Carol Hedges's Blog, page 22

Choosing the Write Name

The late & much lamented Victoria Collins
One of the first big decisions facing any budding author hoping to publish their novel is deciding what to call yourself. There are two options.

Option 1: Be yourself.
Plus points are that it's easy to remember who you are (until dementia takes over, when you have to rely on friends and family). And it stops that look of vague terror crossing your face when being introduced as a guest speaker. Or seeing a poster with your face and stranger's name under it.  It also makes the banking of meagre royalties easier, and stops HMRC from going into meltdown every time you fill in a self-assessment form.

Option 2: Be someone else.
Initially, that's what I was going to do. I wanted a different name for the author of Diamonds & Dust. As it was going to be my first 'adult' novel, I thought I'd like to create a new identity to go with it. And I wanted something that would place my books at eye-level on the bookshop shelf - something that not enough writers factor in when choosing their author name. (Think supermarket and bottom shelves). Plus I wanted a name that suggested the book was a historical novel. Thus Victoria Collins was born: Victoria after the Queen; Collins after Wilkie Collins, writer of the first detective novel. Great name! Or so I thought.

Alas, just as I was beginning to develop a split personality and quite enjoying it, the negative aspects of my decision began to surface and niggle at me. To launch as an unknown historical fiction writer seemed a bit risky, didn't it? How would anyone who already knew me, find me? A quick trawl on the internet also threw up a couple of other Victoria Collins. Both established writers, both with blogs. My alter-ego had competition before she'd even started.

However, 'Carol Hedges' existed as a known entity, and had a presence on Amazon, Wikipedia and other sites. It seemed daft to turn my back on what was already set up and running. So sadly, Victoria and I parted company. Purely for commercial reasons. But I like to think that she hasn't completely gone away; that she is still out there, somewhere. A spiky, scatty version of me ... in a bonnet and crinoline. Causing trouble.

Mock & Roll (Adventures of L-Plate Gran)

I used to think my childminding skills were on a par with that famous fictional umbrella carrying childminder: 'Practically perfect in every way'. That was before I started minding Little G. Now it is becoming more and more obvious that I am riddled with faults. Most of them are being brought to my attention by the baby, who has taken to imitating me.

''ALLO!'' she greets me, sounding like a cross between Inspector Clouseau and a South American parakeet. Personally, I wasn't aware that I said this, but apparently I do. I also wasn't aware how often I checked my watch, until Little G started doing it. Not that she has a watch. She does a very good imitation of having one though.

She is also MUCH better at giving people The Hard Stare than I am; it's really scary, I wouldn't like to be on the receiving end of it. And she raises a tiny hand in gracious acknowledgement to drivers who let us cross. I have seen people collapsing over the wheel in fits of laughter as we pass. This is how we roll.

However the ultimate humiliation came last week, when Little G was tucking into her dinner of cheese and peas (we like rhyming food) and a friend called my mobile. Having watched me for a couple of seconds, she suddenly held her spoon up to her ear, gave me a cheeky grin and started making blah-blah noises into it.

They say everyone's a critic, but my goodness don't they start young nowadays!

To be continued ...     ....

Fuelling the Writing Process

Surprise has been expressed in some quarters at the amount of coffee that I drink while writing my Victorian Detective series. Lest it be thought that I spend all day sitting in front of a laptop, mainlining caffeine, I probably need to point out that the coffee cup: word count ratio also includes other writing-related activities that may take place at different times of the day and in different places but can include coffee as part of the journey.

For a start, there is thinking/planning coffee, which happens while counting the fish in the pond, re-arranging various drawers, reading the paper, de-frosting the fridge or moving objects upon the desk. Okay, I call it thinking/planning coffee, but let's be gut-honest, you know, and I know you know exactly what it is.

There is also research coffee. Research is something most writers do, especially those who write historical fiction, because every little detail has to be absolutely accurate. You can wing it, but sod's law dictates that if you do, your book will fall into the reviewing hands of the one and only world-expert in the winged area, and they will take great delight in exposing your ignorance to the wider reading public.

I use two sources for research: the internet, which is brilliant for very specific information: Victorian funerary practices, the acceptable length of mourning for different family members etc. However I also like to get out and use the local library, because there is something about the serendipity of working along the shelves and discovering something you didn't know you needed until you came across it. It's a bit like Topshop, but with books. I once found a whole page on how the Victorians decorated their Christmas trees in a book on Celebrations - and used the information in Diamonds & Dust.


