Sara Jayne Townsend's Blog, page 44

WIP Update

(Cross-posted from the WriteClub blog)

I thought it was time for an update on the current Works in Progress.

The second book in the Shara series is finished to Draft 3 stage. It is now out with beta readers and I am awaiting feedback. I don't want to start Draft 4 until I have this – there's not point in merrily carrying on with it in its current format, only to be told unanimously that the book is complete rubbish and needs a total overhaul. Which I am fully expecting to happen.

So for now, it is put to one side while my beta readers digest it. Hopefully putting some distance between me and it will allow me to become a little more impartial, and less likely to get defensive when people tell me what's wrong with it.

In the meantime, though, I thought it was time to start a new project. I've been hankering going back to the horror – largely due to a fairly major crisis of confidence in the crime writing. I started to become convinced that maybe I was a better horror writer than crime writer.

It was Hubby who suggested I write another horror novel, perhaps carrying on the theme of SUFFER THE CHILDREN and writing about another mythological monster. The germ of an idea began to form by the time I went out to Egypt. The trip proved sufficiently inspirational that I was able to make a start on it. I am now 10,000 words into Draft 1 of this new horror novel. I don't want to say too much about it now, as it's very early days.

Those of you who have been following this blog a while may recall that at one point there was an urban fantasy WIP. This has now been officially abandoned. I don't think it's my genre.

So for now, there are officially two WIPS. Until further notice, they shall formally be referred to as Shara 2 and The New Horror Novel. I shall endeavour to keep you updated where appropriate.

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My Life In Books: The Dribblesome Teapots

[image error]If you were a kid in Britain in the 1970s, you will probably remember 'Jackanory'. If you don't fall into this category, then I will explain that 'Jackanory' was a kids' TV programme, where a famous person would read a children's book aloud. It was effectively being read a story by a famous person. Each episode was only about ten minutes long – if you wanted to find out how the book ended, you had to keep watching the show for a week or so.

'Jackanory' was not, admittedly, my favourite part of the BBC children's programming (in those days we only got about half an hour, scheduled to keep the kids quiet while Mum was making dinner). Whether or not I would remain interested in the book being read depended not just on the book, but also on the person reading it. The most distinct memory I have of 'Jackanory' was of Kenneth Williams reading THE DRIBBLESOME TEAPOTS, a book of extremely silly short stories.

The title story was about a king and queen in a faraway land who were so fond of their cups of tea, that when the favourite royal teapot starts dribbling, a declaration is made that promises half the kingdom to anyone who can produce a teapot that doesn't dribble. When the rashness of this promise is pointed out, a magical citizen of the kingdom is brought in to cast a spell ensuring every teapot in the land will dribble – hence saving the kingdom.

I don't remember exactly what happened with this story – I think perhaps the favourite tea pot was fixed, and everyone lived happily ever after with dribble-free tea breaks. What I do remember is 'Carry On' veteran Kenneth Williams talking about the tea pots that 'dribbled all over the place' in the nasal tones – complete with the rolling of the 'r's – that he was so famous for. He was the ideal choice to read these stories. If there's an audio version of his reading of the book around anywhere, I would recommend that over the book itself.

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Egyptian Inspiration

This blog has been quiet of late because I've been away.  I've been to the land of Pharaohs and pyramids.

This trip was organised by hubby's dive club some time ago.  I am not a scuba diver – having asthma prohibits me from such an activity.  Occasionally I tag along on the trips the scuba club organise, but generally there's not much to do for a non-diver who's not fond of boats.

However, I decided at the last minute to tag along for this trip, as a week of doing nothing but lie on the beach and read actually sounded rather appealing, after a few very stressful months.  I also had a plan to take the NetBook along, and do some writing.

The accommodation was a dive village in Marsa Shagra, on the shores of the Red Sea.  It was rather literally in the middle of nowhere.  After flying into Marsa Alam airport we had a 40-minute drive through miles of arid desolate desert land to get there.

