Julia Hughes's Blog, page 6
August 16, 2014
Books vs films.
Just a general muse to amuse myself - mainly 'cos I've got a free house and am determined to practice the art of procrastination. I'm becoming quite skilled at it!
Seriously though, something that's given me pause for thought for many weeks now is the relationship between books and films. And behind (nearly) every good film is a great book. Without a writer's - or script writers' - imagination, the vast majority of films wouldn't exist. Yet as someone recently pointed out, films are more commercially valuable than books: People will pay more to watch a film than they're willing to pay for a stonking good read. But are films better than books? Once an actor; say for argument's sake: Tom Cruise, pulls on Jack Reacher's trousers (or breaks open a brand new packet of Jack Reacher's underpants) then Jack Reacher is forever fixed in the public image as a man who resembles the actor, Mr Tom Cruise. Which isn't a bad thing, but immediately, imagination is curtailed. Some fans of Lee Child's nomadic hard hitting gun slinging loner took to the internet to protest: This wasn't how they'd envisaged Jack Reacher, and no doubt some even boycotted the film, preferring to keep their own image of Jack Reacher alive. Yet any movie goer who has yet to read Lee Child's series is going to see Tom Cruise as Jack Reacher.
I don't dislike films, although in my youth, I got dragged along to the South Bank to watch too many "art-house" movies, with a friend who was also a film critic. Thankfully, he wasn't the type who insisted on discussing his work, and didn't even mind if I fell asleep during the film. (It was dark, and the actors had long intellectual conversations in intense but low voices.)
I enjoy a good action packed movie; preferably one with car chases, explosions and the good guys winning. Even more enjoyable are those movies that nudge a little lever in your imagination and spark curiosity. But given the choice between watching someone else's interpretation of a fictional or factual story, or reading the printed words and painting my own internal images, for me, a book has more value than a film. The director of a film decides every last detail, a skilled author has learned to trust their readers' imagination to fill in the gaps. In my mind, that's a invitation to become part of the adventure.
Seriously though, something that's given me pause for thought for many weeks now is the relationship between books and films. And behind (nearly) every good film is a great book. Without a writer's - or script writers' - imagination, the vast majority of films wouldn't exist. Yet as someone recently pointed out, films are more commercially valuable than books: People will pay more to watch a film than they're willing to pay for a stonking good read. But are films better than books? Once an actor; say for argument's sake: Tom Cruise, pulls on Jack Reacher's trousers (or breaks open a brand new packet of Jack Reacher's underpants) then Jack Reacher is forever fixed in the public image as a man who resembles the actor, Mr Tom Cruise. Which isn't a bad thing, but immediately, imagination is curtailed. Some fans of Lee Child's nomadic hard hitting gun slinging loner took to the internet to protest: This wasn't how they'd envisaged Jack Reacher, and no doubt some even boycotted the film, preferring to keep their own image of Jack Reacher alive. Yet any movie goer who has yet to read Lee Child's series is going to see Tom Cruise as Jack Reacher.
I don't dislike films, although in my youth, I got dragged along to the South Bank to watch too many "art-house" movies, with a friend who was also a film critic. Thankfully, he wasn't the type who insisted on discussing his work, and didn't even mind if I fell asleep during the film. (It was dark, and the actors had long intellectual conversations in intense but low voices.)
I enjoy a good action packed movie; preferably one with car chases, explosions and the good guys winning. Even more enjoyable are those movies that nudge a little lever in your imagination and spark curiosity. But given the choice between watching someone else's interpretation of a fictional or factual story, or reading the printed words and painting my own internal images, for me, a book has more value than a film. The director of a film decides every last detail, a skilled author has learned to trust their readers' imagination to fill in the gaps. In my mind, that's a invitation to become part of the adventure.
August 9, 2014
The Griffin's Boy - in paperback!
"The Griffin's Boy" is now available in paperback from Amazon - and if you're in the United Kingdom and you'd love a signed book plate, just ask! For overseas griffin lovers, we'll be rolling out a facs signed bookplate you can download and print out very soon! 
