-down vests. Blue. White. Pastels. Cradled broderie anglaise. Soft baby cardigans gifted with love and kissed by the breeze as they flutter above the over-long grass of an un-tended garden. Embraced on either side by parental wear that will not require ironing and forgives baby posset. No hand-wash delicates here. Boxer shorts usurping the arse-out Y-fronts. Knickers – practical. Bras unhinge at the front.

And then comes the deluge. Pastels in pink next to bright-comic-strip, little man Ts. Cot sheets and bed sheets and changing mats. Romper suits, romper suits, romper suits. Toddler denims, dungarees, precious blankies. Cot sheets and bed sheets and changing mats. Bibs. Teddy-bears. Messy-play aprons. Sweatshirts emblazoned with diggers, princess duvet covers. The day-glow yellow washing line sags under the strain. Tumble drier is mentioned. Cot sheets and bed sheets and changing mats. Small socks lodged in filters. Potty training pants and jeans, pants and trousers, pants and joggers…

Move to the farm. Muddy coats, dog beds, wet woollen socks. Boiler suits! Bed sheets and bed sheets and pillowcases. School uniform – too soon! Little white collared shirts. Grey trousers, grey jumpers, grey, grey, grey. Airtex tops. Yards of Rayon. Tumble drier. PE kit. Dog towels and bath towels and washable door-mats. Nylon blazers, track suits, hockey skirts, football socks. Jodhpurs, leotards, shorts. Sweaty underarms. Horse hairs. Whipped and snapped by the wind gusting over the fields. Dusted with chaff. Dried and rained on and dried over again.

A single favoured shirt rotates alone in the tumble drier. Essential wear. Specific pants. Modified tartan school-skirts. Rock band Ts, designer labels, rude words. Black denim. Black, black and black. Hoodies, team kit, man-sized shirts. Strap tops, mini-skirts. Pastel trainer bras. Tailored white blouses, elbow-out blazers.  Single socks of unknown ownership. Bed sheets, mascara stained pillowcases. Duvets and towels. Sleeping bags, hockey kit, rugby tops, riding clothes. Dog beds, numnahs, horse rugs. Buggered washing machine. Miniscule strings of lacy thongs. Wafts of over-used aftershave. Smudges of make-up.

Magical washing which hung itself, oddly pegged and abandoned to wilt. Eye-brow raising underwear. Skimpy dresses. Term-sized laundry bags coming home to roost. Unfamiliar clothes. University sweatshirts. Famine or feast for the washing machine. Rarely time for the washing-line. Four sets of bed sheets, three sets of bed sheets, two…

Summer-holiday clothes, bright and blousy. Khaki shorts, linen dresses, golfing trousers. Two sets of boiler suits. Yoga pants, walking coats. Dog beds and jodhpurs. Celebratory wine-splattered tablecloths. Garden cushions. Trainer socks. Winter holiday sun-dresses. Swimming suits, evening wear. M&S reliable pants. Lace on display.

FREE on Kindle NOW and this weekend (5th – 7th June)

A Bed of Barley Straw is free to download on Kindle – this weekend only, so grab yourself some indulgent holiday reading before the giveaway ends.

5* reviews on Amazon.co.uk… “Unputdownable”, “Utterly delicious”, “This book was a delight”

The offer will run until Sunday 7th June.

(If you read and enjoy, please do drop a quick review on Amazon)

Writing – here’s where I’m at – an excerpt from the work-in-progress sequel to A Bed of Barley Straw

Alexander drank his black coffee on the bench outside the cottage. Rested from a fortnight of undisturbed nights, lulled by the rhythmic crashing of the Irish Sea against the rocks below. The dark stubble on his chin formed the shadow of a beard. The blue of his eyes, mirroring the ocean, flashed from his relaxed, ruggedly tanned face. He rested easy on the bench; long legs stretched out, clad in faded denim, weathered brogues on his feet. His body warmed by the oiled wool sweater which draped over his torso.