Both research sources involve copious amounts of coffee naturally, although the best thing about extra-mural research coffee is that it is usually accompanied by research cake. Victoria sponge cake, of course.

Talk the Talk (Adventures of L-Plate Gran)

Pushing a baby round town is giving me a whole new insight into the way we (you, I don't do this) use bad language in the street. On several occasions I have had to TALK LOUDLY to Little G as some person has passed by us, swearing liberally while on their mobile. The last thing I need is for Big Ears the Baby to tell You must be mad to **** - off.

Little G is now sixteen months old, and has a wide vocabulary. She soaks up words and songs, often joining in conversations when a word occurs that she recognises. Thus the need to monitor and sometimes censor the language she is exposed to. I am adept at giving miscreants The Hard Stare.

However there is one word she has learned that You must be mad is NOT happy about. Little G has started saying 'Wor - ah' when she wants a drink. She has picked it up from somewhere and it seems to have stuck. Thus we are out and about in town, when this little voice pipes up from the buggy in fluent Estuary English: 'Wor - ah?'

Last week I decided to have a purge on the ubiquitous glottal stop. Whenever she asked for a drink, what she got was some WaTer. Carefully enunciated and in my best Home Counties accent. Thought I'd cracked it. But the best laid schemes of mice and gran gang aft aglay. Next day, we're on the bus going to Baby Rhyme Time, when the little voice suddenly pipes up hopefully:  'Wor - Tah?'

I still have so much to learn.

To be continued ...     ....

WHSmith Does Not Stock My Books

A fellow writer posits that they see similarities between Romance and Crime fiction. Not sure. At least, there may be some similarities in content (as in: ''She was struck by a piercing glance from his dark brown eyes ..'' etc). But we are totally different animals in the writing room. Yes, indeedy. Writers of Romantic fiction compose with a red rose tucked behind their left ear, and a big box of Black Magic on the desk beside them. Bluebirds sing outside their window, and small fauns gambol on the green lawns. Sometimes a white horse, ridden by a dashing male figure in breeches and a wet white shirt slashed to the waist, gallops by in the lane below.

By contrast, writers of crime fiction crouch menacingly over their keyboards, a kitchen knife gripped between their clenched teeth, ready to stab at any dark hidden depths that might float to the surface during the writing process. They write at night, furtively glancing over their shoulders every now and then, their ears peeled for footsteps coming slowly up the creaky wooden stairs. I know this, gentle blog reader, for I am such a writer. That is also why the highest award for a crime novel is in the shape of a dagger, while the equivalent prize for the best Romantic book ... isn't.

I hope we've got that sorted, though I doubt it. And so to the subject of this blog. WHSmith, bastion of pens, pencils, sticky notes and books, do not stock any of my Victorian Crime novels. I have tried asking them to, but they claim I do not exist. I do not exist because I am not on their supplier list. I am not on their supplier list because they refuse to ask for me to be added, despite numerous people locally trying unsuccessfully to order my books from them. Go figure.

It is all part and parcel of The Great Bookshop Ripoff. All bookshops demand a big discount from publishers. They then add the markup and pocket the difference. No exception is made for self/small publishers, who cannot run on such negative profit margins. This is why Amazon et al flourish, and all the whining from bookshops about poverty is purely their own fault. They could set up special deals and discounts if they wanted. Plenty of other retail outlets in different sectors do. Also big publishers PAY for table space and window space, which the rest of the smaller publishing world can't.

It is a ripoff. Both for authors struggling to get their work known to a wider reading public, and to readers who are being denied access to some very fine writers. What saddens me, as a writer of Victorian fiction, is that WHSmith started trading as a newspaper distributor, book seller and lending library in Victorian times. The first station bookstall opened in 1848, at Euston Station. They even score a mention in the 4th book. Their loss. And yours.