The Griffin's Boy - now available in paperback!
The Griffin's Boy - now available in paperback!
August 5, 2014
Colds & Virus
All last week I had the mother of all summer colds, and isn't it amazing when you lose your voice how many of your friends turn into comedians? ("Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you! Squeak up!")
As if in sympathy, the dear old laptop came down with a virus too. Thankfully, we're now both fighting fit again - but Facebook remains a closed door to me, as does one of my main email addresses - so apologies if you've tried to contact me and been met with a deafening silence. I still love you!
Good ol' Weebly my web site provider has never let me down either, so all those lovely subscribers to my newsletters/mailing list now have the skinny on soon to be published titles written by yours truly - I'm quietly pleased with progress, there's something for everyone - new additions will include sequels to "The Bridle Path", "The Griffin's Boy" and most exciting of all (for me anyway!) a murder mystery for the long suffering DI Crombie of Celtic Cousins' Adventures fame.
I've mentioned before, thrillers/crime are my favourite reading genre, nothing beats a good detective novel. Writing a good detective novel demands a certain level of skill: how and when to reveal information to readers. To raise an adequate writer to a good writer, Stephen King recommends reading reading and more reading followed by writing writing and more writing. I certainly qualify on the reading aspect! I'm fortunate to be a beta reader for three of the best indie thriller writers in the game: The fabulous Campbell Brothers, and the marvellous Stephen Spencer, of Paul Mallory fame. If you enjoy a good murder mystery, hop on over to their sites and discover DCI Morton and fearless investigative journalist Paul Mallory. If you want to follow DI Crombie's progress, sign up for my news letter/mailing list; this "cosy murder mystery" doesn't even have a working title yet, so I may need your help!
As if in sympathy, the dear old laptop came down with a virus too. Thankfully, we're now both fighting fit again - but Facebook remains a closed door to me, as does one of my main email addresses - so apologies if you've tried to contact me and been met with a deafening silence. I still love you!
Good ol' Weebly my web site provider has never let me down either, so all those lovely subscribers to my newsletters/mailing list now have the skinny on soon to be published titles written by yours truly - I'm quietly pleased with progress, there's something for everyone - new additions will include sequels to "The Bridle Path", "The Griffin's Boy" and most exciting of all (for me anyway!) a murder mystery for the long suffering DI Crombie of Celtic Cousins' Adventures fame.
I've mentioned before, thrillers/crime are my favourite reading genre, nothing beats a good detective novel. Writing a good detective novel demands a certain level of skill: how and when to reveal information to readers. To raise an adequate writer to a good writer, Stephen King recommends reading reading and more reading followed by writing writing and more writing. I certainly qualify on the reading aspect! I'm fortunate to be a beta reader for three of the best indie thriller writers in the game: The fabulous Campbell Brothers, and the marvellous Stephen Spencer, of Paul Mallory fame. If you enjoy a good murder mystery, hop on over to their sites and discover DCI Morton and fearless investigative journalist Paul Mallory. If you want to follow DI Crombie's progress, sign up for my news letter/mailing list; this "cosy murder mystery" doesn't even have a working title yet, so I may need your help!
July 25, 2014
Exclusive short story ...
for Griffin enthusiasts only! If you'd like a copy sent direct to your email box, sign up for my mailing list. "The Griffin's Child" is a short sweet story as seen through the eyes of the littlest griffin, Chione.
Chapter one only follows. The Griffin's Child
Chapter One
At first her world was dark and warm, if ever a cool wind stroked her, mother's long soft feathers soon covered the baby griffin's chilly flesh. Within twelve days, her eyes were fully opened: mother's black feathers, trimmed with green were the first – and most beautiful sight the baby griffin saw.
A thud shook the ground, as something landed too close to their woven basket of tree branches. Her mother croaked a welcome greeting, which was returned in a deeper croak. Peering between her mother's feathers, she saw another griffin, larger but just as black as her mother, craning its neck to thrust its head over the nest's rim. Mother and the stranger rubbed snouts. Then the stranger griffin cocked his head to one side to regard the baby griffin with a large green eye. She shrunk back, but the strange griffin lost interest in her, and cocked his head on the other side. He seemed to like what he saw, and gave another croak before flying off. Her mother stretched, and then with careful movements, stepped over Little Griffin and from the safety of the woven tree limbs. In perfect harmony, mother and the stranger flapped their wings twice, stepped off the mountain side and soared into the sky.
