Lily Lawson's Blog: Lily's log, page 16

After a fashion

In the 1960’s Ivy and Alan bought a shop on the Kings Road to sell second hand clothes and whatever else took their fancy. ‘After a fashion’ was popular with students while it was in the centre of town.

Over the decades the new shopping centre had taken a lot of the trade away from the Kings Road and business had slowed down.

When Ivy died, Alan couldn’t bear to sell the place. Instead, he opened up every day. He was rewarded with the odd sale and a random collection of individuals popping in for a chat. The folks he knew might bring a treat from the bakers or a newspaper or a magazine.

Alan cherished these encounters as his visitors often had a tale about Ivy. He felt that Ivy was still with him, which kept him going.

Tell your story

I originally wrote this blog post for R E Loten's blog last year. I have edited it slightly.

The question came up in a Facebook group “Which book do you wish you had written?” The majority went for Harry Potter.

Here’s the thing - only J K Rowling is J K Rowling. If someone else had written Harry Potter it would not be Harry Potter because only J K Rowling could write Harry Potter. The same is true for any writer, only they can tell that story.

It is very easy to fall into the trap of comparing yourself to another writer. If you are attempting to get published traditionally you are encouraged to read similar books to yours for comparison. Publishers like to take on authors whose books they know will sell. Certain formulas are known to be successful as they are popular with readers so authors can be pushed in the direction of making their book more marketable. Writing to some formula you are not happy with because that sells must be soul destroying.

If you self-publish you are expected to research how to present your book so that it sits comfortably in your genre.

Publishing is tough, there is so much competition and rejection attached to it. You have to be strong and have faith in what you are doing to survive.

As a reader, I like to read something unique. The books that stay in my head have something about them that makes them stand out from the crowd, because in my eyes there is something special about them. I call these books my six-star books.

My answer to the question “Which book do you wish you had written?” is none of them because if I had written them, they wouldn’t be what they are and I wouldn’t have got to experience them as a reader. Reading a book you have written is a whole different experience. Maybe, one day, one of my books will be someone’s six-star book, maybe not and I am ok with that. I don’t need a bestseller either, I am happy as I am.

Adam and Eve

She hadn't meant to scare the child; she didn’t know he was there. The barn was dark. She was hiding from The Master, he had a temper on him. If he found her, he’d beat her or worse.

‘Giiiirl’ his voice thick with beer rang through the air.

The straw moved.

‘Whatshername?’

A clink of glass against stone.

‘Eve, rotten to the core, stealing from my table, needs beating out of her.’

The straw moved again.

Eve heard muffled sobbing nearby.

A wetness crept up Eve’s dress, she turned. A pail was over its contents darkening her beige dress.

‘Ugh’

‘Sorry’

‘Who's there?’

‘Me’

‘Come out so I can see you’

‘NO!’

‘I won’t hurt you. You hiding from him too?’

‘I was hungry.’

‘You stole the food from the table. What’s your name?’

‘Adam’ Eve laughed ‘Adam and Eve, well this is not the Garden of Eden’

Adam crept out of the hay bales.

‘At least now I know why I’m due a beating. Best get it over with.’

‘Stay here with me.’

‘If I don’t go, he’ll come looking, he’ll tan your hide too if he catches you. I’ll bring you food and water when I can. Then we’ll work out what to do with you.’

‘Eve oh Eve. Come and make my supper, there’s a good girl.’

Eve crossed the courtyard.

‘Coming Master’

The Master grabbed her by the arm.

‘Let’s teach you a lesson girl.’ He took off his belt. ‘Ungrateful wench. Everything I do for you; this is how you repay me.'

His drunken belt strikes caught Eve’s bottom and her legs as he dragged her into the house.

***

After supper, the master snoring in his chair, Eve crept back to the barn. Adam had gone.

Monday

As I entered Professor Althorp’s home the reek of pipe tobacco took me back to my childhood.

My grandfather was also a professor, a one-time mentor of Professor Althorp. I am a conscientious worker; the personal connection made me determined to carry out my duties to the best of my ability.

The body had a pen knife protruding from the ribs, the wound leaking blood onto the Axminster staining it beyond redemption. A hefty tome nestled near the head, the professor’s reading material likely part of his demise. The contents of his bookcase were the envy of the faculty, but it seemed an unlikely motive for murder.

I read his laptop screen. In his retirement Professor Althorp had written several academic texts. It was open knowledge in some circles that he had turned his hand to fiction. Using a pen name, he had plucked from his memory archives the scandals he had witnessed or heard confessed, weaving them into novels. I suspect what he unearthed was resurrecting unwanted history.

