Liz Fenwick's Blog, page 7

Vive La France…Le Rivage Des Secrets (aka The Cornish House) is out today

It’s been a while, sorry. Under A Cornish Sky is back with my publishers, 2015 is well under way…belated New Year’s greetings.

Today the French edition of  The Cornish House is out…I love the moody cover and in honour of that I have posted a bit of Throw Back Thursday on my Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/liz.fenwick.author?hc_location=timeline

The Summer of the Black Hare – scene nine

The pilot of the Cessna cast a disparaging glance at me as I looked at the empty seat next to him. I’d had a shitty night sleep fighting off things I didn’t want to turn the light on to see and being the back of a six seater plane would not aid my mood or health. I didn’t need to lose what little breakfast I was able to eat. Being one step away from taking control was the best I would be able to do so I grabbed the co pilot’s seat before I had even looked at who or what else was flying with us.

NOTE: This is a raw NaNoWriMo rough draft…in this scene the lack of research becomes evident…I was having fun and went to a place even though I hadn’t been there – if that makes sense….

Out the window to my right I could see the big international jets preparing to whisk passengers back to the comfort zone while we were parked on the runway queuing to go deeper into the world of hardship. At moments like this feeling weary and sick, I wondered why I did this. I had no need to but that was probably the reason why – guilt because of my privilege and gifts. However today it was to escape not from comfort but from what I had done. I knew as we bumped down the runway that in order to escape I might just have to take the same route that Johnnie had but I also knew only too well what that did to those left behind.

The clouds in front of us told me what was store just before we hit the first drop. I watched the dials register the fluctuations in our altitude and I didn’t know if this was better or worse. I knew the rudiments of flying a small plane. You can’t take as many flights as I have not do and I learned when to read the sweat on the pilot’s brow as nothing to do with heat and all to do with panic. Right now thankfully it was heat so I turned from the controls and looked at the clouds around us rather than the hovels below.

The hovels might have been easier to take for the clouds became thicker and darker I knew this was not going to be pleasant. We were flying fairly low as it was and this plane couldn’t go to high and i suspected what the pilot was listening to was the weather advice. My advice just as we hit a drop of two hundred metres was turn around and try again tomorrow. The roaches would be easier to take than being whipped about the sky in a tiny inadequate plane. I can be quite calm about have a knife held to my neck but I was a complete wimp with flying and flights like right now were why. The plane was not only hopping up and down but side to side.

At moments like this I began to think I could find God again. I thought of all those prayers being said for my lost soul by my mother, brother and great grandmother and thought there might well be something in it. Then I reminded myself I had just been completing death as a way out. Of course then it was under my controls and terms. I did not want to fall out of the sky. Just the thought of it had the autopilot in me praying. I hadn’t yet figured out how to switch it off but one of these days I would. It had to be possible even if it required therapy.

I closed my eyes to see if this would be better, but I should have known it would not. I heard before I smelt the effect of the flight on the person immediately behind me. I spoke hardly to my stomach and thankfully due to the engines noise the pilot couldn’t here but he was quite busy anyway. The layer of sweat on his brow had changed. No longer was it caused by heat but by fear. I could smell it. My reckoning we had been in the air for an hour of a three hour flight. Our flight path skirted around the rebel activity and came to the nearest landing strip to the camp that had been set up to help the victims of the latest push.

The pilot lifted the satellite navigation which ten years older than the one I used when I fished in my dingy in Cornwall. He kept tapping it and speaking on the radio. This i knew was not good. I studied the controls in front of me and many were missing. In their place were bits of wood. The plane was older than I, but that should not be a problem. What would be one was if we went off course then we became fair game for target practice and I think they must be pretty good judging by the death and destruction both the government and the rebels had wreaked in this battered country.

As I was thinking the implications through, something that wasn’t air pocket hit the wing on my side of the plane.