Alexander thought he would never grow tired of this view. His gaze took in the ocean and the infinite sky; an ever-changing vista. He watched as the clouds swept in from the West and scudded along the coast or paused to envelop Porth Wen in damp grey mist. At times the weather battered his cottage with heady gusts carrying fierce pellets of rain. He saw the haunting, derelict brickworks emerge from dull haze, and smiled as sunlight on the waves glided teasingly closer before embracing the land with warmth and colour. The occasional distant walker or lone fishing boat could hold his attention until they vanished from sight. Sometimes his walks took him along the coast to Hell’s Mouth where he paused to survey the surfers riding the waves; distant from his cliff top lookout. The days followed a rudimentary pattern. With no telephone, no TV or internet, simplicity was enforced. He woke when the first stripes of daylight settled on his pillow. He stoked the stove, filled a basin with water and placed it on top of the wood-burner. Brewing his coffee and feeding the dogs gave the heat of the flames time to lift the chill from the water before he stood, buck naked on the coarse rug, to wash from head to toe.

He took his second coffee with a wedge of bara brith, spread with salted butter; eaten on the bench outside if the weather allowed, at the table when it did not. The cottage door stood open allowing Digger and Dora to wander. They snuffled their way through the rocky gorse outcrop and explored the path to the cove before returning to settle at Alexander’s feet. After breaking his fast Alexander indulged in a leisurely cigarette and turned on his lap top. He couldn’t connect with anyone, nor did he want to, but he spent an hour going over the plans for the equine wing of the practice. He noted steps that needed to be taken.  He studied financial spreadsheets, listed questions and points that required his attention. On the dot of the hour he closed his laptop and put it in his rucksack, shoving his waterproof jacket on top. He whistled the dogs who scurried to him. The cottage was left unlocked. He did not chose his route but let the path take him where it would.

Mid-day always found him at the Crag Inn. The landlord knew him now and drew a pint of dark bitter as he came in. Alexander read as he absently downed a plate of welsh stew. With his hunger sated he took advantage of the Wi-Fi to catch up on emails. On this particular day he was jolted by a message.

Hettie Redfern is on Facebook: Hettie Redfern invites you to like her page “Redfern Livery Stables”

Alexander deleted the notification. He didn’t want her name in his head.

Striding through the town with the dogs at his heels, Alexander stocked up on basics before hiking back to the cottage. He raised a hand in greeting of the painter as she traipsed the coastal path with an easel slung over her shoulder and a bulky satchel. The woman had passed his cottage twice daily since his arrival. She spent her day perched in a nook on the cliffs above the brick-works. Her silvered blonde hair caught the wind and flew into a writhing nest around her head as she turned to wave in reply.

Thirty years a farmer’s wife…not bad for a girl from Leytonstone

On Bank Holiday Monday the Farmer and I celebrated thirty years wed. I say celebrated, but remembered would be factually correct (memory is a cause for celebration these days). By luck festivity was already underway: the killing of the fatted calf to welcome returning offspring who arrived with their delightful new/potential family members (I will be in trouble for that). With the exception of the Student who brought laundry with her instead.

It got me thinking about fate, luck, fortune. The paths our lives take. When my family moved to the countryside (the printing company my father worked for was relocating) I embraced RURAL with all the zeal of a born-again evangelist. I joined Farm Club, milked cows and goats. Kept an imaginary horse in the garage and wrote ‘pony’ on mother’s shopping list for countless years. I plagued the family to get a dog; built straw heaps in the stubble fields with the village kids, went rabiting (I never actually got one, and I don’t recall that any of us did). I ‘rescued’ dying fledgling birds (as successful in preserving life as my rabiting exploits were in ending it); fed the chickens and visiting hedgehogs. Even, during one traumatic summer, attempted to save the entire population of myxomatosis infected bunnies. Thirty years of farming hardens you up, but I will always loathe myxomatosis.

