David W. Robinson's Blog: Always Writing, page 25

No Longer Part of the Real World

It’s getting on four years since I retired, and I now spend most of my time writing. This morning, whipping round to the local shop for vital supplies like tobacco and inessentials such as bread and milk, it suddenly dawned on me that I am no longer a part of the real world.

There’s a small building site opposite the shop, and the workmen are coming and going, doing their individual thing, nipping over to the shop for the same luxury items as me (bread, milk and crisps in their case). On top of that, there are contractors working all over the estate, upgrading the kitchens and bathrooms in the houses, plus the usual doings of a residential area on a sunny Wednesday.

I spent nigh on fifty years as part of that reality, but not any longer. I’m no longer a participant, but an observer.

As if to reinforce this message, I’ve been in Filey most of the day. Not physically, of course, but in the virtual reality created by my first STAC Mystery, The Filey Connection. When I’m reading, or re-reading in this case, the reality of my mundane existence dissipates until I’m on the seafront, looking out over the placid waters of the bay, studying the red earth and green vegetation of Carr Naze, or watching waters break gently over the Brigg. This alternate reality is interrupted only occasionally by the need to take Joe for morning walkies or to go to the shops to ensure we can eat.

It’s painful to think about, too. I enjoyed work. Not the actual job. No matter what I was doing for my living, it was just as tedious and boring a sitting around the house doing nothing. But the crack (or craic as others seem to be spelling it these days). The simple act of being with other people, taking your fill of the daily drivel, the daily gags, the daily gripes made me a part of the real world, and it’s no longer there.

What to do?

Dunno. Get out more, I suppose. Either that, or get back to the keyboard and see if I can recapture the essence of places like Filey. It’s somewhere to go when the weather’s turning.

By the way, if you’re wondering why I’m re-reading The Filey Connection, it’s because it’s just appeared on Laurence O’Bryan’s Books Go Social site and I’m reminding myself what I’m letting those potential readers in for.

Tweaking

I’ve been tweaking the site a little. You’ve probably noticed.

Under the old theme, the books were all highlighted on the right hand side, and many of them did not get the exposure they needed. But on the other hand, the cover images were quite large and when I set them on this theme, they tended to dominate proceedings. So I’ve reduced the cover sizes, but the direct Amazon links remain the same.

At the same time, I’ve set up three pages detailing my titles in their various categories, and they again have links to Amazon, but also to other sites. You’ll find the links beneath the header image.

One page I haven’t yet set up is Spookies. I’ll be doing that probably later this week, in preparation for the launch of The Haunting of Melmerby Manor, the first title in the series, which is due out two weeks on Tuesday.

For those who may be interested further in Spookies, may I just remind you that there’s a launch event on Facebook on June 10th. Anyone and everyone is welcome.

I also need to set up a bio page, but is there any rush on that? Who wants to know about a crazy third-ager from Northwest England?

My Writing Process

This is one of those blog memes doing the rounds and it was good friend Mandy James who pestered me to do it

Mandy is a smashing lady who is lucky enough to live in Cornwall where she probably enjoys wonderful views of the coast and sea. Course, these will never compete with my view of Syke Side open prison and Higginshaw Gasworks, but you can’t have everything, can you?

Mandy’s latest offering is Somewhere Beyond The Sea, from romantic fiction publishers Choclit. I don’t read romantic fiction (unless you count my bank statement) but the book has been on sale just over two months and is performing better than all but two of my titles and has gathered many positive reviews.

You can find Mandy at: http://mandykjameswrites.blogspot.co.uk/

The intentional humour in the previous paragraphs sum up my approach to life and my writing.

I said yesterday that I’m not a planner, and often an entire novel will develop from a single, humorous thought such as those above. Having said that, because my work is composed (largely) of whodunits, some element of planning is necessary. So where do we go from there?

My Current Work in Progress may provide some insight.

The ending of my last release, Death in Distribution, was left open to continue a theme which will run through the next few books. But it’s backstory, not the main event. At the time, I had no main event.

I was in a café somewhere, and I ordered tea and a sandwich for me and the missus and I had no money on me. This is standard. I get mugged every day when Her Indoors nicks every penny in change from me. Anyway, she had to pay, and once seated, I began to wonder how Joe would react to a customer coming into The Lazy Luncheonette, ordering tea, and having no money.

