Judith Barrow's Blog
September 21, 2020
Sampler: A Hundred Tiny Threads by Judith Barrow SEPTEMBER 21, 2020 LINDA PIRTLE
A Hundred Tiny Threads
[bookcover:A Hundred Tiny Threads|35893055 by Judith Barrow
SEPTEMBER 21, 2020
LINDA PIRTLE
When he returns from the Great War, his dream is still of Winifred and the life they might have had.
It’s 1911 and Winifred Duffy is a determined young woman eager for new experiences, for a life beyond the grocer’s shop counter ruled over by her domineering mother.
The scars of Bill Howarth’s troubled childhood linger. The only light in his life comes from a chance encounter with Winifred, the girl he determines to make his wife.
Meeting her friend Honora’s silver-tongued brother turns Winifred’s heart upside down. But Honora and Conal disappear, after a suffrage rally turns into a riot, and abandoned Winifred has nowhere to turn but home.
The Great War intervenes, sending Bill abroad to be hardened in a furnace of carnage and loss. When he returns his dream is still of Winifred and the life they might have had…
Back in Lancashire, worn down by work and the barbed comments of narrow-minded townsfolk, Winifred faces difficult choices in love and life.
Judith Barrow
Sampler: A Hundred Tiny Threads
Chapter 45 November
Winifred
The tall imposing woman who was trying to organise the crowd into some semblance of order was shouting above the noise.
‘Remember these words of Mrs PethickLawrence, ladies: “wear white for purity in public as well as private life, green for hope and purple for dignity, for that self-reverence and self-respect which renders acquiescence to political subjection impossible.”’
But as they joined the crowds Winifred sensed the atmosphere was different from other marches, there was a tension, a pent-up anger amongst the women that resulted in a lack of order. There were no organized ranks, the people milled around as if unsure which way to go.
Standing on tiptoe, Winifred could just see the heads of the police on horseback, two large black police vans and, in the distance, on the steps of the Courthouse in the town square; the destination the parade would be making for. She stared around, hoping to see the organizers of the march, the women who had rallied them all at the meeting, but she saw none of them. Maybe they were at the front she thought, looking past the makeshift flags and wooden boards, with crudely written slogans, which were being waved alongside the large WSPU official banners.
The crush was getting worse. Shopkeepers on both sides of the road, previously watching with nervous curiosity, turned their backs and, chivvying their assistants in front of them, went back into their shops, closing the doors.
The new anthem, The March of the Women, rose and fell beneath the shouts and cries of those already being jostled and buffeted.
‘Stay up close,’ Conal bellowed.
Linking arms in an effort to stay together the seven of them formed a line. To Winifred’s right Honora was already singing, the exhilaration flushing her cheeks.
“Shout, shout, up with your song!
Cry with the wind for the dawn is breaking...”
Her voice broke every now and then as they were erratically pressed forward by the people behind them and the breath was knocked out of her.
Jolted each time, Winifred began to panic. Despite the cold, the air was filled with a mixture of cloying perfumes and sweat. Some of the women’s faces around her reflected her fear as the throng grew tighter.
Suddenly there were louder screams, the clatter of horses hooves, loud bells rang from somewhere and people were turning, running, scattering in all directions, pursued by the police randomly hitting out with their batons. Horrified Winifred heard her own scream rising from her lungs.
‘Move onto the pavement.’ Conal’s yell was almost lost in the cacophony of sounds
The splintering of glass and the loud shout of ‘votes for women’, from someone was the first indication of the stones being thrown through the shop windows. Their group battled to get to the pavement. It was a mistake, people were hitting at the windows with hammers, splintering the glass. Winifred cried out in pain when a fragment struck her ankle.
‘This way.’ Conal dragged her backwards.
She tried to hold on to Honora’s hand, clutching as tightly as she could but her grasp was loosened and there was a sudden pull on the fingers of her glove. ‘Hold on, Honora, hold on.’ The glove was torn from Winifred’s hand. ‘Honora!’ The last she heard from her friend was the shrill scream, the last she saw was the fear on the Irish girl’s face as she disappeared beneath the surrounding melee.
A horse thundered towards them, ploughing a furrow through falling women collapsing under blows and hooves. Winifred caught a glimpse of a woman clinging to one of the streetlamps, thrashing a riding-switch at the policeman’s legs. Then the horse faltered, blood streaming from its neck, a broken shard of slate in a long cut.
Winifred looked up through the protective arms of Conal. Two women were on the roof of one of the shops. Leaning over the edge they threw broken slates down at the police.
‘Stop it, stop it,’ he yelled, bending his back further over Winifred to shielding her.
She heard his gasp of pain. ‘Conal?’
‘I’m fine.’ He was holding his ear, blood seeped through his fingers. ‘We need to get away,’ he bellowed above the uproar.
But suddenly the hooves of a horse were over her head. It reared up, eyes rolling. mouth pulled wide in the bit. Winifred saw the angry face of a policeman, whip held high above his head.
Then all she felt was the weight of Conal pinning her to the ground
[bookcover:A Hundred Tiny Threads|35893055 by Judith BarrowSEPTEMBER 21, 2020
LINDA PIRTLE
When he returns from the Great War, his dream is still of Winifred and the life they might have had.
It’s 1911 and Winifred Duffy is a determined young woman eager for new experiences, for a life beyond the grocer’s shop counter ruled over by her domineering mother.
The scars of Bill Howarth’s troubled childhood linger. The only light in his life comes from a chance encounter with Winifred, the girl he determines to make his wife.
Meeting her friend Honora’s silver-tongued brother turns Winifred’s heart upside down. But Honora and Conal disappear, after a suffrage rally turns into a riot, and abandoned Winifred has nowhere to turn but home.
The Great War intervenes, sending Bill abroad to be hardened in a furnace of carnage and loss. When he returns his dream is still of Winifred and the life they might have had…
Back in Lancashire, worn down by work and the barbed comments of narrow-minded townsfolk, Winifred faces difficult choices in love and life.
Judith Barrow
Sampler: A Hundred Tiny Threads
Chapter 45 November
Winifred
The tall imposing woman who was trying to organise the crowd into some semblance of order was shouting above the noise.
‘Remember these words of Mrs PethickLawrence, ladies: “wear white for purity in public as well as private life, green for hope and purple for dignity, for that self-reverence and self-respect which renders acquiescence to political subjection impossible.”’
But as they joined the crowds Winifred sensed the atmosphere was different from other marches, there was a tension, a pent-up anger amongst the women that resulted in a lack of order. There were no organized ranks, the people milled around as if unsure which way to go.
Standing on tiptoe, Winifred could just see the heads of the police on horseback, two large black police vans and, in the distance, on the steps of the Courthouse in the town square; the destination the parade would be making for. She stared around, hoping to see the organizers of the march, the women who had rallied them all at the meeting, but she saw none of them. Maybe they were at the front she thought, looking past the makeshift flags and wooden boards, with crudely written slogans, which were being waved alongside the large WSPU official banners.
The crush was getting worse. Shopkeepers on both sides of the road, previously watching with nervous curiosity, turned their backs and, chivvying their assistants in front of them, went back into their shops, closing the doors.
The new anthem, The March of the Women, rose and fell beneath the shouts and cries of those already being jostled and buffeted.
‘Stay up close,’ Conal bellowed.
Linking arms in an effort to stay together the seven of them formed a line. To Winifred’s right Honora was already singing, the exhilaration flushing her cheeks.
“Shout, shout, up with your song!
Cry with the wind for the dawn is breaking...”