My Mother (the Gallivanting Granny) did not find the relocation quite so delightful. She had to learn to drive again (never her favourite sport). Her own mother was now hours and miles away, rather than two quick hops on the bus, and the only bus which arrived in our village was the one which took us to school. She doesn’t love dogs, and as for horses…when my pleas for a pony were finally fruitful the little bugger we ended up with ran her into the ditch. Several times. She watched me ride cross-country once, before announcing firmly that she would never do so again. Over time she adapted of course, that is what GG does. That is what we all do when fate stirs things up.

ED has now returned to the bright London lights and is loving it there. The Engineer has joined the family farm (for which we are eternally grateful in this high-tech high-admin era). He married a city girl from Birmingham. DIL is enchanting and has slotted into the family like the piece that was missing. She rides the combine with the Engineer when she gets off work in the summer. She has a rabbit and she’s getting chickens. My nephew works for the printing company which my father followed here.

The Student? Well we don’t know yet. At the moment maybe something to do with disadvantaged children/young offenders and a rural/farm angle. Ambitions, hopes and dreams. New horizons which fate will take a hand in shaping, because fate always does.

The farmer and I met at the village youth club. I read his shyness as cool aloofness, (a red rag to the bull of a teenage passion) and pursued him relentlessly. The rest, as they say, is history.

When I visit London it makes me think about how different my life would be if that relocation hadn’t happened. I eye Londoners navigating the tube with offhand ease, and remind myself that I was so very nearly one of them (as I check and triple check that the train I’ve got on is going in the right direction). GG had fantasies of retiring there, a little flat in the Barbican maybe where she could catch a bus to all the excitement which London has to offer.

Me, I’m sticking with the fields. Happy as a pig in mud. Swine before pearls.

 

Yay – I’m ‘Z’ List!

I am a celebrity this week. I may be indulging in big fish syndrome, but I insist on enjoying my moment of fame in next week’s chip papers.

The local press were hot on the heels of Good Housekeeping Magazine in bringing my story (From Farmers Wife to Author of Saucy Novel) to the world’s attention. Ok, not to the world. To the UK readers of GH magazine and a very small corner of Essex. And the reason for all this attention? The combined efforts of me, myself, and I, plus the instrumental role played by Eldest Daughter, my home-grown PR, who got me into GH and wrote the press releases.

I received an email from our accountant: Subject: Very Strange Question. Message: Forgive me for asking this, but I’m on the train reading this month’s edition of GH magazine, and I have come across a picture of someone I recognise, bearing your name. Is this you?

The temptation to reply “No, I haven’t got a clue who that is” was strong. This lady does our accounts, I kind of figured she would be bright enough to work it out for herself. She had worked it out, of course (I am being mean-minded for the purpose of comedy) because the final line of the message congratulated me on writing the book. I am using her missive to underline the surprise (should that be shock?) which acquaintances experience when they find a friend/colleague/client in COMPLETELY THE WRONG PLACE. A fish out of water.

I had a similar reaction from the lady who waxes my eyebrows (“Was that YOU in the local paper?”) and to be entirely fair, if my accountant or the lady who waxes my eyebrows had been splashed across the media for writing a ‘saucy’ novel, I would undoubtedly ask them the same question.

Generally, the result has been positively overwhelming, with moments of fear thrown in. Such as when the vicar called to offer her congratulations and confirm that she was “looking forward to reading the book.” I shook in my boots then. “It isn’t vicar reading” my mind was screaming, but instead of saying that I made non-committal choking noises at her. Shame on me, for passing judgement on a vicar’s reading choices; the woman has undoubtedly seen more of life than I have. It does, however, make me uncomfortable when people read my book because I wrote it, rather than because it is a book they would pick from the shelf. Plus, well, you know, it is a little bit raunchy. (I prefer ‘raunchy’ to ‘saucy’, saucy conjures images of Benny Hill which are far more disturbing).