It wasn’t that difficult a prospect. If the customer was a titled person and Joe poured the tea first, we could have an irritating, yet comic situation. But why would a titled person be eating at a truckstop like The Lazy Luncheonette?

Because he needs Joe’s skills as a private detective.

Thus, A Family Killing (working title) was born

How does my work differ from other in the genre?

Like any whodunit series, the key is in the characters. Back in the golden age of detective fiction, the sleuths tended to be upper and middle class spinsters, bachelors and even couples. There are many writers today who still maintain this class divide.

I created my central trio as working or lower middle class. The upright Sheila, widow of a police inspector, the carefree Brenda, widow of colliery manager and the grumpy Joe, catering son of a caterer, live and work in what was coal town, struggling to make its way in the 21st century. The decision to make them all third agers (or getting on that way) was necessary to account for their various trips around the country. Young people with families would not have the disposable income to permit that. It helped me set their cases anywhere in the UK or Europe.

Why do I write whodunits?

Because I love puzzles. I used to set cryptic crosswords, I love solving them, I enjoy Sudoku, and I love watching detective series mainly to try second guess the ending. My news series, Spookies Mysteries, which launches on June 10th, are supernatural in nature, but they’re still largely whodunits.

I enjoy setting challenges for Joe, I enjoy challenging myself to come up with new and relatively obscure clues which will unlock the entire mystery.

And in the process, I hope I’m entertaining the readers.

So what is the actual writing process?

I write. It’s that simple. The idea comes to me, I type up a rough, usually single-page outline and I begin writing. I work at a fast pace. Usually the whole story appears to me as a grand vision and when I began typing, I don’t stop until I’ve exhausted the ideas. Because the STAC Mysteries are comparatively short, it means I can turn out a first draft in less than three weeks. I don’t subscribe to this notion of putting it away for a couple of months, then coming back to it. Instead, when it’s done, I go back to the beginning and work through it again.

It’s an exhausting process and I’ve been known to work anything up to fourteen or fifteen hours a day.  It’s also not something I would recommend to anyone just starting out.

And when it’s done? I usually bugger off to Benidorm or somewhere like that, where I can soak up a little UV and local ale.

Until the next idea occurs…

***

Many thanks to Mandy for pushing me into this. I’m supposed to nominate someone else to pick up the baton, but everyone else has already done it, so if you wanna have a bash, be my guest.

I regret, you cannot leave comments on this blog. Too many spammers. Why don’t these tosspots get a life and do a proper day’s work? However, you‘ll find me all over the place, and you’re welcome to comment on the site where you found this link.

And talking of links…

Death in Distribution, STAC Mystery #11 is on Amazon UK, Amazon Worldwide in both e-book and paperback formats, and you can find it in other e-formats by simply Googling the title and your preferred format.

If you’re new to the STAC Mysteries, the very first in the series, The Filey Connection, can also be found on Amazon UK and Amazon Worldwide in e-format and paperback, or Google the title for other formats.

How Do You Write a Whodunit?

If I knew the answer to that, I’d bottle it and make a fortune. But I can tell you how I write them if that’s any help.

When I first hit on the idea of the STAC Mysteries, they weren’t mysteries at all. I had the first title planned as the antics of a gang of third-agers let loose for weekend in Filey. Then I realised I needed something more, so how about a nice murder mystery. Nothing too gory, something which would maintain the light-hearted approach of the original idea.

Easy-peasy.

Laugh? I thought I’d never start. The moment I threw in a couple of killings, it complicated the plot to hell and back and I had to go back to the drawing board.

That was eleven books ago and once I decided on a series of whodunits, my approach had to change.

So what is that approach.

I’m not a planner, but whodunits demand planning. Before you put pen to paper, or fingertips to keyboard, you need answers to all the questions. Who did what to whom, how, why and when? The final three compose the classic crime triangle: Means, motive, opportunity.

Means: I write British mysteries because I’m British, and despite newspaper headlines determined to make us think otherwise, firearms are not easy to get hold of in this country. In the entire STAC Mysteries series I think there are only two references to firearms (Murder at the Murder Mystery Weekend and My Deadly Valentine). Most of the murders are by blunt trauma or strangulation with the occasional stabbing thrown in for good measure.