 

Thanks for reading…this may be the last scene that I post because of the leap of faith that would be required of the reader would be too much…

The Summer of the Black Hare – scenes seven and eight

My body ached after forty-eight hours of travel. It could have been achieved more in about eight if I had travelled directly but the more journeys I took the more difficult it would be to trace me. And now weary beyond words I stood before my great grandmother’s door in the mountains of Lebanon. Here I could be embraced with simple affection.

NOTE:  This is a NaNoWriMo project from 2011 and it really become apparent from this point that I’m feeling my way. There are huge gaps where research will be needed. In fact scene seven isn’t completed…and I use the lazy route of flashback in scene eight to refer to what happen (I probably hadn’t known what happened and it hit while writing the next scene). It’s a good example of getting the story down. In editing/rewriting I would show the scene in the church not just refer to it…I’m not certain how much further I can share the story because the gaps in research and plot become larger….

The door opened and the woman who cared for my jadda (check Arabic) stood slightly stooped and dressed in black. A smile spread across her face.

“Marharba, she will be so delighted.”

I followed her through the hall to the back of the house and out to the garden. I should not be surprised to find her here. Despite her age, my great grandmother lived for her roses.

“Teta.”

“Habbi. How delightful.” She held open her arms and I fell to my knees before her. Tears began and wouldn’t stop. Her fingers twisted with age rubbed my back till I could breathe again and the scent of the flowers eased my airways while transporting me backwards in time. I was six and sitting not far from here listening to Teta sing to her roses. I didn’t understand the words but I knew it was a love song and I knew it was to my great father who had been dead ten years. Together they had travelled the world but here in her garden was where Teta’s heart was happiest. I tried to drink in her peace with the floral scent of her and her garden.

I pulled back and she rang her fingers through the remains of my hair. “Why habibi?”

I looked her straight in the eye. “I needed to be even more invisible.”

She shook her head. “My beautiful little flower, your petals will grow back but what of your heart?”

I gave her a lopsided smile as I rose from me knees. “That I’m afraid that is damaged forever.”

“Your artist?”

I nodded and turned from her. It was still too raw and she didn’t need to see the emotion although I knew that having survived for 100 years she had seen more than her share of pain. She had lost her husband and her children out living them all. I knew her pain was worse than mine but she didn’t carry guilt and therein lay the difference.

“Teta,” I began.

“My little flower do not speak until your heart can otherwise the words will have no meaning and you will not heal.”

I knew I would never heal. No miracle could take away what I had done by scorning Johnnie’s love. I could have handled it more gently or I could have subdued my own needs and said yes and then the world would still have a brilliant artist and I wouldn’t be a fugitive from myself.

#

The emails kept piling up. I was sitting in a hotel in Dubai on my way to —–. I was about to do the one thing I knew would take me away from myself and I longed for the escape yet I flinched from what I would hear. In my bag were the remnants of Kerensa Mariam and I wore the clothes of Karen Smith and in the hour I would shed even that and become a nameless medical worker on an aid flight but first I had to sort out a problem that had come up. Someone from the hotel had come forward that said they had seen a woman leave Johnnie’s room just before he hit the pavement with a Tiffany box in his hand. The case wasn’t being reopened as the police believed the coroner’s report of suicide. But the ring had become a problem.

From between my breasts I pulled out Johnnie’s ring. The square cut diamond gleamed in the low light. I ran my fingers over the engraving on the inside. K, I will love you always J. He knew. He knew I would say no. He knew this wouldn’t ever encircle my fingers as a sign of our everlasting love but also knew once i had seen his words I could never give the ring back for I needed Johnnie’s love. It was a thing of beauty, if needy. His love needed more than I could give. I couldn’t let him protect me.

I dropped the ring and it went back to its home just by my heart. I couldn’t think straight. I had drafted an email to the family solicitor to find out how one got released from being an executor and recipient. The only thing I wanted was his portrait of me. And if I was honest the bronze sculpture but I had no idea where I would put it. As it was the portrait would take a whole wall on the cottage.