Despite my gloves I avoided disturbing the scene lest I find myself accused. Being first on the scene afforded me some advantages, speed and opportunity are my friends.

Upstairs the professor’s bed was a tangled mess. A unique odour assaulted my senses, Professor Althorp was not lacking in bedfellows. The one we had in common was useful for the right price.

I removed the scenic obstruction to the safe and typed in the code. I emptied the contents into my rucksack and left the scene.

The 27

She was going back to a place she'd hoped she would never see again. Her imprisonment lasted five years. Every woman who protested about pay inequality in the month-long protest had been jailed. They were charged with criminal damage as they broke into buildings to occupy them.

The 27 women’s family and friends had spent the five years they were imprisoned campaigning to get the Equal Pay act through Parliament. They were now working to attempt to change the law.

A documentary ‘The 27’ was being made about the women and those who supported them. Simonside’s current governor had agreed to allow Rosa to film inside the prison. Rosa felt ill at the thought.

A shock to the system

Amongst his mother's possessions, he found a number of books. This was not, at first, a great surprise. Charles’ mother was a reading addict. This collection was by someone called Diana Munroe. It was set aside from the rest and what attracted his attention was the cover. The image was one he knew well. It was the view from his grandparents back door. Elizabeth Perkins carried her camera everywhere and this particular scene had been captured countless times. A photo hung in her study.

According to the blurb Peter and Wendy were writers who helped various people along the way.

Charles opened a book at random.

"Wendy’s body lay waiting across his desk as Peter hurriedly found the fruit and ice cream she requested. Hunger filled his body, he longed to feast on the naked banquet."

‘Urgh’ he flapped his hands.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out latex gloves. His latex clad hands removed the offending books from the bookshelf and flung them on the table. Gathering them into a box, one opened and Charles was met with a photo of his mother.

His sister Judy found him on the floor and called an ambulance.

***

Charles was in recovery when she wheeled his mother in to see him.

‘Mother what on earth?’

‘I knew you should have told him. He might have enjoyed reading your books like I did.’

‘Judy your brother is not as open minded as you.’

‘You knew and never told me.’

Judy turned her back on him to hide her laugh.

‘I had to have a hobby, Charles. Besides your father enjoyed acting out the scenes with me, it did wonders for our sex life.’

‘Oh my God, Mother’

Judy’s shoulders shook.

‘Charles grow up, your father and I had a healthy sex life, its nothing to be ashamed of.'

‘But he died five years ago, and your last book was...’

‘Last year, yes. My friend Tom was most obliging in that department’

‘You’re too old for all that business.’

‘Charles a woman has needs, even at my age. We’re not all as buttoned up as you. No wonder you’re alone if the thought of people having sex does this to you’

The machines started bleeping and a nurse ran into the room. Charles was holding Elizabeth’s hand on one side and his Judy’s on the other when he died.

‘I’m sorry for your loss Mrs Perkins’

‘Oh, being dead will suit him, he was always such a stiff’

The condition

Stan Brown was found wandering in the streets as a two-year-old child. He was taken in and raised by the Browns as one of their own.

In the chaos of the bombing in the second world war and with the child’s house and family completely destroyed no-one, including Stan, knew his true identity. The family of the child were new to the neighbourhood having been bombed out of their previous home.

The Browns were already a family of eight, so people had already lost track. Young Stan was found a place to sleep in the boys’ bedroom and considered the Browns his family.

***

In 1960 Mrs Brown saw an article in a national paper attached to a death notice for Cyril Parker. There was an accompanying photo explaining that the solicitors as executors of the estate of the deceased were searching for the child in the photograph, as he was thought to be Mr Parker’s sole heir.

Mrs Brown recognised the photo and knew the child was Stan.

The now sixteen-year-old Stan had been told of his beginnings as much as was possible given the circumstances.

***

On arrival at the solicitors Stan was informed of the conditions of the will.

Stan was to inherit the Parker estate, along with an income for life on the proviso he got married and had a child within five years.

Cyril Parker had never married and had no children of his own and as he had regretted this, he had made it a condition of his will.

His success in business had left him a millionaire several times over. It had also destroyed his trust in other people. He wanted Stan to marry for love before he inherited anything. Whoever Stan married had to sign a prenuptial agreement.

Stan, being sixteen, was shocked. He wasn’t sure how his sixteen year old girlfriend Daisy would take the news.

