Debbie Bennett's Blog, page 4
July 9, 2016
But Where Will I Put My Books?
I grew up with books. I remember my dad bringing home a Famous Five book every Friday – I used to be ready and waiting for him to come home from work and I’d have finished the book by the end of the weekend. The newsagent would deliver my comic on a Saturday and I’d lie in bed listening for the clink of the letter box; I’d scurry down and take my comic back to bed to read.
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June 10, 2016
CrimeFest and Other Conventions
I've blogged in the past about conferences and conventions. I've done a fair few over the years - from the early days of the Southampton (later Winchester) Writers' Conference to the many years of attending and/or running British Fantasy Society conventions. I've been as a 'guest' to Sci-Fi Weekender, and I even once went to a Star Trek convention - purely for research, you understand?
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May 1, 2016
Reading Aloud
It’s been an odd year so far. April already and I don’t seem to have achieved anything – writing or otherwise. I’m unsettled due to an impending house move and the creative juices are drying up completely.
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March 6, 2016
A New Kind of Book Club
So you really want to join a book club. You ask around and find a few events locally, but they’re not quite right for you – nothing wrong with them, but your ideas don’t quite fit.
Maybe you’ll just stay home and read books instead. But then you think on it a bit more and decide to start your own book club. It helps that you have contacts in the hospitality industry and you know just the right place to host such a thing…
Maybe you’ll just stay home and read books instead. But then you think on it a bit more and decide to start your own book club. It helps that you have contacts in the hospitality industry and you know just the right place to host such a thing…
December 20, 2015
Kai
Writers' Group exercise. 10 minutes: Fact or fiction. Describe your first encounter with a celebrity.
He's all leather and tattoos. Red and green snakes entwine each arm. He's got a bottle of something - beer? - in one hand and a cigarette in the other. One booted foot taps to the faint rhythm of the warm-up band. He wears a red bandanna around his head, a skull ring on one finger and a bar through his eyebrow.
And he's smiling at me.
I glance around, convinced it's somebody else he's looking at. But for once I'm alone. Climbing that wall was hard, but it was worth it, given me access to a backstage yard of some kind. There are rubbish dumpers to one side and a couple of tatty camping chairs next to an upturned crate. My ankle hurts and I want to sit down.
But he's still smiling at me, still counting the beat of the drums inside. What's he doing out here anyway? They'll be on soon - shouldn't he be rehearsing or something?
Kai, is name is. I've loved him since I was nine, when I first saw a poster on the wall of the old theatre in town. I sold my laptop to pay for the coach fare and this ticket, lied to my mates and missed an afternoon of school to get here on time. And he's waiting for me, just like he promised.
My mum's going to kill me.
He's all leather and tattoos. Red and green snakes entwine each arm. He's got a bottle of something - beer? - in one hand and a cigarette in the other. One booted foot taps to the faint rhythm of the warm-up band. He wears a red bandanna around his head, a skull ring on one finger and a bar through his eyebrow.
And he's smiling at me.
I glance around, convinced it's somebody else he's looking at. But for once I'm alone. Climbing that wall was hard, but it was worth it, given me access to a backstage yard of some kind. There are rubbish dumpers to one side and a couple of tatty camping chairs next to an upturned crate. My ankle hurts and I want to sit down.
But he's still smiling at me, still counting the beat of the drums inside. What's he doing out here anyway? They'll be on soon - shouldn't he be rehearsing or something?
Kai, is name is. I've loved him since I was nine, when I first saw a poster on the wall of the old theatre in town. I sold my laptop to pay for the coach fare and this ticket, lied to my mates and missed an afternoon of school to get here on time. And he's waiting for me, just like he promised.
My mum's going to kill me.
November 11, 2015
Rat Run Released!
And Rat Run is finally out there. The end of Lenny's journey that began in Rat's Tale. Who'd have guessed my bad-boy would come so far? If you're curious to find out how it finishes, feel free to check it out....Amazon UK, Amazon US or other links here. Reviews always welcome!Lenny’s been released early from prison. He’s got a normal and boring job, and he’s living a normal and boring life in a small flat in Liverpool. But Lenny’s never done normal. Or boring. Everything comes with a price and the local cops have already been in touch, expecting him to provide intelligence about his old life in London.
Then an email sends him racing back down south. It’s not the best idea he’s ever had, but it’s Becky who’s contacted him and she’s always been his weak spot. Becky’s teenage brother is missing, and Lenny knows that heading to London to search for him means breaking the terms of his prison licence, risking his freedom and maybe even his life.
The search for Becky’s brother takes Lenny into dangerous territory from his past, he’s got the cops on his back again, and he has to decide whether this new life is worth what it’s going to cost.
This thriller is set six months after Ratline and contains adult material.
October 27, 2015
Mirror-prism
Writers' Group exercise. 10 minutes: The visitor. Who or what came to the house and what did they take, or leave?
In the mirror. There. Quick. See it? No. Just shadows - reflections from the window-prisms, sunlight dancing in the early evening. The sun is low on the horizon, the sky is blood-orange and the reflections are strange in my mirror.