The dive village, however, was well appointed.  As well as the dive centre there were various bars and seating areas, all out in the open air but under shelter, where I could set myself up with my NetBook out of the glare of the Egyptian sun.  The accommodation ranged in luxury, from tents to air conditioned en suite chalets.  As the site was rather full by the time I decided I wanted to come, it wasn't possible to get an air conditioned chalet.  We were in a hut.  This was a stone building that was effectively one small room, with the usual furniture one would expect in a hotel room – wardrobe, dresser, bedside table.  There was no air conditioning, but the room had windows, and a fan, and we found it stayed relatively cool at night.

We had to share the toilet and shower block with others, but these were clean and in good order, and the nearest one was only a few yards away from our room.  Perhaps one of the most important facilities was a limitless supply of clean drinking water, as Egypt is fairly notorious for its lack of drinking water.  As the accommodation prided itself on being an 'eco village', it was encouraging its residents to recycle water bottles.  We could fill them up without limit from the various water coolers that were placed around site.

My writihg corner at the Oxygen Bar

So, after breakfast, when hubby and his fellow divers went off to don their scuba kit, I took my NetBook and bottle of water and set myself up to do some writing.  My favourite place for my morning writing session quickly became the Oxygen Bar.  This bar did not sell alcohol, but oxygen – literally.  I'm not sure what the benefit of inhaling flavoured oxygen is, but apparently this is all the rage in parts of Asia right now.  The bar was closed during the day, but I found a nice comfy spot with table and chair, and more importantly a power point – in the shade where I could write.  I would get a couple of hours' work in before going up to the restaurant for lunch, with maybe an hours' snooze in the bean bag somewhere in there as well.

The position of the sun meant that I couldn't go back to the oxygen bar after lunch, as it was no longer in shelter and my NetBook isn't glare resistant.  So after lunch I took an hour or so to lie on the beach and let my meal digest, and the restaurant to clear. It closed at 2pm, but the outside terrace became a good place for my afternoon session, as there were plenty of tables, sheltered from the sun, and I had a spectacular view of the Red Sea to offer inspiration.

The beach at Marsa Shagra

The divers came back between 4pm and 5pm, at which point it was time to stop writing and go for a shower.

For a week this became a most agreeable existence, and I did manage to get quite a lot of work done, too.  But it wasn't all snoozing and writing.  On Monday 24 October – my birthday – a few of us decided to do the day trip to Luxor, to see some of Egypt's history and culture.  It was a long old drive from the dive site – a good 4 hours – so we had to start early.  But we managed to pack in rather a lot in a day.  We went to Memnon Colossi, which were moved from their original site in pieces when floods threatened to destroy them.  We went to the Valley of the Kings, where most of Egypt's Pharaohs were buried, in elaborate tombs. None of the mummies or the valuables that were buried with them are still there – they've either been sent to museums around the world, or were stolen by grave robbers over the centuries.  But the hieroglyphs and paintings that adorn the corridors of the burial sites can still be seen, in remarkably vivid colours considering they are 3000 years old.  Unfortunately you're not allowed to take photos in the Valley of the Kings – the flash fades the colours, and people have abused this in the past so now no cameras are allowed at all.

Me and the Memnon Colossi

We also visited the Temple of Hatshepsut, which is not quite so old, as it's been reconstructed.  Hatshepsut was the only woman Pharaoh.  Women were not allowed to be Pharaohs, but she had no brothers, and was instead married off to her step brother so that he could be Pharaoh.  She wasn't having that, so she killed him, and eventually gained the respect of her people and was accepted as Pharaoh.  It's always interesting to hear stories about strong women who know what they want.

After crossing the Nile to the East Bank, we paid a visit to the Karnak Temple – a vast and awe-inspiring place full of columns and ancient statues.

Karnak Temple

We got back rather late but it was a trip well worth doing, and a most memorable way to spend my birthday. In fact, it will be hard to match it in future years.