Johnnie’s sister deserved everything else. She would need it in order to begin to mend her life. I knew the hole he left would never be filled, but at least she had her kids and husband for solace. I had my work, my vocation. I laughed. Looking down at my ‘uniform’ it wasn’t all that different from Sister Carmelita’s habit of old. Maybe she had truly won except that God wasn’t my motivation.

I pressed the send button to on the email. He would come back to me quickly. He always did. In fact he probably knew more about my life than anyone because he had to manage my tangled financial affairs. Jowan had renounced the world when he took up the cloth so I had to take it all on. I had already been a wealthy woman as all of Uncle Tom’s worth had come to me. He had known what it was like to be the second son and hadn’t wanted me to miss out. I hadn’t missed out at all for the first son had bowed out.

I still hadn’t heard back from him. It would have been good to just as I was about to go no contact to have spoken with him. When with Tayta I had gone to church and found myself lighting a candle for Johnnie’s soul and mine. Being with her sometimes caused earthquakes in my carefully scripted life. By dragging me off to an ancient church where spirits floated about from centuries passed I never left unmoved and maybe that was exactly what i want.

Thankfully, a plea for help had come. The rebels had drawn back leaving broken women and children in their wake. I was needed or at least thought I was. Sometimes I did wonder if my work helped. Did it do any good to talk about things? To put the unspeakable into words? I don’t know. When i began I was almost evangelical about it but now….

There was something samey about these airport in less developed countries. Not sure if it was the paper the arrival forms were printed on or the orchered white of the wall but although I hadn’t been to —— before I felt I had. The heat was oppressive. I knew the hotel I was in tonight wouldn’t be five star like the one of the night before but no star except for the roaches. This accommodation was all part and parcel with getting acclimated. The descent from first world to hurting world was never smooth. Tomorrow morning I would be on some small craft flying to a remote corner before taking the rest of the journey by road. By the time I would have arrive Dubai and it’s comfort would have fled my mind completely but right now it was still fresh and all I wanted was the massive tub, air conditioning and good bed but instead I would have bugs and if I was lucky clean sheets.

 

Again thanks for reading. I’d love to know your thoughts…here, via the contact form, on FB or twitter.

The Summer of the Black Hare- scene six

I picked up the gin bottle but then put it back down. The evening breeze was gentle off of the water and my haven welcomed me back. The gardener was still working hard and I wanted him to go but I needed him so I shut my mouth and walked down the crumpling steps to the water’s edge. I had lost track of the tides while away. I didn’t know if it was coming or going.

Note: this is a rough draft written for NaNoWriMo in 2011…it is warts and all -cliches, misspellings, repetitions, cliches…

“Just off now, Kerry. Will I see you next week?” The gardener leaned over the wall.

“No idea.” I smiled at him.

“Same as always then. One of these days you had better think about settling down here in Cornwall. Forget that silly American nonsense. You’re one of us.” He waved and disappeared.

Was I one of them? I was not. Half of me may have been genetically Cornish and I certainly felt more at home here than anywhere else in the world but I belonged nowhere. I carried four passports from two different countries and they were all legitimate although they bore slightly different names. On a beautiful calm evening like now, I wondered who I really was? Kerry? Karen? Kerensa? Or Kay? Which me belonged where or anywhere? I felt like a spy but i wasn’t although I had considered it as a career and I know I had been considered for my language skills alone. But I didn’t want to save the world or even country I wanted to save women. So after my undergraduate degree I studied at Cambridge and this is where Karen Smith emerged. I left behind the Kay Smith of my college and school years. Only with my family was I Kerensa Mariam Trevellyn-Smith and none of my passports carried that name. They were the only people I could trust with all the parts of me and even then I sometimes wondered if this was wise. However my mother had named me so I couldn’t take that away from her.