Her voice broke every now and then as they were erratically pressed forward by the people behind them and the breath was knocked out of her.
Jolted each time, Winifred began to panic. Despite the cold, the air was filled with a mixture of cloying perfumes and sweat. Some of the women’s faces around her reflected her fear as the throng grew tighter.
Suddenly there were louder screams, the clatter of horses hooves, loud bells rang from somewhere and people were turning, running, scattering in all directions, pursued by the police randomly hitting out with their batons. Horrified Winifred heard her own scream rising from her lungs.
‘Move onto the pavement.’ Conal’s yell was almost lost in the cacophony of sounds
The splintering of glass and the loud shout of ‘votes for women’, from someone was the first indication of the stones being thrown through the shop windows. Their group battled to get to the pavement. It was a mistake, people were hitting at the windows with hammers, splintering the glass. Winifred cried out in pain when a fragment struck her ankle.
‘This way.’ Conal dragged her backwards.
She tried to hold on to Honora’s hand, clutching as tightly as she could but her grasp was loosened and there was a sudden pull on the fingers of her glove. ‘Hold on, Honora, hold on.’ The glove was torn from Winifred’s hand. ‘Honora!’ The last she heard from her friend was the shrill scream, the last she saw was the fear on the Irish girl’s face as she disappeared beneath the surrounding melee.
A horse thundered towards them, ploughing a furrow through falling women collapsing under blows and hooves. Winifred caught a glimpse of a woman clinging to one of the streetlamps, thrashing a riding-switch at the policeman’s legs. Then the horse faltered, blood streaming from its neck, a broken shard of slate in a long cut.
Winifred looked up through the protective arms of Conal. Two women were on the roof of one of the shops. Leaning over the edge they threw broken slates down at the police.
‘Stop it, stop it,’ he yelled, bending his back further over Winifred to shielding her.
She heard his gasp of pain. ‘Conal?’
‘I’m fine.’ He was holding his ear, blood seeped through his fingers. ‘We need to get away,’ he bellowed above the uproar.
But suddenly the hooves of a horse were over her head. It reared up, eyes rolling. mouth pulled wide in the bit. Winifred saw the angry face of a policeman, whip held high above his head.
Then all she felt was the weight of Conal pinning her to the ground
March 25, 2020
My Interview with Michelle Whutham
Good evening my lovelies. I hope you’re all well and finding plenty to amuse you and any children you may have during lockdown! Today I’m delighted to welcome the lovely Judith Barrow on to my blog with a wonderful interview. She’s is talking to us about writing as an escape, connecting with others through her love of walking, the hilarious tale of Mr & Mrs Wilson (don’t miss it!) and her most recent book, The Memory……
GENRE(S):
Cross Genres: Mainly Family Saga/ but also includes Historic Fiction/ Crime Fiction
TELL US A BIT ABOUT YOURSELF:
I’m originally from Saddleworth, a group of villages at the foot of the Pennines in the North of England but have lived in Pembrokeshire, Wales, for forty years with my family.
I have an MA in Creative Writing with Trinity College, a BA (Hons) in Literature with the Open University, a Diploma in Drama from Swansea University. I’ve had short stories, plays, reviews and articles, published throughout the British Isles and have won several poetry competitions. I’ve also completed three children’s books but done nothing with them as far as publishing goes.
I’m a Creative Writing tutor for Pembrokeshire County Council and I also hold private one-to-one creative writing workshops.
WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO START WRITING AND WHERE DO YOU GET YOUR IDEAS?
I’ve written since I was a child; it was a way to escape. My father was the head of the household; what he said was the rule. I didn’t always like it and hid in my writing.
HOW MANY BOOKS HAVE YOU WRITTEN AND PUBLISHED?
Three books (appallingly) written; never to see the light of day again! Five books, if we include this year’s one, so far, with Honno Press (https://www.honno.co.uk/): Pattern of Shadows, Changing Patterns and Living in the Shadows; a trilogy but also stand-alone books. The prequel to the trilogy, A Hundred Tiny Threads (written because the parents of the protagonist, Mary Haworth, Bill and Winifred, kept mithering me to tell their story). And, in March this year, Honno have published my most recent book, The Memory.
Different from the last four in that it’s more contemporary but still a family saga and written in two time-lines. I’ve also signed the contract with them for another book I’ve already written, which will be published in February 2021. There is another book that I Indie published in 2012, Silent Trauma: its fiction built on fact and a bit of a long story how this came about. It’s the story of Diethylstilboestrol; a drug; an artificial oestrogen, given to women, approximately between the years 1947 – 1975 in the UK, to prevent miscarriages. In short, I became involved in the charity because a relative of mine was affected by it. I was asked to write an article for their monthly magazine. After that, women began to contact me and the article turned into a story, then into a book. The charity was closed in the UK due to lack of funds and lack of interest by the British Government. I’d already had contact with many women and the charity in America: https://desaction.org/ through researching and getting quotes so, when the book was finished, I sent the manuscript to the committee of the charity. I needed to know that they approved of it, that it told their story honestly and that there was nothing in it that would offend or upset anyone. They answered and said I’d told the story as they wanted.
WHICH OF YOUR CHARACTERS WOULD YOU WANT TO BE STRANDED ON AN ISLAND WITH, AND WHY?
Mary Haworth, the protagonist of my Haworth trilogy. She’s strong-willed, so, whatever we’d need, whether it was food, water, some sort of shelter, or a boost to morale, I know I could rely on her. She makes the best of any situation and isn’t thwarted by obvious difficulties. She is tolerant, so would put up with any whinging (which no doubt I would do if too hot, too cold, hungry, thirsty, or bored). But can also be quite frightening when her temper’s up – so she would scare away any wild animals that threatened us. She’s an empathetic and good listener and can also tell a great story, which we would both need to help pass the time until we were rescued… hopefully by my husband who had missed me.
WHAT OTHER JOBS HAVE YOU DONE OTHER THAN BEING AN AUTHOR?
For years I worked in various departments of the Civil Service. But in my time as a stay-at-home mum with the children I had various part-time work: teaching swimming, hotel receptionist, cleaner on a caravan site, sewing slippers, making novelty cakes from home, working in a play school/nursery, working in a youth club. Would being on seven committees at various clubs (swimming, badminton, Scouts, Playgroup, PTA, athletics, gymnastics etc. etc.) that the children were involved in, be counted. I wonder? It felt like work at the time!
OTHER THAN WRITING, WHAT ELSE DO YOU ENJOY DOING?
Walking. I walk the Pembrokeshire coast with husband, David. There are a hundred and eighty-six miles of paths and we’ve covered a lot of them but only in stretches. Pembrokeshire is a glorious place to live. I sometimes write about the walks on my blog – and, through that, have made friends with many other walkers from all over the country who pass on their favourite places as well. And David takes the most stunning photographs (though he’s too modest to say so himself), so we always have memories to look back on when he uploads them onto the TV. And I have the most wonderful screen savers!
NAME ONE BOOK YOU THINK EVERYONE SHOULD READ AND TELL US WHY?
On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King. As the write-up says: “Part memoir, part master class; a revealing and practical view of the writer’s craft. It comprises the basic tools of the trade every writer must have”. I couldn’t say it in a better way. This is a book I read a long time ago and it spurred me on when I was in the doldrums of the second book syndrome.
WHAT IS THE BEST THING YOU’VE DONE IN YOUR LIFE SO FAR?
Get married. I wrote a post about it; says it all! http://bit.ly/39h9ajW.