To claim your free short story "The Griffin's Child" simply click on Contact Julia and join my mailing list.
Chapter one only follows. The Griffin's Child
Chapter One At first her world was dark and warm, if ever a cool wind stroked her, mother's long soft feathers soon covered the baby griffin's chilly flesh. Within twelve days, her eyes were fully opened: mother's black feathers, trimmed with green were the first – and most beautiful sight the baby griffin saw.
A thud shook the ground, as something landed too close to their woven basket of tree branches. Her mother croaked a welcome greeting, which was returned in a deeper croak. Peering between her mother's feathers, she saw another griffin, larger but just as black as her mother, craning its neck to thrust its head over the nest's rim. Mother and the stranger rubbed snouts. Then the stranger griffin cocked his head to one side to regard the baby griffin with a large green eye. She shrunk back, but the strange griffin lost interest in her, and cocked his head on the other side. He seemed to like what he saw, and gave another croak before flying off. Her mother stretched, and then with careful movements, stepped over Little Griffin and from the safety of the woven tree limbs. In perfect harmony, mother and the stranger flapped their wings twice, stepped off the mountain side and soared into the sky.
To claim your free short story "The Griffin's Child" simply click on Contact Julia and join my mailing list.
July 23, 2014
Because not all angels wear wings.
Hope against all odds is one thing, but some readers wanted to know more about how in hell Celtic Cousin Rhyllann escaped the hangman's noose - wonder no more! As Tolkien observed "All that's gold does not glitter" - in this short story, not all angels wear wings!
"Through the Wrong Door" is a complementary (and complimentary!) feature to A Ripple in Time.
In this paranormal time-travelling adventure story, Celtic Cousin Wren has meddled with a pivotal moment in time, so creating an alternative history for our world. Wren is horrified to discover that his cousin, Rhyllann, after refusing to obey a superior's order to open fire on civilians, has been sentenced to die.
You can read Through the Wrong Door right here on my site, or download from Smashwords in all formats.
July 22, 2014
Blurbage
Summing up a paranormal romantic time travel adventure in a few paragraphs without wandering into "Big Bang Theory" territory is difficult. Luckily, I know a few people who are good with words, and with particular thanks to Sean for his patience, A Ripple in Time's synopsis now really rocks!
In my opinion, anyway - the big question is - what do you guys think? A RIPPLE IN TIME World War One rages, Britain has an empire and these days, the military is in charge: Welcome to the 22nd Century.
Blame Celtic Cousin Wren. He makes an uncanny physic connection with Carina, a young woman emigrating to America one hundred years ago, and so averts the Titanic's tragedy. This single ripple in time sparks a fire domino effect – an inferno that now threatens to incinerate Europe.
Determined to restore our world's timeline, Wren tracks down Carrie, Carina's great-granddaughter, and they join forces for this seemingly impossible task.
But then Wren makes a fatal mistake: he falls in love with Carrie. If the Titanic suffers her original fate, Carrie will cease to exist.
Turning back time is tricky.
Sacrificing the woman you love – even to save the world – impossible.
In my opinion, anyway - the big question is - what do you guys think? A RIPPLE IN TIME World War One rages, Britain has an empire and these days, the military is in charge: Welcome to the 22nd Century.
Blame Celtic Cousin Wren. He makes an uncanny physic connection with Carina, a young woman emigrating to America one hundred years ago, and so averts the Titanic's tragedy. This single ripple in time sparks a fire domino effect – an inferno that now threatens to incinerate Europe.
Determined to restore our world's timeline, Wren tracks down Carrie, Carina's great-granddaughter, and they join forces for this seemingly impossible task.
But then Wren makes a fatal mistake: he falls in love with Carrie. If the Titanic suffers her original fate, Carrie will cease to exist.
