Lissa Oliver's Blog, page 4

Writing away

Writing for pleasure can be done anywhere, thanks to smart phones and tablets, but my career as a writer sometimes takes me off on adventures to particular places and this coming weekend sees me off on my travels, notebook in hand, around the stud farms of Ireland.

I would recommend anyone who has Friday or Saturday free, to register for the ITM Stallion Trail. It’s free of charge and provides the opportunity to go and visit your favourite racehorses in their retirement. It’s a once-a-year chance to see inside luxurious stud farms such as Coolmore Stud, Gilltown Stud, home to the magnificent Sea The Stars, Kildangan Stud and Ballylinch Stud, the latter full of rich history. Then there are the beautiful stallions to see as well, such as the team at Ballyhane Stud.

I will be on duty for the European Bloodstock News and am really excited my list includes the Derby heroes Wings Of Eagles, at The Beeches, and Workforce, at Knockhouse Stud. I’m also looking forward to seeing Rule Of Law for the first time since he retired from racing, a few years ago now. What a great weekend it promises to be! I count my blessings I chose writing as a career path.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year everyone and I hope it brings you joy and health. For ourselves, another year like last will be good and it has already started well. I was invited to be Ireland’s judge for the 2019 European Prize for Literature and this could be the year in which my new novel is completed. I certainly intend so.

And what better way to begin the year with a walk on the Curragh, just as Mr Weld’s string joined us for exercise; in front of the impressive new racecourse grandstand, which looks complete and ready for the first meeting in April. Can’t wait! We must be on an athlete’s programme, because we completed our walk as the string completed theirs and the second lot were coming out as we left!

Looking back on a great year, with lots of star horses, Masar and Kew Gardens among them, and many to look forward to, Quorto among those. I began the year at a punk festival, followed by a ska festival, followed by a literary festival in France, where Tony and I were treated as VIPs in Royan and had a wonderful time. Then another three punk festivals, another ska festival and another guest appearance at a literary festival, with superb race meetings such as the Curragh Classics, Irish Champions weekend and Royal Ascot in between. Not to mention a perfect jaunt to Bristol to see my three favourite bands on the one bill! Rounding off with my first-time stint as a magazine editor. Can’t be bad! Same again, please!

In Conversation with Kym Hughes

Lissa Oliver in Conversation with Kym Hughes, hero of her novel Sainte Bastien

Lissa: How did you come to find yourself at the centre of the Sainte Bastien plot?

Kym: It’s still a bit of a mystery to me, actually. I don’t even think I am the central hero. You’d probably be better off interviewing my boss, Mr Marchant, or his son, Dominic. Although I can see why you’d rather just sit down with me, actually. I don’t suppose either of them are very willing to be interviewed.

A good point! So, why do you think you’re in the middle of a drama?

I’m not sure. Jealousy, perhaps? I’m not even so sure there is any drama. I keep feeling it’s all in Mr Marchant’s head. Or I’m being paranoid. This is all a bit new to me and I just keep thinking it’ll be gone again overnight, so maybe I’m just looking for problems that don’t exist.

You sound a bit confused – when did these problems, real or imagined, begin?

Real. There have definitely been a few genuine incidents. But accidents or deliberate, I don’t know. It began a few weeks ago. I’ve only just got the job as stable jockey at Sainte Bastien. It’s the best racing stable in Britain and the best job in racing. It’s usually a job for life, but Mark, the previous stable jockey, unexpectedly retired early. Back problems; he couldn’t ride any more.

People are saying I was the best available, best of a bad bunch. I’m not blind, I know I’ve not the best CV out there, but I’ve ridden winners in the past for Mr Marchant and I’ve kept my head down and worked hard for the past ten years. I just didn’t get any lucky breaks, until now. I’m determined to make the best of it and prove any critics wrong.

So what’s been going wrong exactly?

Just niggly little things. Silly things. I had a fall, no one to blame, my horse pulled a bit and clipped the heels of the horse in front. That put me out of action for a week. Mr Marchant blew his top – it was my first week riding for him. Nothing as bad as that since, but lots of minor falls. And daft things, like getting the blame for leaving bits of tack around the yard and getting my head bitten off by Mr Marchant. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly and I’m trying his patience a bit.

Just ill-luck?

Well, I thought so. At first. But Mr Marchant, he’s a good man to work for. He’s easily irritated and can shout a bit, but there’s no real vice in him. Everyone respects and admires him. He’s stood up for me. But he’s got it into his head all these little upsets aren’t just coincidence, they’re deliberate. He’s so edgy about it, he’s made me a bit nervous. I’m half-inclined to believe him.