YOU WIN A MILLION POUNDS – YOU GIVE HALF TO CHARITY. WHICH CHARITY DO YOU PICK AND WHY? WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH THE REST OF THE MONEY?
A cancer charity because I was so well looked after when I had breast cancer and, also, because it’s affected many others in my family. I’d put money on one side and persuade my husband to hire a gardener (it’s an acre of land around the house and, though he wouldn’t agree, is too much for him). I’d have a cleaner so I wouldn’t have to do domestic trivia and could have more time to write. I’d give some money to the local animal rescue centre. (Can we get away with not counting that as a charity?) The rest of the money would be shared between my children and grandchildren.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE TIME TO WRITE, AND WHY?
I’m usually up at five because that’s when my brain works. I try to resist looking at any social media until I’ve put 1000 words on the page or when two hours has passed. If I don’t have any classes to run later I’ll carry on writing. Otherwise it’s time to start on the domestic trivia of the day and hope to get back to writing later. I always try to get an hour in at my desk in the late evening but, usually, that’s a mistake because if I get carried away I lose track of time and, before I know it, I’m almost catching up to the next day’s writing time. Hmm, does that make any sense at all? Perhaps I should say, I write until I stop! Anytime – but sometimes it turns out to be rubbish.
WHAT WAS THE STRANGEST, FUNNIEST, FULFILLING TIME OF YOUR LIFE THAT INSPIRED YOUR WRITING?
I have to say it was when we let the apartment attached to our home, as a holiday let during the summer months. Though hard work it provided me with a wealth of stories. People are a mystery to me most of the time. I’ve added one here:
The Naturists
They must have been in their eighties. Mr and Mrs Wilson from Wigan
Dilapidated car
‘Would you mind if we practiced our Tai Chi on the lawn?’
I sense Husband’s alarm. When I glanced at him I saw he was breathing rapidly and his eyes were bulging a bit. But his ears were still their usual pink; bright redness is the usual signal of him being overly upset.
We’d had a couple who had stayed with us before and practised their judo on the front lawn. It had been quite entertaining until the man did his back in (or should I say his wife did his back in for him with a particular enthusiastic throw). They’d had to leave early with the man lying across the lowered back seat with his feet pointing towards the boot and surrounded by suitcases. ‘Good job it’s an estate car’ Husband said in a casual way turning back to tend to his lawn where the husband had made a dent.
I digress.
‘Tai Chi links deep breathing and relaxation with slow and gentle movements. See… ‘ the wife explained, taking in one long breath that made her nostrils flare alarmingly as, at the same time, she stretched out both arms. She felled Mr Wilson with one blow. I remember thinking at the time when her husband was smacked on the nose, that he should have known better than to stand so close. After all he must have realised she was going to demonstrate. ‘It’s a health-promoting form of exercise, Mrs Wilson said, cheerfully, as we all helped her husband back on his feet. ‘Sorry, love.’ She dusted him down. ‘It’s like a form of meditation, you know, exercises the whole of you, not just your body. Helps you to stay calm and gives you peace of mind, like.’
‘You didn’t do it right,’ Mr Wilson muttered.
She ignored him. ‘We only took it up a month or two back,’ she said to us.
Husband carried their two small suitcases into the apartment, his shoulders shaking.
I clamped my teeth together. When I spoke I knew my voice was a couple of pitches higher than normal but there was nothing I could do about it. ‘Is that all you’ve brought?’ I peered into the boot of the car.
‘Oh, yes, just the two bags. ‘Mrs Wilson linked her husband. ‘We travel light, don’t we Sidney?’
He nodded but said nothing.
There are two things I should mention at this point.
One, my mother was staying with us and her bedroom window looked out onto the front lawn.
And two, we quickly discovered that this wobbly (no, I’ll rephrase that); this elderly couple were Naturists.
On the second morning after they’d arrived I drew back the curtains of my mother’s bedroom to see the two of them on the lawn, practicing their Tai Chi. Despite their years their movements were graceful, there was no doubt about that. They moved forward in one continuous action, their hands held out in front of them. But it wasn’t with admiration but in alarm that I watched them. Because they were completely naked. And I was standing side by side with my mother.
It was when he turned towards the house and bent his knees and squatted that my mother made a choking noise and fell back onto the bed.
Now I know this is totally out of context and misquoted (and I apologize wholeheartedly to Shakespeare) … but the words that sprang to mind when I gazed at him, were ‘…age shall not wither…
Well it was a very warm morning
Mum kept her curtains drawn for the rest of the week
AND FINALLY, TELL US ABOUT YOUR MOST RECENT BOOK AND WHERE WE CAN FIND IT?
Irene Hargreaves lives with her husband, Sam, and her mother, Lilian, who has dementia. It has, for a long time, been a difficult relationship between the two women and, over the last few years made worse by Irene’s mother’s illness. Irene is trapped by the love she has for Lillian which vies with the hatred she feels because of something she saw many years ago.
The book runs on two timelines: Irene’s life from the age of eight, after her sister, Rose, is born and her grandmother comes to live with the family, with flashbacks to happier times with Sam, and in present tense, over the last twenty-four hours when Irene knows she needs to make a decision.
The book. published 19th March 2020 by Honno>. Purchase here: Honno ~ Amazon
Where to find Judith online: Website ~ Blog ~ Twitter ~ Facebook
FINAL WORDS FROM CHELLE…
Thank you Judith for this wonderful interview. I think we’ll all agree that the story of Mr & Mrs Wilson is quite hilarious – what a shock it must have been for your Mother!! I definitely think we can get away with not including the local animal rescue as a charity – I’d be donating my money them too. A cancer charity is always a good cause that is close to so many people’s hearts and I’m glad that you were well looked after.
I’m also lucky enough to have been gifted with a copy of The Memory by Judith and Honno so keep an eye out as there will be a review up in the coming months! (Thank you Judith!).
Chelle x
https://curledupwithagoodbook.co.uk/m...
GENRE(S):
Cross Genres: Mainly Family Saga/ but also includes Historic Fiction/ Crime Fiction
TELL US A BIT ABOUT YOURSELF:
I’m originally from Saddleworth, a group of villages at the foot of the Pennines in the North of England but have lived in Pembrokeshire, Wales, for forty years with my family.
I have an MA in Creative Writing with Trinity College, a BA (Hons) in Literature with the Open University, a Diploma in Drama from Swansea University. I’ve had short stories, plays, reviews and articles, published throughout the British Isles and have won several poetry competitions. I’ve also completed three children’s books but done nothing with them as far as publishing goes.
I’m a Creative Writing tutor for Pembrokeshire County Council and I also hold private one-to-one creative writing workshops.
WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO START WRITING AND WHERE DO YOU GET YOUR IDEAS?
I’ve written since I was a child; it was a way to escape. My father was the head of the household; what he said was the rule. I didn’t always like it and hid in my writing.
HOW MANY BOOKS HAVE YOU WRITTEN AND PUBLISHED?
Three books (appallingly) written; never to see the light of day again! Five books, if we include this year’s one, so far, with Honno Press (https://www.honno.co.uk/): Pattern of Shadows, Changing Patterns and Living in the Shadows; a trilogy but also stand-alone books. The prequel to the trilogy, A Hundred Tiny Threads (written because the parents of the protagonist, Mary Haworth, Bill and Winifred, kept mithering me to tell their story). And, in March this year, Honno have published my most recent book, The Memory.