Motive: It’s a sad reflection on this world, but people kill for the most trivial reasons. Because I write cosy mysteries, I avoid the more serious motives, such as the sexual and/or mob warfare, and I’ve only used serial killing in once instance. Even then it was treated lightly. In the main I work with money, jealousy, unrequited love and blackmail/threat of exposure as a primary motive, from where it’s simple enough to entangle the issue further. Note, I use the word entangle, not complicate. In the end, the reader needs to understand the motive, and I don’t go for complex psychological reasons.

Opportunity: This is where I sometimes find the balance hard to handle and of the three corners, it’s the most difficult to work out. Make it too obvious and the reader will guess within a matter of a few pages, make it too obscure and the reader will be left dissatisfied with the end result.

There’s one final item you need to decide on. What particular piece of evidence or clue leads your detective to unmasking the perpetrator? I like to go for something obscure, but it’s not always obscure to the reader, so a little care is needed when planning it.

Remember, all this takes place before a single word is written, and it’s only a starting point. I frequently find that by the time I get to the other end, it was someone else whodunit and for different reasons to the one I had planned.

Next in this series of post: picking your sleuth.

Benidorm: Not All Booze and Brawls

After a week in Benidorm the batteries are recharged and it’s back on the horse today.

One of the most popular resorts in Spain, Benidorm comes with a built-in reputation for boozing and brawling. It’s a bit unjustified, but not entirely, as this first image shows. Taken at half past seven in the morning local time, three young women, all Brits, are making their way back to their hotel, pissed out of their brains.

But it’s not all like that. Here’s another picture, taken on Poniente Beach, of a group of seniors taking part in a public tai chi session.

While on Levante Beach we found a cowboy taking a nap.

I’m fascinated by the patience and work of these sand sculptors. Here’s another brace, both of complex castles with inbuilt water falls.

It all goes to show a different, more aesthetic side to Benidorm, a picture completed by this open air library where several people are playing chess.

Finally, we did have a sea view from our room, but you need good eyes to spot it. If you can’t see it, look between the two high-rise towers.

Back to the grindstone now. STAC and Spookies won’t wait forever.

Sun, Sand and S…

…Sangria

This time tomorrow, while you lot are sweltering in British Spring Bank Holiday temperatures of about fourteen degrees, I shall be sipping on the first cerveza and trying to keep warm in the chilly twenty-something degrees of the Costa Fortune.

Yes, the Robinsons are taking to the air once again for a week of R&R in Benidorm.

We’re taking the same flight out as we did the last time we went. I’ve been monitoring it all week on a site called Flightradar and it’s been consistently twenty minutes late off the gate every day. You wait until tomorrow. The last time we were on board, it was two and a half hours late.

We’re staying the same hotel they use to film the TV series, the Sol Pelicanos/Ocas, a twin set of high risers on Calle Derramador. And do they have a shock coming? They think old Madge is bad, but they haven’t met Flatcap yet.

Benidorm does come with a bit of a reputation. Not surprisingly it tends to be in the areas where the Brits congregate, the area where we’re staying. Last September, we stayed down the other end of Levante Beach, on the edge of the Old Town, and we found it lively, but still retaining so much of its Spanish charm and tradition, particularly the way everyone turned out promenading in the evenings.

And it was during the evenings that we found this street library to the junction of Calle Gambo and Carrer el Pont.

Thousands and thousands of new and second-hand books for sale and most of the traders sold English language copies.

It made me envious. Where I live, we have just two bookshops, both branches of national chains, and most of the time, they’re empty.

So that’s it. Last post for me until I get back. Take care and be good. If you can’t be good, be careful, and if you can’t be careful try creosoting the back fence instead.

Z is for Zoiks! You’re a Writer?

Let me paint you a picture. You’re at a large New Year party thrown by the owner of a riding school with whom you stable a couple of ponies, and you’re talking with your horsey friends, telling them how much you paid for your spanking new 4×4, how the weather in the Bahamas was little rough this year, and how Jeremy and Jemima are making progress at that super-expensive prep school you sent them to.

