Julia Hughes's Blog, page 25

I'm not in it for the money.

Or the fame.
It's all about the story, and making a connection. As Lewis said: "We read to know we are not alone." So thank you one and all to every reader who took the time and trouble to download
"A Ripple in Time". The take-up on this giveaway has been startling, and helped break into the top ten in America, the United Kingdom and Germany. (Amazon rankings for free action and adventure ebooks).
So a great big THANK YOU for taking a chance, and of course I look forward to any comments from you. One last favour? If you enjoyed the read let others know. That would be great.
A Ripple in Time will be available as a free download until midnight 15 February. After that, it's back to 77p, the next free promotion will be announced in March.

Valentine's Day: The original love boat - an original story.

As a special Valentine's gift, A Ripple in Time is FREE on February 14th & 15th. I mean, come on! How can anyone travel on board the Titanic and not fall in love? Here's the link to grab your copy: If you're Stateside: Amazon.com or if you're in the UK: Amazon.co.uk - click on the link, download and enjoy a time travelling romance.

The Art of Dreaming.

The Art of Dreaming.

Shadowlands is easily my favourite film. It opens a window into the life of C S Lewis, creator of worlds and centres on his relationship with a feisty American widow who at first glance appears to be his complete opposite.

Until Joy came along, Jacky Lewis never actively sought female company. It's easy to see Lewis as an eternal child, enjoying the sedate life of an Oxford Don, living in secure bachelordom with his brother.

Then POW! BLAST! KABANG! Joy bursts onto the scene and rocks his world. Her small son already adores Lewis, and both mother and child are fans of Narnia. The scene is set for the star crossed lovers. Actually, not that star crossed. The brother good humouredly accepts these new additions to the family household, and apart from upsetting a few ancient dons, Joy is soon established into Lewis's world when he gallantly offers marriage in order for her to remain in the United Kingdom. It begins then as a marriage of convenience and there is something magical about the way this middle aged couple realise they're falling in love. But like all great love stories, their romance is doomed. Their world is shattered when Joy is diagnosed with cancer, a death sentence in those days.

As they come to terms with this, Joy becomes obsessed with a painting of an idyllic landscape. Lewis admits he doesn't know where it is, or even if it exists, but believes it may be an artistic impression of a Welsh panorama. As Joy enters the final weeks of her life, they set off on a pilgrimage to find the exact spot.

This is where I always come over all unnecessary. They find it. That perfect vista, the perfect country with purple mountains in the distance. Lewis lifts her gently from the car, so she can gaze upon this magical sight.

I can't tell you an awful lot about the film from here on, although I've tried several times to watch without sobbing uncontrollably from that point onwards.

Shadowlands perfectly sums up Lewis's legacy to us. He has given us the world of Narnia, a world which he emphasises can only be reached by magic; accessible only to children or those who retain a child-like willingness to believe. This world and others created by the likes of Jules Verne, Tolkien, and more recently J K Rowling are imaginary. They are not real. Until the moment you choose to pull down a book from the shelf, or download an electronic copy to your reader and share in the fantasy.

Then they exist.

 

Coming out ...

Without the guidance of a publisher pushing us towards a target audience, when we write, we write about what really grabs us by the throat. Giddy with freedom, omnipotent as a god, we create the world we dream about.

Since both my novels have a large dash of fantasy about them, and since I'm known to family and friends as a person with both feet grounded firmly in reality, I wasn't too keen to reveal that in another life, I'd happily join the summer solstice brigade at Stonehenge.

But the secret's out and in a way I'm relieved, as finally I can justify the back garden masquerading as the Borneo jungle, and no longer have to answer questions like 'You're not coming down the pub for a drink/don't want to come shopping/watch a film - what are you up to?' with an ambiguous  'Oh this and that.'

Although most have been supportive, though a little bemused, I sometimes find myself fielding a new set of questions.

'You? You've written a book?'
'Yes li'l ol' me.' And you needn't sound so surprised.

'What's it about?'
'If you're interested, there's a synopsis and reviews on my website. Then if you're still interested, you can follow the links, download and read the book.'  Which will be easier than me trying to recall all 72,000 words in order.