Turning back time is tricky.
Sacrificing the woman you love – even to save the world – impossible.
July 20, 2014
Sceptic or believer?
The Bridle Path has been updated with added chapters (and romance!) to allow room for a forthcoming sequel. It will remain exclusive to Amazon; ASIN number B007QN7WQY and previous versions will update automatically for all readers who already own this little romance.
All my alpha readers are special people, giving generously of their own time, but a very special thank you to Louise Sorensen, for invaluable advice and guidance on the 'horsey' content.
For all you Alfies out there, wondering what it's all about, here's an excerpt, or you can download a sample from Amazon - the first ten percent is free as always! Physic or Sinner? extracted from The Bridle Path.
After an horrific car accident leaves Matilda's nephew, Sebby, an orphan, she takes on the role of step-mother and they relocate from London to Cornwall. Together, they struggle to come to terms with their loss, and it seems Matilda's prayers are answered when Sebby begins to emerge from his self-imposed prison.
Matilda's not so certain about Sebby's new friend though - Winny is the only child of local farmer Greg DeSilva - and she's precocious! In this excerpt, Winny's invited herself on a shopping trip to the city of Truro, along with Matilda, Sebby and Matilda's best friend, Bib.
Matilda's BMW Estate car cruised into Truro just as the cathedral clock chimed twelve. Leaving Sebby and Winny to their own devices, the two women began to investigate the maze of lanes spiralling from the town centre. Bib flitted from clothes shops, to shoe shops, to shops selling clotted cream, nougat and chocolate, like a child let loose in Santa's Grotto. Hearing a clock chime, Matilda dragged Bib away from a pair of shoes she was cooing over, but would never wear.
'I told Sebby not to be late, or else – and now you've made me late!' Matilda scolded. Arm in arm, they hurried back to the floating restaurant where they'd pre-arranged to meet up with the youngsters for a late lunch.
The converted longboat was cramped inside, with lanterns in the shape of oil lamps dangling from a low roof and a too narrow aisle, which meant waitresses and customers danced a continual "dozy-doe" in their efforts to avoid each other.
Bib commented sotto voce, 'I don't trust skinny waitresses' as blue and white uniforms bobbed between tables. Matilda whispered back, 'They're all tiny, around a size eight. Maybe it's in their contract "skinny and lanky, or walk the planky."'
Sebby grimaced, Winny gave him a sympathetic look, as though to say, "Yeah, I know. Embarrassing aren't they?"
In an obvious effort to make conversation, Winny asked Bib what she thought of the cathedral.
'Oh, we didn't get the chance to see it, Tilly spotted a flea market in the town hall, and we got side tracked.'
Matilda gasped – it had been Bib who'd dragged her around each and every shop – but before she could protest, their waitress arrived. A teenager plumper than Bib, so destroying Matilda's theory. In a thick Cornish accent, the waitress recommended the house speciality "moules marinieres". Sebby winced and asked for battered fish and chips, but Winny and Bib happily agreed, leaving Matilda dithering.
'Fish and chips please,' she said finally, just because a little queue had formed behind their waitress, and were huffing to get by.
'You should attend the cathedral one Sunday, their choir is out of this world,' Winny continued, as though there'd been no interruption.
'Heavenly?' Sebby asked smiling.
'Heavenly. Better than our efforts anyway. Have you been to church yet, Mrs Pendance?'
Sebby frowned, and Matilda hurried to say 'My name's Matilda, and Bib's Bib.'
'Have you been to church yet, Matilda?' Winny had deep brown eyes, and Greg's trick of keeping a dead pan face. It was difficult to know if she were serious or not.
'No, I'm afraid I haven't attended a service in a long time,' Matilda said. Not for two years in fact, when she'd stood at a graveside and found no comfort. While she cast around for a different subject, their meals arrived. The fish and chips looked ordinary, but the moules marinieres were chased with a red and white sauce and came with a side salad. Matilda's mouth watered at the sight.