The Luxor day trip added a touch of history and culture to what was largely a trip about relaxation (for me, anyway – hubby got 2 or 3 dives in per day, so he came back at the end of each day quite exhausted).

Egypt also proved to be inspiring for me, writing-wise. When we left the UK, I had a vague idea for a new horror novel that I thought I might be able to work on. I returned, a week later, with not only three pages of notes and basic plot outline, but also the first 8,000 words of the first draft written. I attribut the inspiration to a combination of the sea air, the sunshine, and the inspiring view.  Too bad I don't have these sources of inspiration available to me all the time – I'd be far more prolific.

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My Life In Books: The Mr Men

I was very pleased to discover that Roger Hargreaves' classic series is still in print. Each one of his 'Mr Men' books featured a character with one major, largely negative, trait. Most of the books were cautionary tales, where the character was generally shown the error of his ways and learned to let go of this negative trait, but not always. I remember the story of Mr Nosey, for example. In spite of his nosiness, Mr Nosey was well liked and had a lot of friends. They throw him a surprise birthday party, luring him into the party venue with carefully orchestrated deliveries of mysterious boxes in unmarked vans, knowing that Mr Nosey won't be able to resist investigating.

The 'Little Miss' series came a bit later, and I was a bit too old to get into them, so my lasting memories are of the 'Mr Men'. My favourite book was 'Mr Messy'. I was a rather messy child, and so this character I identified with the most. In fact, as I'm still characteristically untidy, I still identify with him. Mr Bump came in at a close second. I was, and remain, something of a klutz.

Roger Hargreaves' books are timeless classics, easy to read with characters that children today can still identify with. They have been universally loved by generations of children.

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Why I Don't Read Fantasy

(Cross-posted from the WriteClub blog)

When I was a little girl, boys were an alien species, to be avoided at all costs. I didn't understand them, I didn't want to talk to them, and I certainly didn't want to read about them. Hence, I tended to gravitate towards books that had female protagonists. If there were boys in the book as well, I would put up with it, but there had to be a girl in there I could identify and empathise with.

When I hit puberty, boys became marginally more interesting, but when I was in high school, all the boys seemed horrendously immature and shallow. Needless to say I didn't date much. No surprise that I completely identified with the girl in LABYRINTH (who was also called Sarah), who didn't go out on dates, spent all her time immersed in a fantasy world and who was burdened with babysitting a baby half-sibling she found a trial.

Anyway, I digress. The point here is that I only wanted to read stories about girls. When I was young I wanted stories about girls who were isolated; different; alone. When I grew out of the angsty teenage phase I wanted to read books about independent-minded, intelligent, courageous women who could hold their own in the world of men.

When I developed my obsession with STAR WARS, in my early teens, I had a brief flirtation with reading science fiction. Most of it didn't really grab me – there was a distinct lack of decent female characters. And this, when we come down to it, is the reason why I've never read fantasy. There are a lot of fantasy films I've seen and enjoyed (the aforementioned LABYRINTH being one – THE PRINCESS BRIDE is another one of my favourites). But I've never got into reading the genre. When I went through my sf phase I picked up a shabby copy of THE SWORD OF SHANNARA at a second hand book shop. I thought it was so dreadful, I never finished it – even at age 14, when my reading tastes were a lot less sophisticated. In retrospect, this is probably another reason why I never felt the urge to pick up another fantasy book.

Admittedly, the genre has come a long way since the 1980s. The stories are not full of insipid, two-dimensional women these days. There are a lot of female fantasy writers who I am reliably informed write books about strong-willed, intelligent women who know their own mind and are looking for more than just a handsome man to marry. But I have never read any of these books. My own prejudices are hard to shake. Plenty of people have said to me, about a particular fantasy author, "you'll like her books, they have a strong female protagonist." But as well as strong women, I like books filled with mystery and suspense, and most importantly, at least one gruesome death. Browsing in the book shops I always gravitate back to the crime and horror sections, even if my intention is to go to the fantasy section. I still go back to those books with the moody black covers and blood spatters. I'm comfortable with routine. That's why I always go back to the violence in the end.