'How long did it take you to write?'
'No time at all.' Not in comparison to weeks of researching, months of rewriting, weeks of editing, waiting for readers to get back to me, so re-rewrites could begin, and a new round of editing, not to mention formatting, deciding on a cover, bumbling around until something resembling a website emerged, composing synopsis, did I mention re-writes and editing? Because to do that you have to re-read, and straight away paragraphs and characters you were perfectly happy with previously somehow seem flawed. Let's just say, not much change from two years for the second book. The first book has been around in one form or another for the last decade or so.

'Where do you get your ideas from?'
'You'd be surprised.' Said tongue in cheek, while eyeing the speaker up and down as if  measuring for a costume fit.

'When I get  time, I'm going to write my book.'
'Really?' No. You are not. If there is no time, you'll make it. Even if it means setting the alarm for five in the morning and working way past midnight.

'Actually, I might let you write it for me.'
'Oh joy.' But unfortunately, I'm washing my hair that night. Either that or there's something really good on telly.

Finally an awkward silence. Then:

'Imagine that! You - an author!'
'Imagine.'

All I ever wanted for Christmas.

Once you hit your forties, you look around and hopefully you've already got all the stuff you need, either that, or you've learned to make do without the private light aircraft or indoor heated swimming pool.

So the Christmas wish list is pretty short, almost non-existent. Instead what I want for Christmas tends to be the intangible. World peace and an end to hunger notwithstanding, I can safely say all my wishes and hopes are fulfilled this year, bar one.

So in no particular order, thank you if you've taken the time to get in touch and share your views, thanks to the guys and girls at Weebly, who give me a free platform to blog on, thanks to the amazing Amazon, I think we all know what they do! Deepest thanks given heart and soul to Mary Mother of God for answering my daily prayer and keeping my sons safe and healthy. Thanks to Rafael Nadal's team for posting so many photos and sharing so generously. Rafa is a true role model and the perfect sportsman, not to mention that accent is adorable. Thank you everyone in the public sector for working so hard to provide services we take for granted. Though I could do without the traffic wardens (why do they never go out on strike)? Finally, and there are too many to mention for this last gift, but I suspect it's down to German engineering, thanks to my lucky stars that the Passet passed her annual check up and lives to terrorise the M25 for another year.

The only wish remaining is this one: I wish I could invite all you guys round for dinner, to pull crackers, swap cheesy jokes and raise a glass or two to your health. That's not possible, so I'll just hope that the festive meal you sit down to on Christmas day is half as delicious as the one my family is looking forward to, cooked to perfection by my old dears, and my greatest hope is that we all enjoy Christmas in good health surrounded by our loved ones.

That isn't to say that if you've got a spare Cessna or swimming pool you're not using, it isn't too late and there's still room under the tree.

Whoops I did it again! Or rather, Amazon did.

After last weekend's amazing take up, A Raucous Time (two five star reviews) has gone free again, this time for the whole weekend* and almost immediately entered the top 100 on the bestseller mystery list, and top five British Detective (and they don't come more British than Crombie). Your chance to grab a copy, if you haven't already done so: Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk download pages.  A huge THANK YOU to all those who've already done loaded a copy, this couldn't happen without you.
*free offer will end Sunday 18 December at PST.

Refusing to grow up.

My grandmother's death five years ago ended my childhood. No matter that I'm a grown woman in my forties, she would always reach out and grasp my hand when we crossed the road together. The Welsh say you never know true love until you have grandchildren, and my Nan's love for her grandchildren shone without falter.

You think the old folk are going to be around forever, then one day they're not. And I didn't know how to function, instead of someone who loved me unconditionally, a gigantic chasm gaped open. Ordinary every day thoughts were torture; sooner or later I'd think, 'I must tell Nan that' and remember all over again that she'd left us. That's when the daydreaming started; I escaped into imagination - inventing characters, creating fantastic adventures for them, as they solved mysteries and pulled off outrageous stunts. Two of those stories made it into ebooks.  Unsurprisingly in both books, there are fleeting glimpses of my Grandmother. In this way I keep a little bit of her alive, for as long as my Grandmother exists, I'm a child in someone's eyes.

Florence (Flossie) Palmer.

On Stranger Tides - When fact and fiction collide.

In spite of researching every fact I could find on the Titanic, I found no mention of a cafe, not that it stopped me from creating one in order for the romantic leads of 'A Ripple in Time' to conduct an intimate tete a tete on the eve of the collision.

Yesterday my sons came in from Christmas shopping and dear of them, they'd spent some of their hard earned cash on their old mum - yep I had yet another "Titanic" book to add to my collection.