'You'll have to come one Sunday. The vicar used to go to school with Dad, he can't bear being in church either, he always chooses the shortest sermons, and we only ever get to sing the first and last verses of hymns.'
For a moment Matilda felt confused, then realised Winny was talking about the vicar, not Greg.
'The church is twelfth century, there's gargoyles and that, and some interesting graves.' Winny scooped the flesh from a mussel shell, popped it in her mouth and chewed blissfully. Sebby watched wide eyed. 'There's this pair of graves like this,' laying down her cutlery, Winny demonstrated, holding her hands together and out flat, palms down, dipping her thumbs to form a valley. 'What happened was the husband was murdered, and the wife died of a broken heart soon afterwards. They buried them separately, with a memorial slab over each grave. Within a week the graves had slanted together. Weird eh?'
'Umm.' Matilda's neck hairs shimmered, then stood up on end, as Winny continued 'Even weirder, the man's brother was mid-Atlantic, and he dreamt that his brother was set about and robbed and left for dead, and he woke the captain and made him record it in the ship's log. His dream I mean.'
'That is weird,' Bib agreed.
Sebby laughed. 'The only way that could have happened was if the brother already knew the man was going to be attacked. And made certain of his alibi.'
Winny smiled grimly. 'All right, smart arse. Laugh this one off. Only me knows about this. One hundred years ago, a kid drown dead. But a hundred years before that, another kid drown dead. And guess what?' she widened her eyes.
'Oh big deal – there's plenty of water in Cornwall,' Sebby jeered.
'Yes, but get this,' ducking her head, Winny gave a conspiratorial glance around the table and lowered her voice. 'The dates on the gravestones; I've done some calculations, and they both drowned at twelve years old. Both exactly one hundred years apart.'
Bib winked at Matilda, trying to lift the tension. The boat rocked just then, in response to a passing swell. Matilda shivered, and wasn't quick enough to clutch at her plate, which tumbled to the floor and bounced.
'Plastic crockery,' Winny said, in response to Matilda's astonished expression. Their waitress rushed to clear up the mess, asking if madam wanted a replacement.
'No, thank you,' Matilda had lost her appetite.
'Now see what you've done,' Sebby hissed at Winny, who didn't look at all contrite.
'Don't flatter your friend. Winny, next time save it for Halloween,' Bib said sharply. 'Shall we go?'
Winny's eyes sparkled with mischief as they prepared to disembark.
'Check it out if you don't believe me,' she said, a note of glee in her voice.
'You're just looking for co-incidences, people love to find patterns where they don't exist. In fact I bet any money you like hundreds of twelve year olds died, but you only noticed the ones that suited you. What you've done is ....' They were walking along the gang-plank single file, Bib was behind Sebby and nudged him to shut up, to Matilda's relief.
On the drive home, Winny produced a bag of jelly beans and shared them out, Bib showed off the material Matilda had bought to make curtains, and no-one said another word about churches or graveyards.
From "The Bridle Path" ... and of course, Winny's telling the truth about the physic sailor; his brother the murdered victim, and his heart broken wife. Sebby's a little too sceptical!
All my alpha readers are special people, giving generously of their own time, but a very special thank you to Louise Sorensen, for invaluable advice and guidance on the 'horsey' content.
For all you Alfies out there, wondering what it's all about, here's an excerpt, or you can download a sample from Amazon - the first ten percent is free as always! Physic or Sinner? extracted from The Bridle Path.
After an horrific car accident leaves Matilda's nephew, Sebby, an orphan, she takes on the role of step-mother and they relocate from London to Cornwall. Together, they struggle to come to terms with their loss, and it seems Matilda's prayers are answered when Sebby begins to emerge from his self-imposed prison.Matilda's not so certain about Sebby's new friend though - Winny is the only child of local farmer Greg DeSilva - and she's precocious! In this excerpt, Winny's invited herself on a shopping trip to the city of Truro, along with Matilda, Sebby and Matilda's best friend, Bib.