Different from the last four in that it’s more contemporary but still a family saga and written in two time-lines. I’ve also signed the contract with them for another book I’ve already written, which will be published in February 2021. There is another book that I Indie published in 2012, Silent Trauma: its fiction built on fact and a bit of a long story how this came about. It’s the story of Diethylstilboestrol; a drug; an artificial oestrogen, given to women, approximately between the years 1947 – 1975 in the UK, to prevent miscarriages. In short, I became involved in the charity because a relative of mine was affected by it. I was asked to write an article for their monthly magazine. After that, women began to contact me and the article turned into a story, then into a book. The charity was closed in the UK due to lack of funds and lack of interest by the British Government. I’d already had contact with many women and the charity in America: https://desaction.org/ through researching and getting quotes so, when the book was finished, I sent the manuscript to the committee of the charity. I needed to know that they approved of it, that it told their story honestly and that there was nothing in it that would offend or upset anyone. They answered and said I’d told the story as they wanted.
WHICH OF YOUR CHARACTERS WOULD YOU WANT TO BE STRANDED ON AN ISLAND WITH, AND WHY?
Mary Haworth, the protagonist of my Haworth trilogy. She’s strong-willed, so, whatever we’d need, whether it was food, water, some sort of shelter, or a boost to morale, I know I could rely on her. She makes the best of any situation and isn’t thwarted by obvious difficulties. She is tolerant, so would put up with any whinging (which no doubt I would do if too hot, too cold, hungry, thirsty, or bored). But can also be quite frightening when her temper’s up – so she would scare away any wild animals that threatened us. She’s an empathetic and good listener and can also tell a great story, which we would both need to help pass the time until we were rescued… hopefully by my husband who had missed me.
WHAT OTHER JOBS HAVE YOU DONE OTHER THAN BEING AN AUTHOR?
For years I worked in various departments of the Civil Service. But in my time as a stay-at-home mum with the children I had various part-time work: teaching swimming, hotel receptionist, cleaner on a caravan site, sewing slippers, making novelty cakes from home, working in a play school/nursery, working in a youth club. Would being on seven committees at various clubs (swimming, badminton, Scouts, Playgroup, PTA, athletics, gymnastics etc. etc.) that the children were involved in, be counted. I wonder? It felt like work at the time!
OTHER THAN WRITING, WHAT ELSE DO YOU ENJOY DOING?
Walking. I walk the Pembrokeshire coast with husband, David. There are a hundred and eighty-six miles of paths and we’ve covered a lot of them but only in stretches. Pembrokeshire is a glorious place to live. I sometimes write about the walks on my blog – and, through that, have made friends with many other walkers from all over the country who pass on their favourite places as well. And David takes the most stunning photographs (though he’s too modest to say so himself), so we always have memories to look back on when he uploads them onto the TV. And I have the most wonderful screen savers!
NAME ONE BOOK YOU THINK EVERYONE SHOULD READ AND TELL US WHY?
On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King. As the write-up says: “Part memoir, part master class; a revealing and practical view of the writer’s craft. It comprises the basic tools of the trade every writer must have”. I couldn’t say it in a better way. This is a book I read a long time ago and it spurred me on when I was in the doldrums of the second book syndrome.
WHAT IS THE BEST THING YOU’VE DONE IN YOUR LIFE SO FAR?
Get married. I wrote a post about it; says it all! http://bit.ly/39h9ajW.
YOU WIN A MILLION POUNDS – YOU GIVE HALF TO CHARITY. WHICH CHARITY DO YOU PICK AND WHY? WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH THE REST OF THE MONEY?
A cancer charity because I was so well looked after when I had breast cancer and, also, because it’s affected many others in my family. I’d put money on one side and persuade my husband to hire a gardener (it’s an acre of land around the house and, though he wouldn’t agree, is too much for him). I’d have a cleaner so I wouldn’t have to do domestic trivia and could have more time to write. I’d give some money to the local animal rescue centre. (Can we get away with not counting that as a charity?) The rest of the money would be shared between my children and grandchildren.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE TIME TO WRITE, AND WHY?
I’m usually up at five because that’s when my brain works. I try to resist looking at any social media until I’ve put 1000 words on the page or when two hours has passed. If I don’t have any classes to run later I’ll carry on writing. Otherwise it’s time to start on the domestic trivia of the day and hope to get back to writing later. I always try to get an hour in at my desk in the late evening but, usually, that’s a mistake because if I get carried away I lose track of time and, before I know it, I’m almost catching up to the next day’s writing time. Hmm, does that make any sense at all? Perhaps I should say, I write until I stop! Anytime – but sometimes it turns out to be rubbish.
WHAT WAS THE STRANGEST, FUNNIEST, FULFILLING TIME OF YOUR LIFE THAT INSPIRED YOUR WRITING?
I have to say it was when we let the apartment attached to our home, as a holiday let during the summer months. Though hard work it provided me with a wealth of stories. People are a mystery to me most of the time. I’ve added one here:
The Naturists
They must have been in their eighties. Mr and Mrs Wilson from Wigan
Dilapidated car
‘Would you mind if we practiced our Tai Chi on the lawn?’
I sense Husband’s alarm. When I glanced at him I saw he was breathing rapidly and his eyes were bulging a bit. But his ears were still their usual pink; bright redness is the usual signal of him being overly upset.
We’d had a couple who had stayed with us before and practised their judo on the front lawn. It had been quite entertaining until the man did his back in (or should I say his wife did his back in for him with a particular enthusiastic throw). They’d had to leave early with the man lying across the lowered back seat with his feet pointing towards the boot and surrounded by suitcases. ‘Good job it’s an estate car’ Husband said in a casual way turning back to tend to his lawn where the husband had made a dent.
I digress.
‘Tai Chi links deep breathing and relaxation with slow and gentle movements. See… ‘ the wife explained, taking in one long breath that made her nostrils flare alarmingly as, at the same time, she stretched out both arms. She felled Mr Wilson with one blow. I remember thinking at the time when her husband was smacked on the nose, that he should have known better than to stand so close. After all he must have realised she was going to demonstrate. ‘It’s a health-promoting form of exercise, Mrs Wilson said, cheerfully, as we all helped her husband back on his feet. ‘Sorry, love.’ She dusted him down. ‘It’s like a form of meditation, you know, exercises the whole of you, not just your body. Helps you to stay calm and gives you peace of mind, like.’
‘You didn’t do it right,’ Mr Wilson muttered.
She ignored him. ‘We only took it up a month or two back,’ she said to us.
Husband carried their two small suitcases into the apartment, his shoulders shaking.
I clamped my teeth together. When I spoke I knew my voice was a couple of pitches higher than normal but there was nothing I could do about it. ‘Is that all you’ve brought?’ I peered into the boot of the car.
‘Oh, yes, just the two bags. ‘Mrs Wilson linked her husband. ‘We travel light, don’t we Sidney?’
He nodded but said nothing.
There are two things I should mention at this point.
One, my mother was staying with us and her bedroom window looked out onto the front lawn.
And two, we quickly discovered that this wobbly (no, I’ll rephrase that); this elderly couple were Naturists.
On the second morning after they’d arrived I drew back the curtains of my mother’s bedroom to see the two of them on the lawn, practicing their Tai Chi. Despite their years their movements were graceful, there was no doubt about that. They moved forward in one continuous action, their hands held out in front of them. But it wasn’t with admiration but in alarm that I watched them. Because they were completely naked. And I was standing side by side with my mother.
It was when he turned towards the house and bent his knees and squatted that my mother made a choking noise and fell back onto the bed.
Now I know this is totally out of context and misquoted (and I apologize wholeheartedly to Shakespeare) … but the words that sprang to mind when I gazed at him, were ‘…age shall not wither…
Well it was a very warm morning
Mum kept her curtains drawn for the rest of the week
AND FINALLY, TELL US ABOUT YOUR MOST RECENT BOOK AND WHERE WE CAN FIND IT?