Put the light on. Bold halogen from the ceiling to crush prism-light with its harsh and unforgiving glare. In the mirror nothing changes. Still reflected rainbows pulse behind the glass.
Peer into the depths. What? What's there? Who's there? Shadows lengthen, indigo-blue-green sparkles out into the room.
Touch the glass. Cold; soft - yielding. Ripples from a pebble. Hand, arm, body. Life.
Step through.
In the mirror. There. Quick. See it? No. Just shadows - reflections from the window-prisms, sunlight dancing in the early evening. The sun is low on the horizon, the sky is blood-orange and the reflections are strange in my mirror.
Put the light on. Bold halogen from the ceiling to crush prism-light with its harsh and unforgiving glare. In the mirror nothing changes. Still reflected rainbows pulse behind the glass.
Peer into the depths. What? What's there? Who's there? Shadows lengthen, indigo-blue-green sparkles out into the room.
Touch the glass. Cold; soft - yielding. Ripples from a pebble. Hand, arm, body. Life.
Step through.
October 10, 2015
What Somebody Wants
Writers' Group exercise. 10 minutes: Write the opening of a story/poem where a character wants something....
He heard the door click shut, a fraction of a second before something poked him in the flesh just below his left ear.
He froze, hands poised on the handle of the filing cabinet. "Can I help you?"
"I don't know," a voice replied. Male - an overweight smoker by the sound of his breathing. "Can you?"
"The club is closed."
"Don't seem to bother you much," the stranger replied.
"I work here."
"Oh? You have a problem with the lights, then?"
The thing in his neck jabbed harder. A gun? Probably. He sighed. "What is it you want?"
"The same as you, I suspect," said the stranger. "I'm just better prepared. Now open the drawer."
He heard the door click shut, a fraction of a second before something poked him in the flesh just below his left ear.
He froze, hands poised on the handle of the filing cabinet. "Can I help you?"
"I don't know," a voice replied. Male - an overweight smoker by the sound of his breathing. "Can you?"
"The club is closed."
"Don't seem to bother you much," the stranger replied.
"I work here."
"Oh? You have a problem with the lights, then?"
The thing in his neck jabbed harder. A gun? Probably. He sighed. "What is it you want?"
"The same as you, I suspect," said the stranger. "I'm just better prepared. Now open the drawer."
August 20, 2015
Rat Run
And the muse awakens. Scribbling (OK, typing) madly these past few days as my fingers can't keep up with my brain. This is what I just love about writing - when it all comes together and I feel like I have a foot in each of two different worlds, when I'm living and dreaming the book, when I'm literally scribbling with a pen on odd bits of paper at home, in the car, at work and trying to keep up with my imagination. When you get that little frisson of excitement on reading something back that you don't actually remember writing because it happened so fast ...
So I thought I'd better get me a cover, since I'm really not that far off finishing now. What do you reckon? Same model again as I have on all my Rat books - but since this one starts out in Liverpool, I've got a little Liver Bird in too! Should be out by Christmas, if not earlier, but depends on how long the editing takes!
So I thought I'd better get me a cover, since I'm really not that far off finishing now. What do you reckon? Same model again as I have on all my Rat books - but since this one starts out in Liverpool, I've got a little Liver Bird in too! Should be out by Christmas, if not earlier, but depends on how long the editing takes!
July 4, 2015
I'm stalling on my latest book. Rat Run is the third in t...
I'm stalling on my latest book. Rat Run is the third in the trilogy which is Lenny's story - Lenny Dixon being the bad-boy we were introduced to in the first trilogy. I was fascinated by him and wanted to explore him further to find out what makes him tick. It's been a bumpy ride with several surprises along the way, but the end of this story will be the right time to say goodbye. And I'm sad. This isn't fantasy, and I'm not leaving a world behind, but I'm leaving my world - my little fictional bubble I created over 20 years ago when I first heard Michael's story in my head.
Will I go back again? I don't know. Whilst I've written series books, they're not police procedurals and there's no cop with a different case to solve in each book. I enjoy reading them, but that's not how I write. And I refuse to churn out rehashed plots over and over again, so this really is likely to be the last visit I make to this world.
It's funny how we get to know characters as real people, isn't it? Both writing and reading - the people come alive in a good story and you start wondering where they go and what they do when they wander off the page. Or am I just weird?
So nearly 30,000 words into this latest book and I think I've got a plot now. I hope. I just have to talk myself into finishing it. Saying goodbye is hard and I wonder if that's why my subconscious is playing all sorts of games with me and refusing to co-operate.
Will I go back again? I don't know. Whilst I've written series books, they're not police procedurals and there's no cop with a different case to solve in each book. I enjoy reading them, but that's not how I write. And I refuse to churn out rehashed plots over and over again, so this really is likely to be the last visit I make to this world.
It's funny how we get to know characters as real people, isn't it? Both writing and reading - the people come alive in a good story and you start wondering where they go and what they do when they wander off the page. Or am I just weird?
So nearly 30,000 words into this latest book and I think I've got a plot now. I hope. I just have to talk myself into finishing it. Saying goodbye is hard and I wonder if that's why my subconscious is playing all sorts of games with me and refusing to co-operate.