In what way? Is it malicious, against you?

Mr Marchant is convinced of it. Not exactly against me personally. I’m just getting in the firing line. He thinks it’s against him, someone trying to ruin him.

Any idea who or why?

He seems to be convinced he knows who’s responsible, but I’m not getting caught up in it. He’s my boss and I can’t say anything to jeopardise my job. All I can say is, he puts up a good case, until I really think about it, and then I have my doubts. And as to why? That’s beyond me, just a bit of dirty family laundry doesn’t really seem to warrant the accusations. But then again, you know, these family feuds… they can get out of hand.

You sound genuinely worried?

I am. I trust Mr Marchant and his son is a good kid, I’d like to trust him. But they’re both making me nervous and I’m making mistakes. Well, scared of making mistakes. The last thing you want to be, going out for a big race, is nervous.

This was my big break, my dream job. Every jockey’s dream job. I’m really scared I’m gonna blow it. Or someone’s gonna blow it for me. Bad luck? Paranoia? Or some jealous bastard genuinely out to get me? Your guess is as good as mine. Yeah, I’m worried, alright.

Any good horses to keep your spirits up?

At Sainte Bastien? They’re all superstars! I’m looking forward to winning my first Classic on Maple Leaf next month and maybe even The Derby. But my biggest concern right now is just keeping the ride on him. Maybe Mr Marchant’s right and someone else is looking forward to riding him.

This new job should be a blessing, but I’m getting more and more worried it’s more of a curse.

Find out more about Kym and his increasing anxiety in Sainte Bastien Sainte Bastien

In Conversation with Pete Allen

Lissa Oliver in Conversation with Pete Allen, hero of her novel Gala Day

Lissa: Would you like to tell readers how we first met?

Pete: I saw you at the races, constantly writing in an exercise book, and when I found out you were writing a novel I asked to be in it!

I believe your exact words were, is it about me? Why not? Write one about me! So you ended up in a short story to begin with, and developed from there. Was Gala Day all you’d imagined it to be?

Pretty much, I guess. I had the starring role, so I’ve no complaints! I reckon I pretty much stole the show in the two short stories, The Last Post and Ghosts, in that other book you did, Tales Of The Turf And Other Worlds, although considering I did ask for the starring role you slipped up a bit there! Still, as they say, class will always out!

You’ve lost none of your confidence, I see! I usually prefer a hero with flaws, would you admit to any?

Me? Flawless! But I guess I can’t always hide behind my shades, if I was squeaky clean Gala Day could never have happened. I like being a star, but the hero bit was more than I bargained for. When it’s all over, I reckon I might hang up the Hollywood boots and settle for the quiet life. All that action stuff’s not me, really.

You handled it well, though. Did any of the heroics ever shake you up?

Na, not really. Well, yeah, some. I was alright when I only had myself to worry about, but when it spilled over onto friends, that got a bit scary. Bloody scary. I even threw up once. Nerves, prob’ly. I always liked those Dick Francis heroes, with their money and fast cars and the way they could get duffed up and describe it as a bit of a bore! Shit, I was hours trying to recover from less!
They were always a bit too perfect for you, weren’t they, them Dick Francis types? When you said you wanted to put an ordin’ry bloke in a racing thriller, I should’ve known and left the role to someone like Kym Hughes! You can’t get more ordin’ry than him! I managed alright, though. I’ve the looks and the car and the hero shades, just that in the real world things actually hurt and scare you shitless.

But you rose to the challenge. Were you just fighting the bad guys, or were there some personal demons to take out, too?

I must’ve led a blessed existence, cos I’ve none of that psychological crap. The job had to be done, though, didn’t it? I wanted to be a hero, so I had to be one. Not to rid the world of bad guys, but to rid my world of bad guys. I was successful years ago and then I fucked up a bit, but once I decided to make a go of it again I couldn’t let someone just knock me back down again. You just have to knuckle down and do what you have to. It’s not about being a hero, in the end it’s just about surviving and achieving what you set out to achieve.

Do the shades ever come off?

You’re talking metaphysically or whatever, aren’t you? They’re a bit of fun, that’s all. They come off at home; and with friends and family. I don’t hide behind them, if that’s what you mean. They’re not a security blanket. They stand for success and it’s the success that gives you confidence. A frontman doesn’t hide behind being a frontman, Mick Jagger doesn’t pout and clap in your face over a cup of tea, but he’s still a frontman. The shades are only a mark of success, like the car. I s'pose I have clung to the image a bit, when it’s all I’ve still got. If I can just make a success of it again I won’t really need the shades. I’ll hang onto them, though. You’ve got to admit it, they’re proper knicker wetters! And let the jury please note, the accused winked when he said that!