Irene Hargreaves lives with her husband, Sam, and her mother, Lilian, who has dementia. It has, for a long time, been a difficult relationship between the two women and, over the last few years made worse by Irene’s mother’s illness. Irene is trapped by the love she has for Lillian which vies with the hatred she feels because of something she saw many years ago.
The book runs on two timelines: Irene’s life from the age of eight, after her sister, Rose, is born and her grandmother comes to live with the family, with flashbacks to happier times with Sam, and in present tense, over the last twenty-four hours when Irene knows she needs to make a decision.
The book. published 19th March 2020 by Honno>. Purchase here: Honno ~ Amazon
Where to find Judith online: Website ~ Blog ~ Twitter ~ Facebook
FINAL WORDS FROM CHELLE…
Thank you Judith for this wonderful interview. I think we’ll all agree that the story of Mr & Mrs Wilson is quite hilarious – what a shock it must have been for your Mother!! I definitely think we can get away with not including the local animal rescue as a charity – I’d be donating my money them too. A cancer charity is always a good cause that is close to so many people’s hearts and I’m glad that you were well looked after.
I’m also lucky enough to have been gifted with a copy of The Memory by Judith and Honno so keep an eye out as there will be a review up in the coming months! (Thank you Judith!).
Chelle x
https://curledupwithagoodbook.co.uk/m...
Review of The Memory by Judith Barrow by Val Poore
I normally only review memoirs on this blog, but I’m making an exception for Judith Barrow’s new book, titled The Memory.
I have been a fan of Judith Barrow’s writing for some time. I loved her Howarth family trilogy and also her collection of short stories, Secrets, so when I was asked to read this book for review, I had no hesitation in accepting an ARC.
The Memory is completely different from any of the author’s other novels, but at the same time, it retains the undiluted and unadorned realism of her other books. Irene, the narrator of the story, switches between memories of the past and a long few days in 2002. In every chapter, we follow her in an hourly diary of dealing with the exhausting and sometimes awful reality of her mother’s dementia. The story then reverts to the past and the progress of her childhood and life with and after the death of her beloved Down’s Syndrome sister, Rose.
Throughout the book, Irene’s relationship with her mother is the central theme, a relationship built on both love and hatred, and the bizarre, but poisonous bond that Rose’s loss creates between them. Why this bond is so strong and why Irene cannot and will not consign her mother to a home are revealed as the story progresses.
This is a hugely compelling book, beautifully written with an attention to detail and reality that is quite astonishing. It is tragic, searingly honest and deeply touching too, and the reality of both Downs Syndrome and Dementia are treated with candour and compassion. In the end, though, it is a story of hope and very much love too, as Irene’s relationships with the rest of her family prove.
The Memory is a book that will remain in my own for a very long time. I’m honoured to have been asked to review it
https://amzn.to/32Y2tkK
https://vallypee.wordpress.com/2020/0...
I have been a fan of Judith Barrow’s writing for some time. I loved her Howarth family trilogy and also her collection of short stories, Secrets, so when I was asked to read this book for review, I had no hesitation in accepting an ARC.
The Memory is completely different from any of the author’s other novels, but at the same time, it retains the undiluted and unadorned realism of her other books. Irene, the narrator of the story, switches between memories of the past and a long few days in 2002. In every chapter, we follow her in an hourly diary of dealing with the exhausting and sometimes awful reality of her mother’s dementia. The story then reverts to the past and the progress of her childhood and life with and after the death of her beloved Down’s Syndrome sister, Rose.
Throughout the book, Irene’s relationship with her mother is the central theme, a relationship built on both love and hatred, and the bizarre, but poisonous bond that Rose’s loss creates between them. Why this bond is so strong and why Irene cannot and will not consign her mother to a home are revealed as the story progresses.
This is a hugely compelling book, beautifully written with an attention to detail and reality that is quite astonishing. It is tragic, searingly honest and deeply touching too, and the reality of both Downs Syndrome and Dementia are treated with candour and compassion. In the end, though, it is a story of hope and very much love too, as Irene’s relationships with the rest of her family prove.
The Memory is a book that will remain in my own for a very long time. I’m honoured to have been asked to review it
https://amzn.to/32Y2tkK
https://vallypee.wordpress.com/2020/0...
March 20, 2020
Juliet Greenwood Interviews me about the inspiration of my latest book, The Memory
Many people have asked what was the inspiration for The Memory and my answer is always memories: memories of being a carer for two of my aunts who lived with us, memories of losing a friend in my childhood; a friend who, although at the time I didn’t realise, was a Downs’ Syndrome child. But why I actually started to write the story; a story so different from my other four books, I can’t remember. Because it was something I’d begun years ago and was based around the journal I’d kept during that decade of looking after my relatives.
But what did begin to evolve when I settled down to writing The Memory was the realisation of why I’d been so reluctant to delve too far into the manuscript. The isolation, the loneliness, that Irene Hargreaves, the protagonist, endures; despite being married to Sam, her loving husband, dragged up my own feelings of being alone so much as a child. That awareness of always being on the outside; looking in on other families, relationships and friendships had followed me; had hidden deep inside my subconscious. And, as a contented wife and mother, with steady enduring friendships, it unsettled me.
Many people (and, as a creative writing tutor I’m one) say that writing is cathartic. Working through Irene’s memories; especially that one memory that has ruled her life, made me acknowledge my own. And that’s fine. I always say to my students, if you don’t feel the emotions as you write, then neither will your reader. In The Memory I’m hoping the reader will sense the poignant, sad times with Irene, but will also rejoice with her in the happier memories.
But what did begin to evolve when I settled down to writing The Memory was the realisation of why I’d been so reluctant to delve too far into the manuscript. The isolation, the loneliness, that Irene Hargreaves, the protagonist, endures; despite being married to Sam, her loving husband, dragged up my own feelings of being alone so much as a child. That awareness of always being on the outside; looking in on other families, relationships and friendships had followed me; had hidden deep inside my subconscious. And, as a contented wife and mother, with steady enduring friendships, it unsettled me.
Many people (and, as a creative writing tutor I’m one) say that writing is cathartic. Working through Irene’s memories; especially that one memory that has ruled her life, made me acknowledge my own. And that’s fine. I always say to my students, if you don’t feel the emotions as you write, then neither will your reader. In The Memory I’m hoping the reader will sense the poignant, sad times with Irene, but will also rejoice with her in the happier memories.
The Memory: interview with Judith Barrow
Fellow author Judith Barrow's new novel, The Memory, comes out this week and I can vouch for it being a gripping and very moving read. I've interviewed her about it - well, cornered her and demanded answers - and this is what she had to say.
Q: You’ve written four volumes of a family saga about the Howarth family. Your new book, The Memory, moves into new territory. What is it about?
A: It is new territory for me but families fascinate me; there’s a wealth of human emotions to work with within a family unit so, from that point of view, I don’t think I strayed too far with The Memory. In the Haworth trilogy and prequel, there is still an underlying theme of reactions to a situation. But the difference between those books and this one is that those characters, as well as reacting in a domestic setting, respond to a wider situation; their lives are affected by what is happening in the outside world. In The Memory it is only Irene Hargreaves, the protagonist, that the reader learns about; mainly from the claustrophobic atmosphere she is living in presently, but also through her memories.