Entitled "Little Book of Titanic" published by Nauticalia to commemorate the 100th Anniversary of the Titanic tragedy, the book fell open at page 28: Life on Board, 'Apart from the sixty-nine members of staff employed in the Cafe Parisien ....' Since it is such a French word, perhaps it was obvious to call my fictional cafe 'Cafe Parisian.' Still I let out a little screech of delight.

'Can you believe this? There was a Cafe Parisien on board the Titanic.' The sons were mildly impressed, or at least they made appropriate noises, but I'm still trying to convince myself that it is merely coincidence or that I'd read this fact somewhere then forgotten it.

To celebrate the reality of the Titanic's Cafe Parisien, here's the chapter taking place at Cafe Parisian, a place which until yesterday, I thought existed only in imagination.

From A Ripple in Time:
'Here comes Carrie now!' Andrew said brightly, rising to his feet.

She still wore the crew's uniform she'd borrowed from supplies, the white jacket emphasising her flushed cheeks and her eyes seemed more green than brown under the bright lights of the chandeliers.

'My my, didn't realise it was fancy dress night.' One twin whispered loudly to the other. Carrie's steps faltered.

'Really? You could have fooled me.' Wren said giving each a long impertinent look. Their mouths hang open, Andrew spluttered and Wren strolled over to intercept Carrie. Blushing she whispered that she'd caught a glimpse of naughty Rhyllann ushering a woman into their Stateroom and felt obliged to spend the past hour dozing in a deckchair.

Wren tchhed with annoyance; he'd have words with Rhyllann when he caught up with him. 'Come on. Café Parisian. Doctor's orders for headaches and sore feet.'

            ********************************************************************

Wren shrugged off his jacket to drape around Carrie's shoulders. It didn't stop her trembling.

'What happens next?' She asked.

'The waitress brings your mushroom omelette and our hot chocolate, maybe we'll have an ice-cream or dessert, then get you back to the warm.' He said, eyes on the window and deck outside as though watching for someone.

'Wren!'

He grinned, acknowledging his obtuseness. Still he hesitated. Rhyllann had asked the same question; Wren flinched remembering the look in Rhyllann's eyes when he'd given an honest answer. He couldn't bear for Carrie to look at him like that. Instead he turned to stare at the Westminster style clock over the ice-cream counter.

'Just under three hours from now we'll collide with the iceberg. Then you, I and Rhyllann are going home.' He kept it as succinct as possible. He could see she wanted more and waited uneasily for the next question.

'But …'

He placed a finger against her lips, then pushed her hair back from her face. 'Don't. Please Carrie, don't torture yourself.'

As prophesised the waitress placed a plate and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on their table, added a bowl full of crystallised sugar rocks and left. Carrie pushed her plate aside.

'Look.' Using the miniature tongs Wren held a pastel pink rock against Carrie's finger, ducking his head to peer under her fringe, trying to coax a smile.

'When I find you I'll cover your fingers in rings.'

She jerked her hand away. Wren thought any minute now, the tears will start. He decided not to allow it.

'Carrie. Stop it now. In three hours time we are going back to our own world and I promise you, this will be like something you dreamed. You won't remember it.'

She gasped. 'I won't remember you?'

'It'll be like something you dreamed.' He repeated. She began breathing heavily, then sucked at her mug of chocolate, pulling back quickly.

'Too hot?' He asked, smiling when she nodded. In her distress she'd forgotten basic science. She blew on her drink, and began to sip cautiously.

'I won't remember you.' She said mournfully.

'I'll remember you.' He was certain of this. 'And that's a start.'

Her hand dropped, fingering the chain round her neck. Her Gran's locket. Rhyllann had retrieved it from the blonde.

Her fingers tightened over the locket. 'Wren – this other world – will people who died in this version be alive in the other version?'

He considered carefully. The truth was he didn't know. In this world he died, aged thirteen. Rhyllann's Mum would die in Africa. He knew what she was asking him, would Gran, would Jeff Holden live in the other version, the true version as he thought of it. Then he realised it didn't matter; she wouldn't remember anyway.

He smiled brightly. 'Of course.' He said. Although he wasn't going to risk it. The moment the iceberg tore a hole in the Titanic's side, he had everything in readiness to return to their own time. He'd already drowned once in both worlds and had no wish to repeat the experience.

Carrie's face worked, teetering between smiles and tears.