My Life In Books: The Famous Five

Another classic Enid Blyton series, I moved on from The Secret Seven to the Famous Five, probably when I was about seven or eight. The marvellous adventures of four children and their dog, all taking place during school holidays, captured my imagination. They had such exciting lives. The Famous Five didn't spend their summers riding bikes around the neighbourhood or watching children's TV shows. No, they were busy foiling smugglers and criminals and discovering hidden treasure.

The Famous Five consisted of three siblings, Julian, Dick and Anne, their cousin George (full name Georgina but no one ever called her that) and George's dog Timmy.  The Five only ever had their fabulous adventures during the school holidays, but the books seem to follow a chronological order.  The children's ages are only ever mentioned in the first book – at which point Anne is 10, Dick and George are 11 and Julian, the eldest, is 12.

Surprisingly, perhaps, it was not George, the strong-minded and wilful girl, that I identified with, but Anne. I was a rather 'girlie' little girl, into dolls and dresses. Though I never played 'house' much like most girlie girls. Even back then the toy stove and toy ironing board didn't get much use, as I rapidly lost interest in domestic chores. Then I discovered feminism when I hit puberty.

But I digress. I was trying to explain why my favourite character was Anne. To many she was the wimpy one, always the first to get scared, to scream. The little sister that the older brothers felt the need to protect. As I was no one's little sister (I was the eldest) perhaps that's another reason I was attracted to Anne – I thought it would be nice to be looked after for once, instead of being expected to be the responsible one.

The Famous Five books are now criticised by many as being archaic and outdated. Essays have been written on the amount of food these four children put away – all those picnics with enough food to feed an army, and of course the "lashings of ginger beer".

The books have been accused of being racist, homophobic, mysogynistic, you name it. I am not sure if this is terribly fair. They were written in a more naive time.

In spite of the jarringly old fashioned dialogue, however, the escapades of The Famous Five are still in print, and still seem to be read by today's children. I think the appeal is the lack of parental restraints. The four children in the books get to spend their holidays camping on remote islands, doing whatever they please, pretty much without any adult supervision. That sort of freedom is unheard of, even more so today than it was when I was a kid. Perhaps that's the attraction of The Famous Five books.

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The Other Work In Progress

(Cross-posted on the WriteClub blog)

Today I thought I would talk about my other creative endeavour – my doll's house project.



I've always been fascinated by dolls' houses. If dolls were characters to me, dolls' houses were settings.  But I always wanted them to be like real houses, with things in drawers and cupboards and food in the fridge. When I was a child, I decorated my dolls' house with offcuts of carpets and wallpaper. I cut squares of cardboard, drew pictures on them and put them in the hi fi cabinet as record album covers. I drew pictures of dresses on coat hangers, coloured them in, cut them out and stuck them in the wardrobe.  I fashioned food out of Play Doh and put it in the little fridge.

I had the concept right, if not the scale. As an adult, I decided I wanted a proper dolls' house, with everything in the correct scale. For my 30th birthday, my husband got me a flatpacked Georgian Townhouse. This has been a work in progress ever since. As my 42nd birthday is a couple of weeks away, this will give you an idea of how long it's been a work in progress. I am attaching a picture of how it currently looks. Perhaps, you might think, not much progress in 12 years. But everything in this house so far I have created with my own two hands. Look at those staircases. Each step had to be glued onto the backboard, each rail had to be painstakingly glued onto a corresponding step, and the bannisters had to be affixed to the top of the rails. And then they had to be painted, and screwed into the house. And note there are three of such staircases…

I have to say this sort of thing doesn't come naturally to me. I have no manual dexterity, and no patience. But working on the dolls' house is a creative outlet of sorts. I have to think about how to decorate each room, and I've been collecting furniture over the years. There is some satisfaction in making progress on the project. OK, it's not looking perfect. There are brush marks and blobs on the paint work, and air bubbles in the wallpaper. Some of the edges look rather scrappy. And I still have a lot more work to do on it.