Pretty in Pink (Adventures of L-Plate Gran)

And so we reach the vexed matter of children's fashion. The more time I spend going round kids clothes shops with Little G - and I spend a lot of time, as it tires her out, the more I observe how little has changed on the colour palate front.
When You must be mad was born I made a lot of her clothes as I despaired of the 'girls wear pink' gender agenda choices available in Mothercare, which was about all we had at that time. Thus from birth she was dressed in strong colours like the pair of navy velvet dungarees, or the rainbow Fairisle jumpers and succession of patchwork jackets.
Fast forward 32 years, and trudging through Equality, Feminism, RadFems and any other Fems you care to mention, girls' clothes are still being mainly produced in pastel colours with bows and frills and cutesy slogans about princesses and sparkly bits while boys' clothes are in 'robust' colours with trucks and dinosaurs and robots, so that as soon as you enter a store you can clearly spot whose outfits are located where.
This lamentable lack of progress was vividly brought home to me last week when Little G and I went into a small local pop up Danish clothes shop, whose bright window display of children's clothes drew us like two magnets. Once inside, I picked out a bright leaf-green T-shirt with farm animals and tractors on it only to be told by the young, so should know better, assistant: 'that's really meant for boys'.
 I bought it. Of course.
To be continued...    ... 

Bedside Books

As most of you probably know by now - and if you do not, where on earth have you been - I write Victorian detective fiction, and am published by an independent book publisher called Crooked Cat Books. In October, they will publish the third book in the series, called Death & Dominion. It will be my 14th published novel; there are many many more unpublished ones festering in the ether drawer.

When I signed with Crooked Cat, I was going through a difficult period in my writing: I'd been published by OUP, and Usborne, two 'big' publishing houses. I'd been longlisted for the Carnegie Medal and shortlisted for various other awards, but my (ex)agent had failed to place subsequent books with them, or with anyone else

What was fascinating was seeing the varied reactions to the news that I had been signed up by a ''small Indie''. The overwhelming response was positive. Lots of lovely cyber-hugs and congratulations. Lots of tweets and complimentary comments. A few people even hinted to Crooked Cat that they were lucky to sign me!! A statement that, in hindsight, they probably regard with a degree of wry amusement.

However, there was one sour note. A former contact (I maintain very few now) in the literary world suggested that this was a retrograde step for a writer who has always been published by mainstream publishers, and that I would be better off biding my time and continuing to beat my bruised and bloodied (my analogy) fists on what was clearly a very closed door (my interpretation).

A picture of the current 'To Be Read' pile on my bedside table provides an interesting commentary upon the suggestion. Top of the pile is The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown. Pure escapism. Mainstream published. Stocked in every bookshop and hugely popular.

Next on the pile is a non-fiction book. I always have a 'non-fiction' book on the go. Usually historical. As I'm writing Book 4, I need to get back into the Victorian world. Apart from my own extensive collection of novels and books on this period, I have 4 books I borrow on a rotating and continuous loop from the library. Currently it's Judith Flanders' 'Victorian City'. Mainstream publisher again. Not widely stocked, as not a ''popular'' title.

Third on the pile is Personal Retributions by Andrew French. This is a fast paced spy thriller, set in the 1980s. It is self-published. I know Andrew from social media, and my husband is a great fan of his books.

My point is that all of these books, published in a variety of different ways, have one common denominator: me. I don't really care what route the writers took to bring their work to market, I just appreciate that their books are there for me to read and enjoy. They all end up on the same pile anyway. Or have I missed the point?

Jimmy Shoes (Adventures of L-Plate Gran)

Little G is now 18 months old and has just got her first pair of shoes. They are size 3, purple with sparkly bits and velcro fastenings. You must be mad says they will stabilize her and encourage her to start walking. As I know nothing of these matters, I remain silent.

When I was Little G's age, you had to be actually walking properly before you were shod. Then you stood on a platform thing, with your feet in a box thing and had them X-rayed to ascertain the size. Looking back, I'm not sure this was a good idea. Nowadays, you rock up to the Clarks shoe shop and they have a chart.

Sadly, Little G was not convinced by the chart, nor the kind assistant nor initially by the shoes, and had a total meltdown in the shop, so it was a case of guesswork all round and You must be mad was relieved to escape. So were the rest of the customers.

However Little G now loves her new shoes. She spends a lot of time peeling and sticking the velcro straps because it makes a satisfying sound. She has adopted a strange straight-legged crab crawl to get herself around the house as she adapts to wearing shoes. She also likes 'pushing the buggy' round town - something she wasn't allowed to do before because of sockage wear and tear.
We take ages and ages to get anywhere.

I reassure You must be mad that the baby will eventually let go of the floor and start walking properly. Then I remind her that from shoes to Choos is only a short step. So she'd better start saving.

To be continued ...     ........