But you are right in other ways; it’s a more contemporary book than the others and also it’s written in a different style. The book runs on two timelines: Irene's life from the age of eight, after her sister is born and her grandmother comes to live with the family because her mother refuses to accept her second daughter, Rose, a Downs Syndrome child. That’s written in past tense. The second timeline, over the last twenty-four hours is written in the present tense and shows Irene’s life as the carer of her mother, who has dementia. Irene is trapped by the love she has for Lilian but which vies with the hatred she feels because of a memory; something she saw many years ago. Driven to despair and exhaustion she believes there is only one solution, one way to escape from the life she is leading.
Q: What inspired it?
A: I don’t know that it was inspired by any one thing. The Memory actually began as a short story I wrote a long time ago, which just grew and, which, in turn, started from a journal that I’d kept from when I was carer for one of my relatives who had dementia. I read many articles on coping with the disease at the time, but writing how I felt then helped tremendously. Writing like that always has; it’s something I did through many years from being a child. Then, during the time I was looking after my aunt, I was asked, by someone who worked for the local branch of the Care in the Community organisation, to write notes about the day-to-day situation of looking after her, for a project they were carrying out.
Another memory was of was a childhood friend of mine; actually the son of one of someone my mother knew. The boy was a Down’s syndrome child, though I didn’t realise then. We would sit on the front doorstep of their house and I would read to him. Or chat; well, I would talk and he would smile and laugh. I didn’t think that it was odd that he never spoke; my mother had told me to entertain him so I took books along or regaled him with stories; things that had happened in school. Thinking about it, I never even wondered why he wasn’t in school either. Anyway, one Monday after school, I went along the lane to their house and the front door was closed. I didn’t understand; one day he was there and the next gone. No one explained that he’d died. I‘m not sure I even understood what that meant anyway. So, I did what I usually did; I wrote about it; how I felt losing a friend. So, from finding the short story in a drawer I was clearing out, and remembering the journals, came The Memory.
Q: Did you find it difficult or refreshing to move on from the Howarths?
A: I’m not sure I have moved on; Mary Haworth is nagging at me to write the last years of her life, so who knows if I’ll give in.
I lived with this family for over a decade and, to be honest, I could have picked any of the other characters and written their story. Each one has existed both within the three books of the trilogy and alongside them; sometimes they disappeared from the main stories and I often wondered what they were doing when I hadn’t got my eye on them.
Q: Did you have to do extensive research or rely on your own experience when dealing with the issues in The Memory?
A: Although I researched extensively for the Haworth series, with The Memory there was little research. I have had first hand knowledge of caring for relatives with dementia; I cared for two of my aunts. One had lived with us a long time before she developed the disease; so I saw the changes in her personality before we lost her. The other was what one would call an “off the wall” character always anyway, so we just went along with how things happened. I relied on how things had happened over the years; I trusted on my experiences as a background for the book
It was only for Rose, Irene’s sister, a Down’s Syndrome child, that I needed help. Besides reading extensively about the lives and ways of children with special; needs I also have a friend whose husband worked in that sector. He was very generous with his time and with his knowledge.
Q: Is there much of your own childhood in the book?
A: This is a difficult question. In The Memory it was recollections that hovered at the back of my mind constantly as I wrote. The tension and atmosphere that a selfish or perhaps I should say, self-centred parent can bring into a home isn’t something you forget. I know the way the feelings in a room can change when an angry or irritated person walks in. It’s something I’ve always been aware of throughout my life. Writing it into The Memory, as with all my books (although in a different way than I experienced) has helped me to understand what was going on at that time. I have written my autobiography but it caused friction between my sister; an extremely private person, and me. So it’s still sitting in a drawer and will probably never see the light of day.
In The Memory I wanted the story to revolve around two things: the way the memory forces Irene to face it and how she works out what she will do. It’s that memory that has formed the relationship that Irene has with her mother, Lilian. It’s a relationship of distrust, even hatred sometimes but also of a grudging love.
Q: Some of your characters are more lovable than others. Do you feel the need to find something positive in all of them?
A: Well, I don’t think that in real life there are many people who are all bad –or even all good, come to think of it. I always want to get under the skin of all my characters, so I always write what I call a ‘character sheet’ about them: their physical appearance, where they fit into their family and society, their characteristics, work, habits, that kind of thing. I suppose that comes from being a creative writing tutor. Or perhaps it’s something all writers of novels do; I don’t know.
Also, I’m aware that the characters lived a life before I found them; they have backstories that have affected how they are. And we’re back to memories! Who was it said “Memory is a record of your personal experience…through memory you live the life you are living today...” Hmm, perhaps it was me… somewhere. So, yes, I do feel I need to find something positive in all my characters; it makes then as true to the reader as they are to me.
Mind you, sometimes I fail. I do remember Terry Tyler’s comment in her review of A Hundred Tiny Threads: “A moment later I was reintroduced to Bill Howarth (Mr Prologue), a thoroughly unlikeable character who grew increasingly despicable, and all of a sudden I realised I was engrossed. I do love a well-written nasty piece of work, and Judith Barrow has done a masterful job with Howarth. He'd had a bad start in life, yes, but I didn't pity him; my loathing of him grew more intense as the book progressed.”
Q: Do you find writing a release or a torment?
A: I suppose, like many writers, it can be both. I escape into my writing in difficult personal times; it’s something I’ve managed to do since childhood. So that’s a release. The torment comes when the words don’t flow and I’m pushing the stories along and, all the time knowing that the words are rubbish and I will delete them by the end of the day.
The absolute joy arrives in a flash when I open a manuscript to go over the work I’ve done the day before and I think,’ I don’t remember writing that; it’s quite good.’ Then I can get going on the writing again and I lose myself … and the day… in it. Then it’s a release.
Well, thank you, Judith, for responding to my nagging and I highly recommend the new book.
The Memory
published March 19th by Honno Press.
Judith Barrow's website
Q: You’ve written four volumes of a family saga about the Howarth family. Your new book, The Memory, moves into new territory. What is it about?
A: It is new territory for me but families fascinate me; there’s a wealth of human emotions to work with within a family unit so, from that point of view, I don’t think I strayed too far with The Memory. In the Haworth trilogy and prequel, there is still an underlying theme of reactions to a situation. But the difference between those books and this one is that those characters, as well as reacting in a domestic setting, respond to a wider situation; their lives are affected by what is happening in the outside world. In The Memory it is only Irene Hargreaves, the protagonist, that the reader learns about; mainly from the claustrophobic atmosphere she is living in presently, but also through her memories.
But you are right in other ways; it’s a more contemporary book than the others and also it’s written in a different style. The book runs on two timelines: Irene's life from the age of eight, after her sister is born and her grandmother comes to live with the family because her mother refuses to accept her second daughter, Rose, a Downs Syndrome child. That’s written in past tense. The second timeline, over the last twenty-four hours is written in the present tense and shows Irene’s life as the carer of her mother, who has dementia. Irene is trapped by the love she has for Lilian but which vies with the hatred she feels because of a memory; something she saw many years ago. Driven to despair and exhaustion she believes there is only one solution, one way to escape from the life she is leading.
Q: What inspired it?
A: I don’t know that it was inspired by any one thing. The Memory actually began as a short story I wrote a long time ago, which just grew and, which, in turn, started from a journal that I’d kept from when I was carer for one of my relatives who had dementia. I read many articles on coping with the disease at the time, but writing how I felt then helped tremendously. Writing like that always has; it’s something I did through many years from being a child. Then, during the time I was looking after my aunt, I was asked, by someone who worked for the local branch of the Care in the Community organisation, to write notes about the day-to-day situation of looking after her, for a project they were carrying out.