I looked across the creek at St Anthony church. It appeared so sure of itself just far enough from the water’s edge to avoid flooding yet close enough to almost be a part of the sea. Boats filled the foreshore getting ready for summer. I looked to the sky, another night to the Midsummer’s night.

Picking up a stone I skimmed it across the mirror surface of the water. Seven skips before it sank. I wondered how many bounces would I have before the gravity would pull me down. I turned and climbed back up to my garden. The black hair was waiting. His glance never left as I approached. I longed to know who left their pet loose in the evenings. I knew it must be a pet for it was not frightened of me and I had never seen a black hare in the wild. I looked up the hillside at the other houses and tried to decide which one would be its home but many like mine were not lived in full time.

I skirted around the animal. That chill of dread remained with me whenever I saw the hare. It watched me with eyes that didn’t blink or falter. I couldn’t decide their intent. No emotion reflected off the black pupils. Yet I felt it knew me. I am open to most things in my life. Experience has taught me to never dismiss anything but I couldn’t accept that this hare knew me and knew me well. I walked closer to it and it dropped one ear and as I stepped closer still it disappeared before my eyes. I was sober. I had been sober since the memorial service. My survival depended on all my senses and I felt threatened. I had posted an automated out of contact reply to my Karen Smith email using a VPN tunnel with an IP address in India. I went into a dodgy internet cafe off of the Edgeware Road. Instinct told me that the sexy man was a clever adversary.

I touched my hair. It was brittle. It hadn’t enjoyed being stripped of its colour then died back. However because of its short length now it would recover. I ran my fingers through and walked to the exact spot where the hare had been. Nothing. The grass was not even bent. Hallucinations. I needed to talk to Jowan. I checked my watch to see if I could work out what part of the hours he was in but gave up. I walked to the end of the drive where I could get a signal and sent a text.

Am losing my mind. Noting new but am seeing things. This is new. Call. K x

I didn’t know he would receive it or even if. I knew or understood so little of the life he had chosen but I did know that he would understand me. He always had for we are twins.

Thank you for reading an if you are enjoying the story please let me know either here, via the contact for, or on FB or Twitter…

All Change - New Website, New Blog

My shiny new website site at lizfenwick.com is live although we are still tweaking it. Please pop by and tell me what you think.

I won't be posting here anymore but here and I will try and be a better blogger again!!!

A Cornish Stranger…countdown

So tomorrow is the first launch event for A Cornish Stranger and it's in Helford at Down by the Riverside Cafe (if you are in the area please join me for drinks & nibbles from 17:00-18:30…& the ferry from the north side will run until then!). And it's rather fun to do this in one of the settings in the book!

Of course at all of these events I have to read a snippet of the book…this is the part of releasing a new book that gives me sleepless nights. Being Dyslexic and reading aloud are not easy companions…

So in the past I have practiced in front of the cats…Snowy and Sooty but they are in Dubai and I am in Cornwall. So I practiced in front of my iPhone and recorded it. Then I decided to video one for those who can't make any of the events and 'want to hear the author's voice' *gulp*.



Hope it doesn't put you off! What do you think about authors reading their work?

It's May…the month of yes…two books out

OK. You haven't seen me in a while because I've been everywhere…well, sort of. Does Perth, Australia - London, Cornwall and Dubai count?


Today is the paperback publication day of A Cornish Affair (this is the small paperback and it includes extra stuff - in this case the history of Pengarrock in ten items).

I've also been preparing for the various events to launch A Cornish Stranger which is out in two weeks! This is always scary time when a new book comes out…I kind of hold my breath and hope that the risks I've taken and story I've told will work. But thanks to the the encouraging words of a few early readers I can breathe again…well partially. Here's an early review if you are curious  Shaz Goodwin's review on Goodreads.

So if you are interested in catching me somewhere soon this is where I'll be!

21st May - 17:00 - 18:30 CORNWALL Down By The Riverside Cafe, Helford (This should be fun. It's actually on of the places in A Cornish Stranger!) Details here.