Some old git turns up in second-hand Ford Ka. He’s dressed in a pair of scruffy jeans and tatty trainers, with an ancient T-shirt hanging over his distended belly. The slogan on the shirt reads, “You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a shit.” On his head is a shabby flat cap, he’s walking with the aid of a stick and although he forgot to put his dentures in, he didn’t forget the hand-rolled cigarette dangling from his lips. On entering the house, he makes straight for the kitchen and helps himself to a bottle of brown ale. Your opinion of him takes another nose dive when he instantly commandeers the TV in the kitchen because United are live on Sky.

Contrary to your initial impression that he’s an ageing gatecrasher, you learn that the woman who owns the riding school is his sister-in-law, and you soon realise that while you wouldn’t be seen dead in the same photo frame as him, his wife is suitably attired and behaves accordingly, and she’s actually quite pleasant to talk to.

Throughout the afternoon, he speaks to very few people, and only then when he tells them to move out of the way cos he can’t see the telly.

At some stage during the afternoon/evening, you decide you want to know more about him, if only to ensure that you can name him to the police when odd bits of jewellery and other expensive trinkets go missing.

The conversation is largely one sided because of his surly attitude (United have just lost another game) but at some point in the proceedings, you ask, “And what do you do for a living?”

“If you must know, I’m a writer.”

Disbelief shoots through you. A few minutes ago, you would have guessed that he moonlights as a lager lout and you wouldn’t think he was capable of writing a shopping list.

“Zoiks! You’re a writer? What, books and articles and stuff?”

“No. Graffiti.”

Pay attention as he begins to respond to your questions and you’ll learn why he doesn’t tell all and sundry that he’s a writer.

“I have a great idea for a novel. Would you like to hear it?”

“Just a minute while I take my hearing aids out.”

“I’ve written a novel. Would you look at it for me?”

“You’re an accountant, so will you do my books for free?”

“Do you make much money as a writer?”

“Do you make much money as a consultant surgeon?”

“How do you go about writing a novel?”

“I just type one word after another.”

“Will I find your books in a bookshop?”

“No. I sell them from the back of the car while the wife keeps an eye open for the cops.”

“I suppose they’re e-books are they?”

“Do you use a calculator or are you still doing sums with your fingers and toes?”

“What’s the biggest problem you have when you’re plotting a book?”

“Finding new ways to bump off dickheads like you who plague me with stupid questions.”

***

It’s all good fun and there’s more than an element of truth in it. My wife’s sister does own a riding school, but the people at these New Year parties are nothing like as snooty as I paint them. In fact, they’re all very friendly. I don’t turn out quite so scruffily, either. The missus would never let me.

But the questions are real enough and they’re not limited to New Year parties. They’re the kind of questions I get asked all the time and they annoy the hell out of me. And that list is not exhaustive. There are plenty more where they came from.

If you want to ask a writer a question, try asking one that is pertinent, not stupid or nosy. At least that way, you’ll avoid the snappy answer.

Y is for Yes, I Wanna Go There

Not for the first time this month, the post has changed at the last minute. The piece I had planned for today will now come tomorrow.

This was prompted by two things: The first episode of a new series of Vera, which I watched last night, and the latest reader review of The Filey Connection.

Let me explain by asking a question. Have you ever read a book set in a real location and thought, “Yes. I wanna go there”?

On Harbour Street was set in an area I’ve visited many times: Northumberland. To be precise, this episode of Vera was filmed in Alnmouth, about 35 miles north of Newcastle upon Tyne.

I’ve always had an affinity with the Northeast. Maybe it’s because my paternal grandmother came from Durham. As far north as Alnwick, the countryside is wild, rugged and largely unspoilt, and there’s something that appeals in the slower pace of life I associate with the area. Not that it’s likely to be any slower than it is in Manchester, but it just seems as if it should be. No wonder creator Ann Cleeves finally settled in Northumberland.

During the precious little free time I have, I’m reading Raven Black, first of Ms Cleeves’ Shetland series, and once again, the setting makes me feel, “Yes, I wanna go there,” and next week, while I’m on holiday, I’ll be tackling the latest Libby Sarjeant, Murder in a Different Place. No doubt I’ll want to go to the Isle of Wight after that.

And it’s not just me. The Filey Connection, the very first STAC Mystery, took its 38th review yesterday, and here’s what reader V L Hadfield said:

Fun to read with well-rounded characters who are believable. Didn’t have a clue who done it coming as a surprise at the end. Enjoyed the descriptions of their seaside holiday and felt that I’d like to go there. Look forward to the next book (my italics).