Matilda's BMW Estate car cruised into Truro just as the cathedral clock chimed twelve. Leaving Sebby and Winny to their own devices, the two women began to investigate the maze of lanes spiralling from the town centre. Bib flitted from clothes shops, to shoe shops, to shops selling clotted cream, nougat and chocolate, like a child let loose in Santa's Grotto. Hearing a clock chime, Matilda dragged Bib away from a pair of shoes she was cooing over, but would never wear.
'I told Sebby not to be late, or else – and now you've made me late!' Matilda scolded. Arm in arm, they hurried back to the floating restaurant where they'd pre-arranged to meet up with the youngsters for a late lunch.
The converted longboat was cramped inside, with lanterns in the shape of oil lamps dangling from a low roof and a too narrow aisle, which meant waitresses and customers danced a continual "dozy-doe" in their efforts to avoid each other.
Bib commented sotto voce, 'I don't trust skinny waitresses' as blue and white uniforms bobbed between tables. Matilda whispered back, 'They're all tiny, around a size eight. Maybe it's in their contract "skinny and lanky, or walk the planky."'
Sebby grimaced, Winny gave him a sympathetic look, as though to say, "Yeah, I know. Embarrassing aren't they?"
In an obvious effort to make conversation, Winny asked Bib what she thought of the cathedral.
'Oh, we didn't get the chance to see it, Tilly spotted a flea market in the town hall, and we got side tracked.'
Matilda gasped – it had been Bib who'd dragged her around each and every shop – but before she could protest, their waitress arrived. A teenager plumper than Bib, so destroying Matilda's theory. In a thick Cornish accent, the waitress recommended the house speciality "moules marinieres". Sebby winced and asked for battered fish and chips, but Winny and Bib happily agreed, leaving Matilda dithering.
'Fish and chips please,' she said finally, just because a little queue had formed behind their waitress, and were huffing to get by.
'You should attend the cathedral one Sunday, their choir is out of this world,' Winny continued, as though there'd been no interruption.
'Heavenly?' Sebby asked smiling.
'Heavenly. Better than our efforts anyway. Have you been to church yet, Mrs Pendance?'
Sebby frowned, and Matilda hurried to say 'My name's Matilda, and Bib's Bib.'
'Have you been to church yet, Matilda?' Winny had deep brown eyes, and Greg's trick of keeping a dead pan face. It was difficult to know if she were serious or not.
'No, I'm afraid I haven't attended a service in a long time,' Matilda said. Not for two years in fact, when she'd stood at a graveside and found no comfort. While she cast around for a different subject, their meals arrived. The fish and chips looked ordinary, but the moules marinieres were chased with a red and white sauce and came with a side salad. Matilda's mouth watered at the sight.
'You'll have to come one Sunday. The vicar used to go to school with Dad, he can't bear being in church either, he always chooses the shortest sermons, and we only ever get to sing the first and last verses of hymns.'
For a moment Matilda felt confused, then realised Winny was talking about the vicar, not Greg.
'The church is twelfth century, there's gargoyles and that, and some interesting graves.' Winny scooped the flesh from a mussel shell, popped it in her mouth and chewed blissfully. Sebby watched wide eyed. 'There's this pair of graves like this,' laying down her cutlery, Winny demonstrated, holding her hands together and out flat, palms down, dipping her thumbs to form a valley. 'What happened was the husband was murdered, and the wife died of a broken heart soon afterwards. They buried them separately, with a memorial slab over each grave. Within a week the graves had slanted together. Weird eh?'
'Umm.' Matilda's neck hairs shimmered, then stood up on end, as Winny continued 'Even weirder, the man's brother was mid-Atlantic, and he dreamt that his brother was set about and robbed and left for dead, and he woke the captain and made him record it in the ship's log. His dream I mean.'
'That is weird,' Bib agreed.
Sebby laughed. 'The only way that could have happened was if the brother already knew the man was going to be attacked. And made certain of his alibi.'
Winny smiled grimly. 'All right, smart arse. Laugh this one off. Only me knows about this. One hundred years ago, a kid drown dead. But a hundred years before that, another kid drown dead. And guess what?' she widened her eyes.
'Oh big deal – there's plenty of water in Cornwall,' Sebby jeered.