30th May -15:00 - 17:00 DUBAI Macgrudys on the Beach Road Dubai. This should be a really fun launch as I'll be sharing the venue with another Dubai based author Rachel Hamilton and her debut book The Case of the Exploding Loo (a brilliant middle grade read…my review here. ) Details from info@magrudy.com

31th May 16:00-17:00 DUBAI Book signing at Kinokuniya in The Dubai Mall

5th June 19:00 MANCHESTER Urmston Library with Urmston Bookshop Details here.

12th June 18:30 LONDON Opera & Ice Cream at Waterstones Kensington High Street…please RSVP to me or here as I want make sure there is enough wine and ice-cream!

Just writing that out and I'm exhausted!

PS I'll be in Amsterdam from the 16-19 of June…details to follow

A Cornish Stranger - Advanced Reader Copies Giveaway

It's just under two months until A Cornish Stranger is released. The final proofread is finished and it's about to wing it's way to the printers….

However hot off the press are the advanced reader copies (aka bound proofs). These are the copies used to send to reviewers… (Note: For those who aren't used to ARCs - these copies have not been proofread = are full of errors!)

Orion have agreed to send out five of these ARCs…but how to choose??? I have decided to try Rafflecopter….

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The competition is open until noon GMT on Monday the 31st…Good luck and please spread the word!

The Emirates Airline Festival of Literature and Connections

You would be forgiven for thinking I had fallen off the edge of the earth…the last post was just before Christmas and it's now almost St Patrick's Day…and well I have sort of fallen off of the edge.
I had a book to finish and edit and a family to remind I hadn't forgotten them either…

So I have delivered A Cornish Stranger and am just waiting to review the final proofs…gulp…I can't believe that my third book will be out at the end of May.

Thankfully I finished the copy edits in time to enjoy the Emirates Airlines Festival of Literature last week. It was fabulous but then I expect nothing less than fabulous from it. This year it was a bit like old home week in someways catching up with writers who had come before and connecting with people that I had links to even if they didn't know about them. For example Pru Leith was one of this year's authors…I introduced myself…'Hi Pru, you don't know me but you have slept in my bed and cooked in my kitchen.' It certainly got her attention. The full story is a mutual friend used to rent our house in Cornwall. There were other connections with Sir Tim Rice and Andrew Motion but one I hadn't expected at all…

Sitting in the back of a 4x4 on the way to the desert with Justin Cronin the world became very small indeed…we were the same age, both born in Boston and summered on the Cape. It became smaller still when he mentioned where he had a home on the Cape…the same place my parents had. And the it became even smaller the more we chatted..we knew some of the same people, queued for ice-cream at Four Seas…at a certain point we decided to let the past remain still foggy.
Liz Fenwick and Justin Cronin with Philip Reeve in the background
So you can imagine the smile that crossed my face upon returning home from the Orion party on Wednesday evening and looking through the brochure that was in the goodie bag to find Justin's book and mine side by side. Had I not met him in the desert I wouldn't have had a clue how two kids from Massachusetts could end up writers and be published by the same publisher and -  diving into the foggy bits, maybe had danced together some place along the way….

Christmas has come early...

As usual at this time of year I was focusing on the family and the house and on Friday I missed big news for A Cornish Affair…

On Friday Novelicious (the fabulous blog about reading and writing) chose A Cornish Affair as one of its books of  the year!!! The link is here. It was a fabulous short list and I am over the moon! I was dancing around the kitchen making spiced Christmas cake (recipe here).

Christmas is almost ready to happen…. the tree is up.
And the Nativity is out…
There's just the dinning room to sort and then the real cooking begins…pheasant, venison, goose, hame, turkey….. (and working on the edits of A Cornish Stranger).

Wishing  you all a wonderful Christmas and New Year!

PS…just seen that the cover for A Cornish Stranger is up on Amazon here