This lady or gentleman pushed so many buttons for me, but it was that phrase, felt that I’d like to go there which really hit me. I didn’t produce the book as an advert for Filey, even though my wife and I love this little seaside resort on the Yorkshire coast, but if that’s how it made the reader feel, then I can be content that I did a good job.

So feel free to comment. Have you ever read a book or watched a movie which made you want to visit the location(s)?

X is for X-Rated? Not on My Watch

Not where the STAC Mysteries are concerned, and the same is true of my forthcoming series, the Spookies Mysteries.

True, I have written a few hard-boiled titles, and they contain scenes which might make your hair curl, but for the majority of my work, I tame the language and when it comes to the bedroom I close the door and cut to another scene.

The STAC Mysteries are cosy whodunits, and you wouldn’t expect anything frightening or graphic in terms of violence or sex.

Spookies are slightly stronger, but even here, the language is toned down, any violence is no worse than a Tom & Jerry cartoon and while tussles and clinches between the characters may be more than hearsay, they still stop short of graphic.

That leaves us with the horror element.

You can’t write supernatural mysteries without ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night, and some of the scenes in The Haunting of Melmerby Manor are intended to be nerve jangling, but they’re no worse than certain scenes from Dr Who or Buffy The Vampire Slayer. I’ve seen parts of cosy TV series like Midsomer Murders which can make you feel uneasy, and Spookies is no worse. These scenes are essential. Without them Spookies would just be another set of whodunits.

In a similar vein, Shani Struthers, a fellow Crooked Cat author, releases The Haunting of Highdown Hall this coming Wednesday. I haven’t read it (obviously because it’s not released until Wednesday) so I’ve no idea how serious or how X-rated her Psychic Surveys titles are/will be. (However, Shani, you are welcome to let us know in the comments.)

Consideration of X-rated material, brings us nicely to Fishwick, Sceptre’s ghostly ally. We quickly learn that this spectral butler keeps a watchful eye over Her Ladyship, but what happens when Sceptre is feeling, er, frisky.

It’s quite simple. Sceptre orders him, “Fishwick: take an hour off.”

BTW: in case you think I’m rushing to compete with Shani, I’m not. I mention her work to demonstrate that different writers may treat the same subject differently. The similarity between our titles is purely coincidental. I had never even exchanged Facebook comments with Shani until she signed on with Crooked Cat.

But it will interesting to compare reaction to the two titles.

***

The Haunting of Highdown Hall by Shani Struthers is published by Crooked Cat Books on Wednesday April 30th, and there is a launch event on Facebook where everyone is welcome.

The Haunting of Melmerby Manor, the first Spookies Mysteries is published by Crooked Cat Books on June 10th, and once again there is a launch event on Facebook, and everyone is more than welcome.

A Taxing Problem

This post could have been entitled, S is for Service. Since When?

Those of us with long memories, will recall the days when you bought a second-hand car and the seller passed you the log book along with the keys. Those days are long gone. Now it’s the super-efficient method of registering ownership. Much better. Innit?

Well, no actually, it isn’t. In fact it’s one of the biggest cockups I’ve come across.

Let me explain.

I bought a new (second-hand) car last week. It had a full MOT and two weeks tax left on it. Like good little soldiers, I have my half of the slip and the other party sent his bit off to Swansea (I hope).

The tax runs out next Wednesday, but I can’t tax it online, because I don’t yet have my new registration doc. Even if I did, it would still be chancy because we’re going away next week and the disc might not arrive in time, in which case I’d be guilty of failing to display a current tax disc.

So I have to go to Post Office. No problem. Except that to tax it there, I need a form V10, and guess what. Our Post Office doesn’t stock them. I downloaded a copy from the internet, but my printer is shot, so I transferred it to a memory stick and trawled round the local photography and newsagent shops, and not one of them has the facility to print me out this document. Even the Post Office won’t do it.

My alternative is to fork out 30-40 quid on a new printer, go through all the hassle of installing and then leave it to rot like that last one because I never use it. But unless I can get it printed, I can’t tax the fucking car and if I don’t tax the fucking car, it’s a fixed penalty.

Now the big question.

Which overpaid, over-privileged, brain dead prat came up with such an inflexible system, and how much of a bonus did he collect for thinking it up?