The dating game

Without meaning to, she'd arranged two dates for the same evening on the opposite sides of town.

Mike thought she was into classical music and sushi. Sam thought she was into football and burgers. The truth was she was into Mike and Sam. Being unable to choose between them and unwilling to be honest about it had led to this.

Debbie picked up her phone, tried to form words to send to one of them, failed and continued cleaning the flat.

With knots in her stomach, she went through her wardrobe selecting appropriate clothing for both occasions.

Mike was lean and broody with eyes that made her melt. They talked about anything and everything, but his broodiness led to arguments. He’d stomped off so often it was becoming a routine.

Sam was a gym bunny, affectionate and caring, he made her laugh. They were so comfortable it unnerved her, she felt friend zoned.

Did she really want to get all dressed up. In evening gown and heels and eat sushi when she was starving?

Did she really want to stand in the snow for two hours?

She made up her mind. She wasn’t going anywhere.

The mobile phone signal wasn’t working in the building again, so Debbie donned her warmest coat and stood on the apartment building steps. She’d sent her texts and was about to go in when she heard the gate go.

James her upstairs neighbour was arriving home. His smile lit up his face.

‘What you doing out here, its freezing?’

‘Cancelling my plans, I can’t be bothered to go anywhere.’ Debby hugged herself.

‘It’s a night for takeaway and Netflix for sure.’

‘Yup. I’ll call before I go back in.’

James held the door open.

‘I’ve got Chinese, I always buy too much so there’s plenty if you want to join? It’s a huge sofa so plenty of room.’

The smell emanating from the cartons had her stomach begging for attention.

‘That sounds great, lead the way.’

As he made his way upstairs in front of her, Debbie couldn’t help noticing how good his bottom looked in his jeans.

***

Sitting on the sofa not quite touching, she realised the sauce dripping from her mouth was covering her drool at his toned torso barely concealed by his shirt.

They discovered they had similar taste in films as the evening slipped by with the aid of red wine.

When they said goodnight. James brushed her cheek with his lips, their hands touching.

‘You owe me a takeaway’ her laugh met his voice on the stairs.

Arriving at her flat, there was a bunch of roses at the door and a bucket of donuts, each with a note.

Mike hoped she would feel better soon.

Sam was sorry he’d missed her, hoped she was ok and would ring later to check, reminding her to please call if she needed anything.

She carried everything inside wondering if James liked pizza.

Derek R King Interview

Thanks, Lily, for inviting me to be part of your guest author feature.

When and how did you start writing?

I've been writing since my early teens. My first proper attempt at a poem was at thirteen. I wrote it perched on the side of a cliff, outside a town on the east coast of Scotland called North Berwick. It wasn't a humorous piece, but it was so bad when I read it aloud; even the seagulls laughed. But I enjoyed writing so much that I made up my mind to get better at it.

Tell me about your books.

Well, my first book is non-fiction and didn't really start at the outset as a book, more something to keep the grey cells going. I'd come across the name Clyde Kennard in several books about the US Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and 60s, but the information was very limited. This piqued my interest, and I began what became a journey of over ten years, reading and researching about Clyde Kennard and the time he lived in. Finally, with the research completed, I decided to publish in 2018.

This book became a springboard for the contract for three poetry books, Noir (or When the Night Comes) (2020), Natyre Boy (2021), and (the) Elegy (2022).

In the summer of 2021, I met the wonderful Julie Kusma, and since then have worked on several fantastic collaborations, with many more in the works and or planned for coming years. In addition to these seventeen published collaborations, I’ve self-published two other poetry books, Twelve Red Roses In Verse (2022) and Urban, also 2022. Both are very different in tone from the three previous poetry books. Several other poetry books are in the works, with Twelve More Red Roses In Verse and In Sun and Shade, both planned for 2023.

Your books are very varied. Is there anything you want to write that you haven’t so far?

I started a light romantic sci-fi novel a year or so ago, and I hope to finish it and publish it soon too.

You take a lot of photos that you use in your books. Do you have any plans to take that interest further?

I enjoy taking the photos for the collaboration books, my own, and for pleasure, but I don't have any plans to take this up professionally at the moment, but I guess you never really know.

Do the photos come first or the poems?

In the collaborations with Julie, it can be a mix. For inspirational books, the photo often comes first and inspires the poems. However, for the "Our Series," educational and keepsake, the words come first, with the photos complimenting the words, which is the same for my own books.

What would you do if you didn’t write?