Another memory was of was a childhood friend of mine; actually the son of one of someone my mother knew. The boy was a Down’s syndrome child, though I didn’t realise then. We would sit on the front doorstep of their house and I would read to him. Or chat; well, I would talk and he would smile and laugh. I didn’t think that it was odd that he never spoke; my mother had told me to entertain him so I took books along or regaled him with stories; things that had happened in school. Thinking about it, I never even wondered why he wasn’t in school either. Anyway, one Monday after school, I went along the lane to their house and the front door was closed. I didn’t understand; one day he was there and the next gone. No one explained that he’d died. I‘m not sure I even understood what that meant anyway. So, I did what I usually did; I wrote about it; how I felt losing a friend. So, from finding the short story in a drawer I was clearing out, and remembering the journals, came The Memory.
Q: Did you find it difficult or refreshing to move on from the Howarths?
A: I’m not sure I have moved on; Mary Haworth is nagging at me to write the last years of her life, so who knows if I’ll give in.
I lived with this family for over a decade and, to be honest, I could have picked any of the other characters and written their story. Each one has existed both within the three books of the trilogy and alongside them; sometimes they disappeared from the main stories and I often wondered what they were doing when I hadn’t got my eye on them.
Q: Did you have to do extensive research or rely on your own experience when dealing with the issues in The Memory?
A: Although I researched extensively for the Haworth series, with The Memory there was little research. I have had first hand knowledge of caring for relatives with dementia; I cared for two of my aunts. One had lived with us a long time before she developed the disease; so I saw the changes in her personality before we lost her. The other was what one would call an “off the wall” character always anyway, so we just went along with how things happened. I relied on how things had happened over the years; I trusted on my experiences as a background for the book
It was only for Rose, Irene’s sister, a Down’s Syndrome child, that I needed help. Besides reading extensively about the lives and ways of children with special; needs I also have a friend whose husband worked in that sector. He was very generous with his time and with his knowledge.
Q: Is there much of your own childhood in the book?
A: This is a difficult question. In The Memory it was recollections that hovered at the back of my mind constantly as I wrote. The tension and atmosphere that a selfish or perhaps I should say, self-centred parent can bring into a home isn’t something you forget. I know the way the feelings in a room can change when an angry or irritated person walks in. It’s something I’ve always been aware of throughout my life. Writing it into The Memory, as with all my books (although in a different way than I experienced) has helped me to understand what was going on at that time. I have written my autobiography but it caused friction between my sister; an extremely private person, and me. So it’s still sitting in a drawer and will probably never see the light of day.
In The Memory I wanted the story to revolve around two things: the way the memory forces Irene to face it and how she works out what she will do. It’s that memory that has formed the relationship that Irene has with her mother, Lilian. It’s a relationship of distrust, even hatred sometimes but also of a grudging love.
Q: Some of your characters are more lovable than others. Do you feel the need to find something positive in all of them?
A: Well, I don’t think that in real life there are many people who are all bad –or even all good, come to think of it. I always want to get under the skin of all my characters, so I always write what I call a ‘character sheet’ about them: their physical appearance, where they fit into their family and society, their characteristics, work, habits, that kind of thing. I suppose that comes from being a creative writing tutor. Or perhaps it’s something all writers of novels do; I don’t know.
Also, I’m aware that the characters lived a life before I found them; they have backstories that have affected how they are. And we’re back to memories! Who was it said “Memory is a record of your personal experience…through memory you live the life you are living today...” Hmm, perhaps it was me… somewhere. So, yes, I do feel I need to find something positive in all my characters; it makes then as true to the reader as they are to me.
Mind you, sometimes I fail. I do remember Terry Tyler’s comment in her review of A Hundred Tiny Threads: “A moment later I was reintroduced to Bill Howarth (Mr Prologue), a thoroughly unlikeable character who grew increasingly despicable, and all of a sudden I realised I was engrossed. I do love a well-written nasty piece of work, and Judith Barrow has done a masterful job with Howarth. He'd had a bad start in life, yes, but I didn't pity him; my loathing of him grew more intense as the book progressed.”
Q: Do you find writing a release or a torment?
A: I suppose, like many writers, it can be both. I escape into my writing in difficult personal times; it’s something I’ve managed to do since childhood. So that’s a release. The torment comes when the words don’t flow and I’m pushing the stories along and, all the time knowing that the words are rubbish and I will delete them by the end of the day.
The absolute joy arrives in a flash when I open a manuscript to go over the work I’ve done the day before and I think,’ I don’t remember writing that; it’s quite good.’ Then I can get going on the writing again and I lose myself … and the day… in it. Then it’s a release.
Well, thank you, Judith, for responding to my nagging and I highly recommend the new book.
The Memory
published March 19th by Honno Press.
Judith Barrow's website
April 3, 2015
Looking Back over my Writing Years - Is it Safe to Laugh Now?
I thought I would revisit a time of my life when I despaired of ever being in print. It cheers me up as I agonise over yesterday’s efforts, altering and editing before I can even start with today’s writing and the realisation that one of my lovely characters has a cob on and won’t do as I want her to do. I’ve spent hours trying to persuade her, putting her in different scenarios, story lines. But no, she’s adamnt – she wouldn’t act in that way,
So I’ve gone back to the heady day when I found an agent. And I kept a diary .
Sometime, a long time ago
It’s been a fortnight since I met with my agent (get me! – and it was in London and she treated me to a meal in a posh restaurant). Carried away with her enthusiasm for my writing, her promises to make me into a ‘brand name’ and her assurance that she had many contacts in the publishing world that would ‘snap her hand off for my novel’, I signed on the dotted line.
Now she today telephones, summarily dismissing an offer. ‘We can do better than this.’
What? What’s better than getting this novel published? Than seeing, holding, a book in my hand that I’ve actually written? I get an offer, perfectly acceptable to me, but according to this agent, it’s not enough. ‘We’ll try other publishers, bigger publishers,’ she says
I’m worried. But she knows the business.
Doesn’t she?
Still sometime, a long time ago: I’ve now been waiting three months.
So far, four rejections from publishers. Couched, mind you, in encouraging remarks:
“Believable characters … strong and powerful writing … gripping story … Judith has an exciting flair for plot … evocative descriptions.”
And then the death knell on my hopes:
‘Unfortunately … our lists are full … we’ve just accepted a similar book … we are only a small company … (what? The agent rejects one small publishing company but then sends the manuscript to another?) …’I’m sure you’ll find a platform for Judith’s work …’
Yes, yes, we did, we did find ‘a platform’, as they put it. Or rather I did. I found a company, one I was happy with.
The self-doubt, the frustration, floods back. I’m never going to get the (“bleep, bleep”) book published.(Yes I did use to write “bleep, bleep” . Not any more – give me a good old Saxon word now any time)
Still sometime, a long time ago: Another three months.
I’ve had a call from the agent; ‘I think it’s time to re-evaluate the comments we’ve had so far,’ she says. ‘ Parts of the storyline need tweaking. I’ve negotiated a deal with a commercial editor. It’s a realistic charge by today’s standards,’ she says. ’Think about it,’ she says. ‘In the end we’ll have a book that will take you to the top of your field.’
I think about it. Reject the idea. Listen to advice from my various acquaintances. Think about it again.
And think about it some more.
And then I ring the agent. ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘I’ll do it.’
I have no choice; after all she’s the expert. What do I know?
Still sometime, a long time ago (I have to keep saying this just in case you think I’m still that gullible): Another three months.