The Gallivanting Granny scared me a little, when she rang up to say the picture was “terrible, terrible, terrible” (yup – repeated three times) and The Farmer added to my disquiet when, having read the article at his brother’s house, he reported back that the headline was “Saucy Farmer’s Wife”. Lucky then that the terrible picture would quickly dispel that notion. Even luckier that when I finally got to see the paper (our house being too remote to benefit from paper delivery) the picture was poor, not terrible, and the headline was saucy novel.

Great fame and fortune have resulted from the articles: An instant invitation (before I knew the piece had featured, which proved confusing) to talk about self-publishing at a creative writing class. A last minute request to speak to the WI (their pre-booked speaker was poorly) and, as a I write this post, a plea from a friend to speak to her Mother’s luncheon group.

So, wha’ do ya know, I’ve become a Public Speaker! I didn’t see that coming. The W.I. were great. Good fun, spirited, enthusiastic. My heart stopped the words getting out of my mouth for the first few seconds, but then by some stroke of luck I remembered that I am a show off and thoroughly enjoyed myself. There was one mildly hostile moment from my audience, when I told them the excerpt I was reading would be free of smut, but we got through that.

As a post note question, don’t chips taste so much better when they are wrapped in newspaper?

My rookie efforts at experimental, almost zero budget, Marketing

I have been dabbling in marketing over the last few weeks, without a budget, although I did fork out just shy of thirty quid on Facebook in April. And three pounds 49 pence on postage… Facebook – Page Promotion and Boosted Posts I love that you can target Facebook boosts to a specific audience, and the fact that it only costs you if a person actually connects with your post. FB allows you to set your daily budget and the duration of the boost, so right from the get go you know absolutely what your maximum spend will be. Great user tools, and targeting too, what more could you ask for! Results and connections are charted for you. I saw an increase in page likes and in activity on all the posts I boosted. FB also tells you which of your (un-boosted) posts are amusing people, so you can make informed choices about what to promote. What you cannot do is work out if all this activity translates to actual book sales. I console myself with the belief that any PR carrying the name of my book is valuable, even if it does not directly translate to financial returns! As the author of rural romance, featuring horses and dogs. I targeted my post at women who like books, romance, dogs and horses. Which feels pretty specific. As I have yet to complete my ‘Facebook Ads training’ I could well be missing a trick. Amazon Giveaway Unfortunately only in the USA – a US address is a requirement of entry (Amazon’s idea, not mine) but as America knows little about me yet, I thought this was worth a bash. I offered three free copies of my paperback (you have to have a physical book – or a physical something- to participate in this) and ticked ‘follow me on twitter’ as one of the entry requirements. You decide the ‘lucky number’ who will win a book, e.g. every 30th entrant or every 1000th. I over-estimated the potential number of entrants and set my number too high. Consequently I only gave away one book in the end. Amazon despatches the book themselves and charges you the retail cost plus postage, so prize giving is delightfully easy (I had to pay £10 to despatch a book to the USA after my Goodreads Giveaway). You can promote the giveaway on twitter with the #AmazonGiveaway tag. Result – an increase in twitter followers, potentially people who actually read books, although probably those that just enjoy giveaways! Cheap Handouts for my upcoming signing An easy one this, I ordered 100 free business cards from Vistaprint, replacing the business name with the name of my book, and adding my tag line where the legend should have been. I’m quite pleased with the result (see below) and I have something to give to those attending my book signing. Total spend £3.49 (on postage) and I now carry a few in my handbag to distribute to anyone who shows a glimmer of interest. P.S. I got a voucher from Visa Print this morning, offering £10 off my next order, which I am about to use to create a poster for the book signing. I think I’m in profit.

Pinterest Having become absorbed by Pinterest when creating mood boards for my novel (otherwise known as procrastinating), I finally made the boards public. I find images a great way to stimulate writing, and as many of my readers have said that they would like to “step into the world of Draymere”, I decided it was time to share.