Find out more about Pete and his fight to escape his disreputable past in Gala Day Gala Day

In Conversation with Nero

Lissa Oliver in Conversation with Emperor Nero, hero of her novel Nero – The Last Caesar

Lissa: How did you find yourself falling into the main role of only the second book I wrote, my first to be published?

Nero: I’ve always loved writing, I write songs and poetry, and I encourage and support all writers and artists. Everyone says I’m infectious! My enthusiasm just spills out onto everyone I meet, I’m contagious! If you share my views, my politics and my passion for racehorses, music and the Arts then we’re bound to form a bond! Not everyone does, of course, but we first met when you were 23, so we were of a similar age, too. I entered State politics at 14, became emperor at 16 and destiny ordains I will never reach my 30s, so there’s that mystique, too.

You’re famous, or perhaps infamous, of course – can you tell us something about yourself that we don’t already know?

Everything! What do you know? Fat, old, bearded insane Peter Ustinov in Quo Vadis?! The gods, where do I even begin with that one! I’m quite self-conscious about my bull neck, I never go out without a neck scarf, but I’ve never been fat. Beards are so not the fashion in first century Rome, not that I could even grow one! I didn’t even need to start shaving until I was 24! I’m blonde, I have blue eyes, I like to keep my hair in long curls, down to my shoulders, Greek-style. I love the Greek fashion of short tunics in bright floral designs, which is so not the done thing in Rome! Alas, I’m destined never to be old and I’m far from insane, though the Senate would have you believe it, due to my politics! To my people, the people who really matter to me, I’m what you would call a Hollywood or rock star. And that really annoys the Senate!

And you murdered your mother?

Really? They are saying that?! My mother was put to death for attempting to assassinate me and replace me with her lover. I survived numerous assassination attempts by her before my Commander of the Guard finally took action. We could never bring her to trial, she had every lawyer in her pocket.

I met the real you in Roman biographies of your day and academic biographies of my day, so why do you think Hollywood and popular myth got it so wrong?

In a word – the Senate! The gods how they loathe me! They declared me an Enemy of the State. Do you know why? For throwing open the private grounds of my burnt-out Palace to the destitute! I wasn’t in Rome at the time of the Great Fire, but I returned at once, meeting hundreds of my peers along the route escaping to their country estates. In Rome, there were those who had no second home to escape to. They hadn’t even a single home anymore. They were destitute, with only the clothes they stood up in. So I joined with my Guards in building temporary accommodation throughout the Palace grounds and we handed out food and clothing. Some said such chores were beneath me and I brought my title into disrepute. Even more were horrified at the desecration of the Palace grounds, allowing such people in. The Senate rumbled about ethnic cleansing, as they had during the famine. I was ultimately condemned for such insensitive behaviour. Popular myth? People love a villain, don’t they? And that’s how the Senate will forever portray me.

And you fiddled while Rome burned?

Fiddled? There is no such instrument in ancient Rome! I’m not sure how that myth came about, but on that first night, as I walked about the makeshift camp, people called on me to make a speech and lift morale. But what could I possibly say to make things better? I led the crowd in a popular song instead, about a similar ancient tragedy which the people overcame, we sang through the night, a temporary escape from our own troubles.

Every law you passed distanced you more from the Senate?

We live side-by-side with the poor of Rome, the unemployed, the workers and the slaves and the tradesmen. A quarter of the population receive Dole from my personal budget. The wealthy have the luxury ground floor villas, the windows opening onto the gardens and courtyards behind; the less wealthy have the apartment blocks above, the windows opening onto the street. Often large families crammed into a single room on the top floor of a four or five-storey apartment block. Either no one else notices or no one else cares. But I noticed, from a very young age, and I care. Perhaps because I was raised by an eccentric aunt who left me to the care of her slaves, a ballet dancer and a hairdresser, who were also my tutors. I roamed the streets with a different outlook to others who lived in the Palace.
The Senate seems to think that every move I make to help the common man of Rome is a move against the wealthy. In the end I have been vilified by my own class, but worshipped by the people.

Is there one law you passed that you feel the most pride in?

The gods, dozens! Enforcing a corn ration and subsidising its price during the famine. That averted many thousands of deaths. The merchants were selling it at extortionate prices to those who could afford it, so I bought the lot and gave it away in equal amounts to all, including the poor and destitute. Out of my own private purse, I should add, because the Senate refused to allow it to come out of the Public Fund. I was personally bankrupt after that, but what does that matter? I’m Emperor, I live in a Palace, I don’t need money. I’ve never had any respect for it or those who hoard it.