It’s now three months on. The first commercial editor (the best, apparently) has succumbed to maternity leave. The one who was finally chosen by my agent (the second best?) has had my script all this time. I’ve already paid her.
You’re now wondering what kind of credulous idiot is this, yes? Well, let me say here that this saga (an apt word as my book is actually a saga!) has been going on for over eighteen months and I’m desperate.
All creativity has gone. I can’t write anything but emails – and believe me, there are plenty on this subject. The commercial editor’s reasons (excuses) for the delay are numerous: an urgent journey to Europe to do research for a project, a family crisis (alright, I’ll believe that one) she’s ghost writing a celebrity’s autobiography (how can it be an autobiography if someone else is writing it? That always puzzles me. Surely then, it’s a biography?) Okay, okay, bitterness is creeping in.
We were supposed to be having a meeting to discuss the way forward with my book. It didn’t happen.
Now a friend, a successful and published author herself, is concerned I’m being conned. So am I! I feel foolish but say surely it’s only a few things that need tweaking.
It’s back!
I read it in disbelief; if I follow all the ‘suggestions’ it will change from being a saga into romantic fiction. Okay, I like a bit romance; don’t we all? But it’s not what I write.
I ring my agent,
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘it is a little more drastic than I expected but go with it.’
Another three months (As you can see, I’ve stopped writing – still sometime, a long time ago – think you’ll have got the drift by now)
I tried- really I did. For four weeks I’ve worked. With less and less interest. In the end I stopped. I didn’t recognise my story; I had no empathy with the characters. It wasn’t my book any-more.
So:
I’ve made a decision, one of the biggest I’ve ever made. It’s a week before the first anniversary of my contract with the agent.I’ve sent the letter terminating our contract. Despite persuasive tactics from her I don’t waiver.
In trepidation I start again; I contact a publisher my friend recommends, submit my manuscript. And wait
They will meet with me. No promises.
In 1915 the third book of the trilogy – Living under the Shadows – will be published by Honno Press.
Available to buy: Amazon.co.uk – http://amzn.to/1yieJsj
Amazon.com: -http://amzn.to/1yEGuM7
Honno: http://bit.ly/14Z7BFd
The sequel to: Pattern of Shadows
The sequel to:
Pattern of Shadows
The sequel.
Available to buy: Amazon.co.uk: http://amzn.to/1q2kIzp.
Amazon.com:http://amzn.to/14Z8RZ4
Honno: http://bit.ly/14Z7BFd
My lovely publishers
http://www.honno.co.uk/
med full colour honno logo
So I’ve gone back to the heady day when I found an agent. And I kept a diary .
Sometime, a long time ago
It’s been a fortnight since I met with my agent (get me! – and it was in London and she treated me to a meal in a posh restaurant). Carried away with her enthusiasm for my writing, her promises to make me into a ‘brand name’ and her assurance that she had many contacts in the publishing world that would ‘snap her hand off for my novel’, I signed on the dotted line.
Now she today telephones, summarily dismissing an offer. ‘We can do better than this.’
What? What’s better than getting this novel published? Than seeing, holding, a book in my hand that I’ve actually written? I get an offer, perfectly acceptable to me, but according to this agent, it’s not enough. ‘We’ll try other publishers, bigger publishers,’ she says
I’m worried. But she knows the business.
Doesn’t she?
Still sometime, a long time ago: I’ve now been waiting three months.
So far, four rejections from publishers. Couched, mind you, in encouraging remarks:
“Believable characters … strong and powerful writing … gripping story … Judith has an exciting flair for plot … evocative descriptions.”
And then the death knell on my hopes:
‘Unfortunately … our lists are full … we’ve just accepted a similar book … we are only a small company … (what? The agent rejects one small publishing company but then sends the manuscript to another?) …’I’m sure you’ll find a platform for Judith’s work …’
Yes, yes, we did, we did find ‘a platform’, as they put it. Or rather I did. I found a company, one I was happy with.
The self-doubt, the frustration, floods back. I’m never going to get the (“bleep, bleep”) book published.(Yes I did use to write “bleep, bleep” . Not any more – give me a good old Saxon word now any time)
Still sometime, a long time ago: Another three months.
I’ve had a call from the agent; ‘I think it’s time to re-evaluate the comments we’ve had so far,’ she says. ‘ Parts of the storyline need tweaking. I’ve negotiated a deal with a commercial editor. It’s a realistic charge by today’s standards,’ she says. ’Think about it,’ she says. ‘In the end we’ll have a book that will take you to the top of your field.’
I think about it. Reject the idea. Listen to advice from my various acquaintances. Think about it again.
And think about it some more.
And then I ring the agent. ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘I’ll do it.’
I have no choice; after all she’s the expert. What do I know?
Still sometime, a long time ago (I have to keep saying this just in case you think I’m still that gullible): Another three months.
It’s now three months on. The first commercial editor (the best, apparently) has succumbed to maternity leave. The one who was finally chosen by my agent (the second best?) has had my script all this time. I’ve already paid her.
You’re now wondering what kind of credulous idiot is this, yes? Well, let me say here that this saga (an apt word as my book is actually a saga!) has been going on for over eighteen months and I’m desperate.
All creativity has gone. I can’t write anything but emails – and believe me, there are plenty on this subject. The commercial editor’s reasons (excuses) for the delay are numerous: an urgent journey to Europe to do research for a project, a family crisis (alright, I’ll believe that one) she’s ghost writing a celebrity’s autobiography (how can it be an autobiography if someone else is writing it? That always puzzles me. Surely then, it’s a biography?) Okay, okay, bitterness is creeping in.
We were supposed to be having a meeting to discuss the way forward with my book. It didn’t happen.
Now a friend, a successful and published author herself, is concerned I’m being conned. So am I! I feel foolish but say surely it’s only a few things that need tweaking.
It’s back!
I read it in disbelief; if I follow all the ‘suggestions’ it will change from being a saga into romantic fiction. Okay, I like a bit romance; don’t we all? But it’s not what I write.
I ring my agent,
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘it is a little more drastic than I expected but go with it.’
Another three months (As you can see, I’ve stopped writing – still sometime, a long time ago – think you’ll have got the drift by now)
I tried- really I did. For four weeks I’ve worked. With less and less interest. In the end I stopped. I didn’t recognise my story; I had no empathy with the characters. It wasn’t my book any-more.
So:
I’ve made a decision, one of the biggest I’ve ever made. It’s a week before the first anniversary of my contract with the agent.I’ve sent the letter terminating our contract. Despite persuasive tactics from her I don’t waiver.
In trepidation I start again; I contact a publisher my friend recommends, submit my manuscript. And wait
They will meet with me. No promises.
In 1915 the third book of the trilogy – Living under the Shadows – will be published by Honno Press.
Available to buy: Amazon.co.uk – http://amzn.to/1yieJsj
Amazon.com: -http://amzn.to/1yEGuM7
Honno: http://bit.ly/14Z7BFd
The sequel to: Pattern of Shadows
The sequel to:
Pattern of Shadows
The sequel.
Available to buy: Amazon.co.uk: http://amzn.to/1q2kIzp.
Amazon.com:http://amzn.to/14Z8RZ4
Honno: http://bit.ly/14Z7BFd
My lovely publishers
http://www.honno.co.uk/
med full colour honno logo
January 11, 2013
Silent Trauma
Had an interview with Judith Arnopp - Historical Novelist - link below. Promoting my latest eBook Silent Trauma. 105 of sales to go to the charity DESActionUSA. The story is fictional - the facts are true. Grateful for any feedback and/or reviews. Judith
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