We have recently been doing some sorting out at home, and in the process of this the dolls' house was moved from the cupboard in which it was hiding. It's now on display in the dining room. Being on display means, of course, I have to make progress on it. I am hoping this will be a little more frequent now that I am looking at it on a daily basis. Time is a factor. In order to make any meaningful progress I have to have several hours free, with no other demands on my time. This doesn't happen very often

But when working on the dolls' house, I feel, should be my preferred activity when I'm not writing and getting frustrated by not writing. It's a creative outlet, and it gives me a similar sort of satisfaction to writing.

Hence, now the house is out, I am pledging to spend more time on it and not forget about it for years at a time, as has happened up to now. It might even help me through my current writers' block.

I will endeavour to post progress reports on this blog.

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Why I'll Never Be a Glamour Girl

There was a weekend earlier this year when we were rather busy with social events – a 40th birthday party to attend on the Saturday, followed by a wedding on the Sunday. The birthday party had a theme of early 60s glamour.  Nothing in my current wardrobe seemed to be appropriate, so I was obliged to go out and buy a new dress. I eventually found a black and white prom dress from Bravissimo, which I thought was appropriate to the era. It was a nice dress, but it proved to be uncomfortable to wear. The bodice is quite restricting, so I had to sit up straight. There's a lot of lace going on under the skirt to make it stick out the way it does, so sitting down requires a great deal of care.

I didn't want to go out and get shoes – I hate shoe shopping – so I wore my patent leather court shoes. I will say at this point I hate all women's shoes. The only shoes I can wear that don't hurt my feet in any way are trainers. If I wear shoes with heels, they make me fall over and I get burning pain in the balls of my feet. If I wear flat shoes, they rub my feet and give me blisters. At least they do for a couple of years, until the leather gets worn and soft, by which point the shoes are looking a bit shabby.

The following day, for the wedding, I wore a mauve dress I've worn to other weddings. And the same shoes – because I really haven't got many pairs of shoes (for reasons cited above).

The wedding invite said the ceremony was at 12pm. So I had to start getting ready fairly early, to do the whole hair and make up thing, which I don't normally bother with. There was a big gap between the ceremony and the rest of the celebrations, and since the venue was rather cozy, the group I was with decided they'd rather spend time in the gardens of the venue. We'd had a lot of rain the week before the wedding. Every time I walked over the grass, my stiletto heels sank into the mud, making it even harder to walk. By about 6pm Hubby was commenting that I was decidedly grumpy. Yes, I was. I'd been wearing the uncomfortable shoes by several hours by that point, and my feet were killing me.

I tell this story to illustrate why I don't 'do' glamour. Shoes I've already mentioned. Having a reason to put a nice dress on once in a while is fine, but I find doing so a great effort. You can't slouch in a nice dress as it's unladylike, so I have to remember to sit up straight. If I have make-up on I have to remember not to rub my face, and I hate lipstick marks on tea cups and glasses, which is why I generally don't wear it. Wearing make-up also means I can't fall into bed at the end of the evening; I have to spend extra time taking it off and cleansing my face before I can go to bed, to a avoid waking up with a face full of spots – on top of all this I have sensitive skin, and it reacts to make-up if I keep it on too long. And have I mentioned I'm allergic to perfume? I just can't wear it; it sets off the asthma.

A fancy frock also means tights. It seems I can't wear a pair of tights without them getting laddered in ten minutes. I'll snag them against something, or I'll pull them up a bit too vigorously when I use the bathroom. And this is assuming I've managed to make it out the front door without one of the cats getting her claws snagged in them.

Then there's nail polish. It takes half an hour to put on and dry properly, only for it to chip the moment I do anything with my hands. Opening the tin of cat food. Putting the door key in the lock. Even rummaging around in my hand bag seems to chip nail polish.