I banned deaths in the arena and forbade fights to the death. I’m proud of that, but it led to me being declared Enemy of the State! I also forbade senators from buying their seats with lavish shows, which came out of the Public Fund. And I decreed all lawyers charge a set fixed fee, to enable rich and poor alike to avail of their services.

Then, of course, the racehorse pension. Not a huge amount, but enough to ensure a lifelong home after racing, without the farmer being out of pocket for feed. I recognised a really good ex-racehorse struggling to pull a cart through Rome one evening, before which I’d never considered what happened to them in retirement.

It isn’t a law, but I’ve written many popular songs including one you would refer to today as a Number One Hit! People sing it all the time, and will continue to do so even up to a hundred years after my death, so your books say! Who wouldn’t be proud of that!

Have you any regrets?

Not marrying Acte. I wasn’t allowed to, but I’m Emperor, I should never have just accepted that. I should have just gone ahead anyway! But I was young, 17, and Acte hates the fame and attention. She was a slave when we met and she still prefers the simple things in life. I wanted to abdicate and we could have lived in Greece together, but Otho and my Commander, Burrus, and Seneca, my old tutor, the three people I respect most in the world, they convinced me I’d be assassinated by my successor. Acte can’t bear the thought of my life being at risk, she would never allow me to abdicate, either. I’d always be seen as a threat to a successor’s reign, not that I am. I hate this role and this life. But their whole belief system is based on greed, to aspire to the very top position in life you can reach. No one understands that I don’t want that, that all I ever wanted was to be a musician in Greece, no more than that. I certainly never wanted to be Emperor. I regret not running away to Greece with Acte. And I regret not being brave, when I need to be.

You mention Otho, and even in the biographies of your time there is clearly something special about him. Can you explain it?

He’s the original bad boy, isn’t he? He’d gone through millions of pounds of inheritance before he reached 21! He lives off the rich widows of Rome and they love him for it! Isn’t that always the way? He has no ambition whatsoever! He never looks to me for Office or political favours. I’ve never been emperor to him, just a friend. He has a heart of gold and he understands people. He understands me. Whatever our differences, I know he’s there for me, to do what’s right. And he does what’s right for others.

He no more noticed the plight of the poor than any other nobleman at Court, but he took notice when I pointed it out. He’s lazy and he’d do nothing on his own count – but he’ll do everything that he knows is of importance to me. If destiny is correct, I know that my family, household and policies will be safe in his hands and that he will make the same sacrifices I made, to become Emperor and see my legacy survives. We’re soulmates.

Find out Nero’s life and times in Nero - The Last Caesar

New Series! In Conversation with fictional heroes!

Lissa Oliver in Conversation with Marcel Dessaint, the hero of her novel Chantilly Dawns:

Lissa: You were the first star of a novel I ever met, have you any idea why?

Marcel: No idea! I’ve never really thought of myself as heart-throb material, but I seem to come across that way on paper! How old were you at the time?

About 16 or 17. I suppose as a writer, even then I was conscious I could be enjoying your company still in 40 years’ time! Tell us a little bit about yourself and who you are?

I’m currently 26 and, until Chantilly Dawns hit the bookshelves, I was a very successful Flat race jockey based in France. I was lucky enough to get the ride on a good horse in my first season riding, at the age of 16; we won the French Derby and my career took off. I have ridden all over the world, won many of the world’s top races, I’ve been Champion Jockey in France for nine years in a row and I’m the poster-boy for a lot of health and sport-related products.

So how did you cope with suddenly finding yourself at the centre of a drama?

I didn’t. I didn’t cope at all. It was like the only world I’d come to know had vanished overnight and I was back in the place I’d never wanted to return to.

Didn’t you have any idea, the plot awaiting you?

None at all. I’d gone from total lack of self-belief and insecurity as a child, to complete over-confidence, with no learning ground in between. I knew I wasn’t to blame for any of the false accusations, I just swanned in there, to the Enquiry, expecting nothing but a grovelling apology. And I came out without my jockey’s licence, without my career, without my confidence and self-belief. It was life-changing.

Yet you recovered. Was there ever a time when you didn’t think you would?

Yes. Those first few weeks. I had no fight in me; nothing to fight. I did actually believe I was responsible for the malpractice; I wasn’t sure how, but I sensed I was guilty of it all. It wasn’t until I believed in my own innocence that I could fight to prove it. There was the worry then, of course, that I was too late.

Why did you feel guilty, when you must have known you were innocent?