The cover image on my mood board “A Bed of Barley Straw – Draymere” offers a link to my book on Amazon. I have absolutely no idea if this will engage potential readers or not but I’m enjoying myself! It also spurred me on to create the mood board for the sequel (not public yet) which had the effect of breaking my writers block and delivered me back to the typewriter. Now that, I call a success.

Woah! What a week.

An interesting week in my self-publishing journey. Much to excite. I am still writing my book talk for next month’s ‘book chat/signing/author interview’ (I must come up with a snappier name before we announce the event). The speech isn’t getting longer, but much like my manuscript it is undergoing a million edits.

A certain very good friend has agreed to read some passages from the book out loud. She reads beautifully and I fear I may squeak on the day (It is not meant to be a comedy act). Being the character that she is, when I told her that I would email the relevant passages, typed out and edited for profanities, she suggested she carry a little bell and ‘ding out’ the swear words. Comedy Store, here we come. I vetoed the idea on the grounds of nervous hysteria looming.

The first passage for reading was easy to select. Near the beginning of the story, so no spoilers here. Not involving too many characters to confuse those who have not read the book. No sex! I replaced the edgy swearing with milder words, but then another friend who is coming to support told me she would be bringing her grand-daughter along (3 years old). We may be re-visiting that bell.

The format of the event is broadly as follows:

Gin and tonic (that’s just for me, the rest get tea or coffee)
Hello (mustn’t forget that)
Speak about my journey to self-publishing
Reading (and bell-ringing?) by very good friend
Speak about the book
Second reading*
Host (and hopefully audience) Q&A session
Book signing and goodbye
Probably more gin.

*You will note that the second reading has an asterisk in place, because I am really struggling to find a second passage that meets the criteria of “no spoilers, no blue bits, not too many characters.” This book is fast, in more ways than one (and yes, that is a plug).

I put a post on Facebook asking readers for their favourite passages.  Great response, but few that met the rules. My friend wants to read a steamy scene but personally I think she is becoming obsessed with that bell. Replace “second reading” with “musical interlude”.

Other exciting events this week – I GOT THE BOOK ACCEPTED IN A LOCAL BOOKSTORE! I couldn’t be more thrilled, although I did have to beg and turn up the charm simultaneously. Not an easy thing to achieve. Two copies, but it’s a start. I am hoping that if I get the publicity for the book chat right, those two books will launch themselves off the shelves.

Wonderful ED, my home grown PR, is writing a local press release and the MAGAZINE IS OUT! Weirdly this has happened 6 days ahead of the date I am allowed to shout about it. I’m tempted to break rank here, but I am so humbly grateful for the great publicity I will rein myself in and abide by the rules. Besides, they were really nice people and a promise is a promise. Once again news of my ‘launch’ has reached me via social medial. Must be subscribers only, because I can’t find a copy anywhere (trust me, I have looked). A photograph of the article (depicting a very well turned out woman who resembles me a little) arrived via Facebook.

The final starburst to award this week, goes to the news that I have SOLD A BOOK IN AMERICA! My first transatlantic sale. In fact, I sold three. On the same day. Go figure. I have no idea why the US of A suddenly glimpsed across me. Or three of them did. The mysterious workings of the World Wide Wonderful web. I can’t figure it out, but I’m happy in my ignorance. Much as the tracking of this blog bemuses and fascinates me. Occasional readers from 18 Nations. A special “Hello!” to the Netherlands, Canada, Poland, and all of you World Wonderful readers. It’s great to be in touch.

PS America, check out #AmazonGiveaway  “A Bed of Barley Straw” for the chance to win a copy of my book.

So yes, an interesting week.

Talking about my book…

That is what I have to do now. Blog tours, author interviews and a couple of local speaking/signing events lurk on my horizon. I will have to talk out loud, in front of people. Yikes.