So on the whole I can't be doing with this 'glamour' business. It requires far too much maintenance. I'm far happier slobbing around in jeans and a sweater, most of the time. At least I can be me then.

I learned a lot about colour and style when I had my style session a couple of years ago (which those of you who've been following this blog a while might remember), but I've been rethinking my attitude to clothes recently. All this 'trying to be stylish' business is just not me. Ultimately if I like an outfit and wearing it makes me happy, then why should I not wear it, regardless of what others think of it?

It's this attitude that prompted me to buy some biker boots recently. I haven't yet had the opportunity to wear them, but I am looking forward to doing so. They might not be stylish, but I think they're cool. I will endeavour to post a picture soon. In the meantime, make the most of this picture of me in my early 60s glamour, ready to go to the party. I don't think it's an outfit I'm going to be wearing very often – it requires far too much effort.

FantasyCon 2011 Round-up

(Cross-posted on the WriteClub blog)

This past weekend was the hottest October weekend in the UK since records began, and as such it was a great time to be heading to the seaside town of Brighton, back to the same hotel where World Horror Con was held about 18 months ago.

FantasyCon is a Con both Hubby and I like to attend, and we arrived in Brighton around 2pm. My reading was at 3:30pm, so I figured this was plenty of time to prepare. Unfortunately the hotel wouldn't let us check in until 3, so we left our bags with the concierge and went to find the bar. We ran into a few T Party people on the way.

I wasn't so nervous about doing the reading. I was more worried about not having an audience. There were two reading rooms, with readings scheduled against each other, and I think I lost out to the competition in the end. Plus, Friday afternoon was a quiet time, as not everyone had arrrived. Still, Mark West of Stumar Press – the publisher of my forthcoming anthology – made it to the reading, a couple of T Party people and one or two others so I wasn't playing to an empty house. I read two stories from the forthcoming SOUL SCREAMS. When I rehearsed them at home, I timed them together at over 20 minutes. For the reading, though, I was done in 15. I guess I was reading a bit fast.

Once the reading was done, I felt I could indulge in some alcohol (I didn't want to be incoherent for my reading) but I really wanted to attend the panel on crossing genres, so I didn't get to spend much time in the bar. Panel moderator was Sarah Pinborough, and the wonderful Mike Carey was on the panel, along with other writers whose work I haven't read: Gary McMahon, Steve Mosby and Suzanne McLeod. I think I shall have to remedy this soon. They all write some variation of crime/supernatural crossover, and that's just my cup of tea.

During the panel, Hubby had succeeded in getting us checked into our room (the queue had been far too long at 3pm). We attended the FantasyCon welcome party, catching up with a few more people in the bar. I encountered Simon Clark, whom I remember having long conversations with nearly 20 years ago, when a group of mainly BFS members used to have monthly pub meets in the Wellington pub in Waterloo. The monthly pub meets still happen, but the venue has changed several times since then, as has regular attendees. I don't think he remembered talking to me nearly as well as I remembered him, but he was gracious enough to pretend he did.

Friday night ended with the infamous FantasyCon raffle. There are usually a lot of donated prizes, so it goes on for a while. Happily, I did win a prize – a book called WAKE UP AND DREAM by Ian R Macleod. Not an author I know, but the book looks quite interesting, and I'm never one to turn down free books, so it, too, has been added to the towering TBR pile.

Saturday Hubby and I decided to sample panels representing all genre fiction, so we went to the Trends in Fantasy Fiction panel, and the Where Next in SF? panel. Hubby then snuck off to his favourite Brighton guitar shop, while I wandered around investigating various launches, and a couple of readings.

In the hotel lobby I caught up with Gavin Williams and Tim Lebbon. As I mentioned in my lowdown of Horror Con, these two chaps and I used to be in the same writing folio – a sort of postal writing group – many, many years ago. They've both subsequently become very successful writers. Tim Lebbon especially is now a Famous British Horror Writer (and yes, that's Famous with a Capital F). Quite nice that they both still remember me, though. We had a good chat.