The evidence was piled up against me and I couldn’t disprove it. It wasn’t deliberate, but I had to be responsible. Who else was? I thought I’d just burnt out, lost whatever talent I had as a jockey. It’s a bit like murder or manslaughter, whether intended or not, someone’s still dead. I did feel responsible, that I’d unintentionally done all I’d been accused of.

When you realised it wasn’t you, you must have had suspicions of who it might really have been?

That was probably the hardest part. When it all blew up, I was vilified. Very few people stood by me. I don’t think I would have survived without them. But even so, I found myself having to fight my distrust of even my closest friends. That was hard.

They say that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. If you manage to get through this, will you still agree with that?

That’s a big if! At this point, we don’t know. But I do already know I’m stronger, without a doubt. I had some demons from my past, I didn’t know they still haunted me, but if this disaster hadn’t come along, something else would have lured them out. I needed to get rid of them, and if nothing else, this new-found fight in me has dealt with that. I’m a changed person, obviously I am. But I hope it’s for the better.

Find out more about Marcel and the accusations that have cost him his career and now threaten his life in Chantilly Dawns

Watching the detectives

We all know detectives come in pairs. In the movies, mismatched with a younger more flamboyant colleague. In books, usually paired off with someone who has a great admiration and understanding of them. In reality, of course, detectives work with a very large team and not a partner, so why do our fictional detectives need a sidekick?
Now that I'm working with my own pair of fictional detectives in my latest novel, I can tell you the answer! My detectives aren't the central characters, so we're never going to see them at home or on their day off. Without a sidekick, my detective would interact only with his suspects, which provides me with a limited view into his personality. As soon as he can walk out of earshot of his suspects and engage with his partner, so my readers can engage with him.
His partner isn't there for light relief, as can be the story with authors such as Agatha Christie or Conan Doyle, nor as a foil. But together their asides and banter breathe life into them that suspects alone can never achieve.
For example:

‘What’s first on the agenda?’
‘Interviews.’ Detective Chief Inspector de Freitas slipped his notebook into his coat pocket. ‘I love interviews, don’t you, Will?’
‘Sifting out the straight edges of the jigsaw to start building a picture.’
‘You’re one of those, are you? The wife always starts with a feature.’
Detective Sergeant McCulloch shook his head. ‘Couldn’t work like that. Corners first, then the edges.’
‘So who’s our first corner, Will?’
The sergeant flicked open his notebook and came to a quick choice. ‘Anita Wallis. Top left.’
‘To the bat mobile, then.’

The partner's presence might not be accurate according to police procedure, but partners are an integral part of the fictional detective's world and I for one couldn't do without them!

Equality tips the balance to become inequality

I am seriously concerned by the decrease in men joining writing groups and the increase of women's writing groups. Obviously not the lack of men in women's groups, but the lack of men in open writing groups and classes. Why the need for women's writing groups? For example, both Amazon & Easons current Top 10 romance books - all female authors, no surprise. Top 10 crime fiction - 7 female authors. Young Adults - 7. Overall Top 10 fiction - 5. Over in the Irish Book Awards, 45% men, 55% women, with all six finalists of the short story category women. It's a level playing field. Keep writing groups OPEN TO ALL.

And now for something completely different

Having quoted Emily Bronte yesterday, I had to select another sublime example from a writer I love, of a different nature, as Bertie Wooster highlights the sheer silliness and fun of PG Wodehouse:
Bertie tells Jeeves of the latest hit song, ”It goes: Oh, won’t you something something oranges, my something oranges, oh won’t you something something something I forget, something something something tumty tumty yet, oh - , or words to that affect. It’s a dashed clever lyric and the tune’s good, too.””
My family often have similar conversations! I frequently pose them “What’s that band that’s not Slipknot?” The answer, of course, is Korn…

Happy anniversary Emily Bronte!

No lines from my own novels today, as it’s the anniversary of Emily Bronte’s birthday, 200 years ago. Those who have only seen the movie think Wuthering Heights is a love story and Heathcliff a hero! Read the book and you’ll find out otherwise. The beauty of Emily’s writing is not what she tells us, but what she knows to leave to our own imagination:
”I brought him down one evening and just sat him in a chair, and never touched him afterwards. In two hours, I called Joseph to carry him up again; and, since then, my presence is as potent on his nerves as a ghost; and I fancy he sees me often, though I am not near.”
And that is Heathcliff, speaking of his young invalid son, as chilling a villain as any that have since been crafted; and without the need to tell us more. Yet, because of Emily’s sneaky introduction and use of the narrating lodger, she tricks the reader into sympathy and fondness for him, before she and he betray us. Such clever writing.