Numerous niggles are harrying my mind. The blog tour sounds fine; I can sit at my computer, happy in my space, editing and re-editing my words as often as I like before I send them out. Viewers can glance at my post and move swiftly on, or they can read every sentence. I cannot be offended because I will never know which of those actions they have taken (unless they drop a comment or a reassuring ‘like’ – lovely gifts from cyberspace which let you know you have actually connected).

My issue with author interviews is that I’m not sure I’m getting the answers right. This belief is confirmed when I read the interviews of proper, grown up authors. Those familiar with my blog will surely remember that my response to a straightforward query about my favourite books resulted in total brain freeze. (I felt only empathy for Natalie Bennett after that train crash of a radio interview). Also I did not study journalism at the University of Brilliant, I cannot quote Shakespeare (at least not knowingly), I have never written for the National Shout it Out, and there are zero awards to my name.

My author bio is a desperate little paragraph with few writer credentials, and zero proof of wordsmithery:

Left school at 16 ( I couldn’t wait to get out). Worked with horses. Got married, had kids, wrote a book.

There is more of course, but little of relevance. Various eclectic jobs, study and hobbies. You’re taking a gamble on me as an author, but hey, live dangerously. Oh, I’ve just remembered, I won the poetry contest at our village fete – for three years on the run! How the hell did I miss that out? They even gave me a cup (it had to be given back at the end of the year, of course). My poem about the Queen’s Jubilee was an absolute cracker. I would love to share it with you here but it is sadly lost in the mist of obsolete PCs.

Now the book, I can talk about, as friends will verify (whilst rolling their eyes to the heavens). Here are some great sample questions on author interviews which I can’t wait to get my teeth into:

“Describe your hero in five words” – Hunky, bloody gorgeous. Bit of a sod. (Oops that’s seven)

“Was your novel inspired by real life events?” – No! But no one believes me (mates who have read it are eyeing the Farmer in very different light). Some of the horses and dogs existed in real life…does that count?

“Can you remember where you first saw your book on the shelves” – I can promise you I.WILL.REMEMBER.THAT. When it happens.

And now the biggest Frog – PUBLIC SPEAKING. I’ve yet to find out if I can pull this off without my voice going weird and squeaky. I used to read the lesson in church as a child. That didn’t bother me. In my twenties and thirties I became adept at lecturing my offspring. Do either of those qualify as public speaking? I have hollered across a windy field whilst teaching people to ride, so I know the voice can carry when it wants to.

Luckily I have two secret weapons in my armoury.

The lovely, helpful people on the “Alliance of Independent Authors” Facebook group, who have been amazingly generous with hints and tips.
Gin and tonic.

Wish me luck.

Self-published Author? Ten Reasons Why You Should Register For IndieReCon – April 15th-17th

Want to make self-publishing mission possible? Here are ten reasons why you should get involved with IndieReCon, a three-day global event to promote quality and craft in indie publishing.

1. IndieReCon is FREE to attend. Yes you read that right. The best thing about IndieReCon is that it’s 100% FREE to attend the sessions.

2. IndieReCon is a conference for authors by authors.

4. Get the nitty gritty details on self-publishing basics like pricing, distribution, and formatting from top industry professionals.

5. You will learn to build your marketing and publicity skills.

6. You can chat with NY Times bestselling authors Barbara Freethy and Belle Andre.

7. Fun contests and HUGE giveaways.

8. It’s online. You can attend in your PJs. Need we say more?!

9. You will discover some great new indie authors to read…

10. You will learn about all the communities and tools that are out there for indie authors. Every single blog post, chat, webinar will be packed with all the information you need to help you on the self-publishing path.

IndieReCon will help you learn all the dirty secrets about the indie publishinging industry, and help you succeed. Hang out there all day and all night. Hourly posts. Tons of chats, vlogs and webinars. What are you waiting for?