The PINK SOFA meets Nancy Jardine, writer

Stretching the category boundaries


Nancy Jardine is one of the lovely Crooked Cat Publishing writers I have got to know since CC started publishing me. Nancy has a new book out: Take me now so of course, the sofa, a bibliophile par excellence, and I wanted to know all about it.Over to you, Nancy:
''Hello, Carol- thanks for inviting me here today. It’s always great to hop over to see you and share details of my latest novel Take Me Now, published by Crooked Cat Publishing, a publisher with whom you’re very familiar.
Crooked Cat has now published six of my novels, the latest launch at the beginning of June 2015 having been for Take Me Now, a contemporary mystery. If a wider categorisation is used, it should read a ‘humorous contemporary corporate-sabotage romantic mystery’.  That’s a massive mouthful and the permutations of word order are numerous. When describing Take Me Now I’ve called it all of those aspects, though not necessarily all at the same time. As far as I’m aware there’s no classification on a site like Amazon for ‘corporate- sabotage’ mysteries but that’s essentially what the story is about.
When I wrote the novel, I had a few aims in mind. I wanted to write a contemporary novel as a break from writing my historical novels. I wanted to inject some humour into the situation and make my Scottish highland hero Nairn Malcolm an untypical one. In normal circumstances, Nairn would fit the stereotypical brawny claymore-wielding warrior image but at the beginning of Take Me Now, he’s a temporarily damaged alpha male—damaged as a result of a mysterious motorbike accident. The corporate sabotage aspect of the mystery is that Nairn’s adventure sports business is also being attacked by the unknown saboteur. I also wanted to seize the opportunity and write about some fabulous world wide locations which Nairn visits, something I can’t do when writing my historical novels.
And the romantic aspect? Nairn needs help to get himself around the world to keep business ticking over and to find that saboteur. Aela Cameron, a lovely lass from Vancouver Canada, is the perfect person to get Nairn on the go and to help him find the person doing the dastardly deeds. Nothing much fazes Aela: she takes everything in her stride including her somewhat battered temporary boss. 
I’m so pleased that Crooked Cat choose to publish novels that don’t fit the typical categories because I really enjoyed writing Take Me Now.''
Buy from Amazon UK http://amzn.to/1QbhUwnUShttp://amzn.to/1MdeuCU . It’s also available from Smashwords; Barnes and Noble; Waterstones.com; and other ebook stores.
Nancy Jardine writes:historical romantic adventures (Celtic Fervour Series); contemporary mystery thrillers (Take Me Now, Monogamy Twist, Topaz Eyes-finalist for THE PEOPLE’S BOOK PRIZE 2014); & time-travel historical adventures for Teen/ YA readers (Rubidium Time -Travel Series –Book 1 The Taexali Game).

Find Nancy at the following places Blog:  http://nancyjardine.blogspot.com  Website:  http://nancyjardineauthor.comFacebook  LinkedIN    About Me   Goodreads   Twitter @nansjar  Google+ (Nancy Jardine)   YouTube book trailer videos   Amazon UK author page   Rubidium Time Travel Series on Facebook  http://on.fb.me/XeQdkG

Tumble Tot (Adventures of L-Plate Gran)

Despite her ongoing lack of verticality, Little G is advancing in other ways. You must be mad calls it Testing the Boundaries. I call it Karma. Suffice it to say, one can no longer rely on 100% compliance, and devious methods have to be adopted to stay one step ahead of her.
The old nappy changing routine involved plonking her on her back and performing the task. Recently, she has taken against this indignity and arches her back, refusing to lie down. I have come up with a series of 'clever wheezes' involving various toys being in charge of various aspects of said change, with her as main Project Manager. It seems to be working. So far.
Food is another area. She likes to have choices and input into what she is going to eat. So we cook together wherever possible. Little G enjoys pouring pasta into saucepans, and dropping sausages into frying pans while we sing the '10 Fat Sausages Sizzling In The Pan' song (go Google). We are the Fanny & Baby Craddock of our generation.
But however much I think I am one step ahead, there is always the unexpected event that happens when you least expect it. Last week Little G managed to climb up onto and then fall off the ottoman in her room while I was temporarily absent. She has never done it before. It is her first major tumble and she has the bruise to prove it.
I know that this is the beginning of many such falls, that neither I nor You must be mad can wrap her in cotton wool, nor would we want to, nor will she let us, but it is a salutary lesson. You can do all the Risk Analysis in the world, but you cannot Project Manage a baby.  Constant change is here to stay. 


To be continued ...          ........