I suppose I would answer this with, I am a full-time construction professional, that's my day job, but in reality, I cannot imagine not writing to be honest. It keeps me sane.

What do you consider your greatest writing accomplishment?

I'm not sure I have achieved that yet, but working with Julie, I feel like I'm moving in that direction with our collaborations and my other writing.

What was your biggest challenge?

This is easy for me, having enough time to write and create with my day job. I usually manage it reasonably well, but sometimes the day job, you know, it just gets a bit….

What’s the best thing someone has said about your writing?

Two things for me here, first, my collaboration with Julie and, i.e., on our book The Poetry Mouse, where Literary Titan wrote, "King and Kusma take the ordinary and transform it into breathtaking.”

For myself, it has to be Literary Titan’s comment on my first book, the non-fiction, The Life and Times Of Clyde Kennard “Derek R. King has made a significant contribution to literature indeed.” These words gave me the confidence to continue writing.

What is your ultimate dream as a writer?

To carry on writing and reach people with my words.

What are your current projects? What should we be looking out for?

Ha! Well, Julie and I have a collab list of around 40 million books at the moment (ha!), and it grows with every week that passes.

Seriously, I have two poetry books scheduled for next year, and maybe my novel too. These plus the twenty or so books Julie and I have slated for publication in 2023, which includes the children’s books The Enchanted Winter Faerie Realm, Zenardi’s Carnival of ABCs, several inspiration books, and additions to both Our Education and Our Keepsakes series.

Biography

Derek R. King, is a poet, musician and published author. He lives in Scotland, enjoys the great outdoors, long walks in the hills, the sounds of the seas and ocean, art, photography and good malt whisky.

You might spot him on a hill somewhere with his camera fist pumping and quietly muttering "Yes!" to himself if he’s captured a great image.

His main non-fiction work to date has been the award-winning non-fiction Civil Rights era book, "The Life And Times Of Clyde Kennard", which tells the true story of one man's attempt to go to college in those challenging times.

Derek has also written several short stories of which "Defying Convention" is included in the award winning Winter Chills anthology.

His poetry, which covers diverse topics, has been variously described as "emotive", "raw", "powerful" and "fun". ‘Noir (Or When The Night Comes)’ is the first collection of his poetry. He has since completed his trilogy with Natyre Boy and (The) Elegy. Urban was published in 2022. The sequel to Twelve Red Roses, Twelve More Red Roses In Verse is due to be published in 2023. In Sun and Shade will also be published this year. You can find out more about his books on Julie L Kusma's website. https://julie-kusma.com/

Derek’s poetry has been featured online and a number of his pieces are included in Tracy Hutchinson’s book “2020 Together: An Anthology of Shorts.”

Since 2021 Derek has published a wide range of books for adults and children with his writing partner Julie L Kusma. There are approx twenty slated for publication in 2023, which include the children’s books The Enchanted Winter Faerie Realm, Zenardi’s Carnival of ABCs, several inspiration books, and additions to both Our Education and Our Keepsakes series.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/kindle-dbs/entity/author/B07MPBQNCH?

You can follow Derek on Twitter at https://twitter.com/DerekRKing2, where you’ll find the occasional poetry and photo post and on this Amazon author page https://www.amazon.com/Derek-R-King/e/B07MPBQNCH/ref You can subscribe to his newsletter here https://www.getrevue.co/profile/derekrking2

Strathmore House

Betty loved her childhood home on Ancona Street.

The property was built as a home for the Earl of Strathmore. His earldom had come by marriage and after Juliet’s death he felt the need to prove himself worthy of keeping it. He sold up the estate and had a house built in town which he left in his will to be used for educational purposes.

The school employed Betty’s mother and father, so Betty was raised there.

Over the decades the term ‘educational’ became very loosely applied to the functions of Strathmore House. From school to college, rehabilitation, and eventually divided up into elderly flats with rooms that ran classes in care for the elderly. Part of the course being volunteering with the residents.

Betty lived in what was once the parlour. Not the grandest of apartments but it had two crucial things a window on the street and a door near the entrance.

Everyone knew Betty. She would watch life go by, chat to people as they went about their business and sometimes, they would come in for a cuppa and a chat.

Walter would have hated every minute but since he died their old home was too painful to live in.

The memories of her time in Ancona Street wrapped around her like a blanket. The only pain she had witnessed within these walls was made better with hugs and cuddly toys.

Betty was grateful she still had people to hug.

Walter would always be with her but here the reminders of his suffering were not along for the ride.