Hubby returned with his loot from the guitar shop in time for the interview of veteran sf writer Brian Alldis, by Christopher Priest. Mr Alldis has led a fascinating life. After the interview he was signing books, and Hubby went off to buy one. He came back very happy, having engaged Mr Alldis in conversation for about 15 minutes, mostly about Singapore, where the writer was stationed during the war, and where Hubby ends up travelling to for work fairly regularly.

After a foray outside for some dinner and a walk along Brighton's sea front – well, it seemed a shame to waste such a lovely day inside all the time – we returned to the bar for some more drinking and socialising. The evening's entertainment included a Burlesque show. However, after the first half I dragged myself away from the girls with nipple tassels to attend another panel, on How to Scare Your Readers, which was populated by some of the best contemporary British horror writers. And one might be forgiven for thinking that contemporary British horror is dominated by bald blokes, as there were three of them sitting in a row – namely, Adam Nevill, Tim Lebbon and Simon Clark. The other two panellists were also blokes, though not bald – Ramsey Campbell and Tom Fletcher. Personally I think this panel should have had at least one woman – we women of horror are woefully under-represented.

In any case, the panel was very interesting, and Adam Nevill's book THE RITUAL has gone on my TBR list, after Tim Lebbon – who himself writes some damn scary books – cited it as being the scariest story he'd ever read.

This panel was followed by Ramsey Campbell's midnight reading, where the iconic horror writer read out one of his characteristically whimsically and disturbing short stories.

After that, I ventured back to the bar to find the first FantasyCon disco in full swing. Since the delegates at FantasyCon are mostly, like me, 40-plus geeks, the music played was entirely to my liking. The disco was Sarah Pinborough's idea and I hope it becomes a FantasyCon tradition, because it was jolly good fun, even though bopping around in such sweltering heat meant none of us smelled too fragrant by the end of the evening.

Sadly, the evening had to end, and we retired to bed. Although there were activities scheduled for Sunday until mid afternoon, we were anxious to make an early start home, as engineering works meant our journey was going to be somewhat arduous. We said our goodbyes and left.

The post-Con comedown is always a struggle. After a weekend in such excellent company, getting back to real life can be a wrench. Sadly, I was obliged to return to the day job on Monday morning, but I have many wonderful memories from this year's FantasyCon. I feel doubly sad about this Con ending as it's the last one I'm attending this year. Already I've got post-Con withdrawal symptoms, and I don't, as yet, have any Cons for 2012 booked up to have more to look forward to. I need to address this soon, methinks.

My Life in Books: The Secret Seven

I think I was about five when I discovered Enid Blyton's series about seven intrepid child sleuths who went around solving mysteries (when they weren't at school of course). It was the beginning of a life-long fascination with mystery stories.

I remember wanting to start a club like The Secret Seven, so I dragged along my best friend Helen to the shed at the end of our garden, which was going to be our club house, and we discussed how we would find mysteries to solve. We talked about tailing people, of planting secret microphones on them – all kinds of things. But we weren't actually allowed to play beyond the end of the street, so all these plans came to naught.

I've had a lot of fun looking up these old books of childhood for cover images. The Secret Seven books are all still in print, with new modern covers. I don't remember what the ones I read in the 1970s looked like. The one I've included here is from the original edition, which was long before my time. Unlike some other children's books I haven't re-read any of the Secret Seven books in adulthood, so I don't know how they would rate with kids nowadays. I imagine Enid Blyton is rather dated these days. But there is something timeless about a group of children solving mysteries.

Since our short-lived club house gave us no mysteries to solve – we moved out of that house when I was six, to a flat that had no garden, let alone a shed – I had to limit my love of mysteries to books. But my love of mystery stories has been undiminished for nearly 40 years.