'I'll find you, I promise. I'll find your Gran and I'll buy her the biggest diamond she's ever seen.' He said hurriedly.

'And you'll treat her to bingo?'

'We'll take her to Las Vegas.'

Carrie giggled. 'She'll be happy with an outing to the pub.'

'We'll take her to Munich's beer festival.'

She pulled her plate back and began cutting into her omelette. Suddenly she paused, her eyes wide and staring.

'The Blonde. What about the Blonde?'

Wren had forgotten all about the psychopathic maniac. He shrugged and refused to answer.

'Eat your omelette up before it gets cold.' He said, and resumed his vigil; At times he thought Rhyllann had forgotten the reason they were on board the Titanic. Rhyllann lived in the present, throwing himself into the experience of first class life afloat. 

As though reading his mind, Carrie changed the subject to Rhyllann. 

'At least I won't have to put up with Rhyllann teasing the life out of me!' She said, pinging his hand with her fork.

'Honestly Wren, he thinks we're making love morning noon and night, why didn't you tell him the truth?'

He laughed. 'I tried to, believe me. Annie thought there was a technical problem and wanted a man to man chat.' He shrugged. 'It was easier to let him think what he wanted to think.'

Carrie wrinkled her nose. 'Doesn't he realised, haven't you told him?'

'He'll realise soon enough. But he won't have much time to tease. Don't worry.'

They grinned at each other, imagining Rhyllann's incongruous reaction. Carrie's face softened.

'I wish it could have been so. I wish we could have spent all day and all night making love.' She said fiercely.

He placed a hand over hers and squeezed gently. 'So do I.' The expectation of what was to come churning inside, Carrie's beautiful hazel and green eyes welling with bitter sweet tears, the knowledge, the certainty he had that in three hours they would be leading separate lives, all these emotions surging, demanding he sweep her off her feet, carry her back to the glorious double bed to lose himself in her and damn the consequences.

'So do I.' He whispered again.

'I feel like Cinderella, waiting for midnight.' She said, with a sound that was half choke, half laugh. A vision of Rhyllann as fairy godmother sprung up and the moment passed. Catching his eye Carrie read his mind and they dissolved into giggles.

Excerpt from 'A Ripple in Time' available to sample on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk 
'Little Book of Titanic' packed with info and illustrated throughout with colour and black and white photographs is available from Nauticalia's Website: Click here

Who is responsible for your happiness?

Walking the dogs late last night, I met one of my son's friends, he wanted to talk so we walked up to the village and back, while he poured out his troubles. Life was getting him down. It wasn't just pressure of work, his latest girlfriend had been messaging him throughout the day, mainly with news of her family and the dramas they were currently experiencing. Although he's only been dating her five days, he already knows all about the mother's nervous breakdown, the brother's run in with the police and her sister's messy divorce.

He sighed heavily. 'I don't think we're right for each other.'

'Why don't you cool it for a couple of days?' I advised, wanting to help but not wanting to get too involved.

'Nah, that'll just drag it out - I'll tell her now.' And he began composing a message on his phone, thumbs dancing over the tiny keyboard.

'No - not like that - that's really unkind go and see her ...'

'Too late.' And he walked forward with a spring in his step, chattering happily now about a course his employers were sending him on, a design for a tattoo, the speakers he wanted for his car, and other stuff close to a young man's heart.

His phone starting beeping, as messages arrived. Standing under a street light he read them.

'From her?'

He nodded. 'Oh god, she sounds really cut up. She says she's crying her heart out, she doesn't want me, she needs me.'

Even as he read message after message pinged in, all from her, all in the same 'please I know we can make it work' vein.

'Oh god, what am I going to do?' He really was miserable again.

'Nothing you can do now. I told you not to dump her by phone.' People sometimes call me hard when I'm realistic.

'But she sounds so .... crazy! What if she commits suicide or something?'

I didn't laugh, he sounded desperate himself.

He'd been dating her for five days, they were both barely out of their teens and already this young girl had invested all her hopes and dreams into a young man without even knowing what toothpaste he used for christsakes!

But I remembered when my own life revolved around someone else, and the agony of break up. All I could do was give him the same advice my mother had given me.

'You're not responsible for anybody else's actions. You can't force yourself to love someone, and you can't make someone love you.'

Freewill. It's the greatest gift of all. Use it wisely. And chose with care the people you depend on for your happiness.