'Yes, but get this,' ducking her head, Winny gave a conspiratorial glance around the table and lowered her voice. 'The dates on the gravestones; I've done some calculations, and they both drowned at twelve years old. Both exactly one hundred years apart.'
Bib winked at Matilda, trying to lift the tension. The boat rocked just then, in response to a passing swell. Matilda shivered, and wasn't quick enough to clutch at her plate, which tumbled to the floor and bounced.
'Plastic crockery,' Winny said, in response to Matilda's astonished expression. Their waitress rushed to clear up the mess, asking if madam wanted a replacement.
'No, thank you,' Matilda had lost her appetite.
'Now see what you've done,' Sebby hissed at Winny, who didn't look at all contrite.
'Don't flatter your friend. Winny, next time save it for Halloween,' Bib said sharply. 'Shall we go?'
Winny's eyes sparkled with mischief as they prepared to disembark.
'Check it out if you don't believe me,' she said, a note of glee in her voice.
'You're just looking for co-incidences, people love to find patterns where they don't exist. In fact I bet any money you like hundreds of twelve year olds died, but you only noticed the ones that suited you. What you've done is ....' They were walking along the gang-plank single file, Bib was behind Sebby and nudged him to shut up, to Matilda's relief.
On the drive home, Winny produced a bag of jelly beans and shared them out, Bib showed off the material Matilda had bought to make curtains, and no-one said another word about churches or graveyards.
From "The Bridle Path" ... and of course, Winny's telling the truth about the physic sailor; his brother the murdered victim, and his heart broken wife. Sebby's a little too sceptical!
July 16, 2014
Churchill's Choices
When someone asked Churchill how he managed to predict events so accurately, his chilling response was: ‘Because dear boy, I study history.’
What the wily old warlord didn’t mention was foresight. By the time the Nazis realised their unbreakable decipher, ‘Enigma’ had been broken, the damage was irreparable. British Intelligence had been reading their messages, and passing them onto the War Cabinet. Churchill’s nickname for Hitler was Herr Schickelgruber: Churchill despised and hated the madman with a vengeance. But Churchill never made the mistake of underestimating his enemy.
In order to gain the most value from Enigma, it remained vital that Hitler's High Command continued to believe in its invincibility, and continued to use it for top secret messages. If the Allied Armies acted on every single piece of information received via Enigma, it would become obvious that Britain was receiving inside information. Churchill wanted his golden goose active for as long as possible. Consequently, Churchill and his Cabinet made unthinkable choices. Choices not to warn of impending attacks. Choices to sacrifice some, in order to save others.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing, the lessons of the past are there for all to see; it’s a blessing in disguise that most of us don’t have foresight.
In "A Ripple in Time" Wren’s choice is stark: Ensure the Titanic meets her destiny and so restore history to its correct time line, or warn of the impending iceberg, knowing that the resulting ripple in time will create a tsunami for future generations?
What the wily old warlord didn’t mention was foresight. By the time the Nazis realised their unbreakable decipher, ‘Enigma’ had been broken, the damage was irreparable. British Intelligence had been reading their messages, and passing them onto the War Cabinet. Churchill’s nickname for Hitler was Herr Schickelgruber: Churchill despised and hated the madman with a vengeance. But Churchill never made the mistake of underestimating his enemy.
In order to gain the most value from Enigma, it remained vital that Hitler's High Command continued to believe in its invincibility, and continued to use it for top secret messages. If the Allied Armies acted on every single piece of information received via Enigma, it would become obvious that Britain was receiving inside information. Churchill wanted his golden goose active for as long as possible. Consequently, Churchill and his Cabinet made unthinkable choices. Choices not to warn of impending attacks. Choices to sacrifice some, in order to save others.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing, the lessons of the past are there for all to see; it’s a blessing in disguise that most of us don’t have foresight.
In "A Ripple in Time" Wren’s choice is stark: Ensure the Titanic meets her destiny and so restore history to its correct time line, or warn of the impending iceberg, knowing that the resulting ripple in time will create a tsunami for future generations?
June 19, 2014
Cover reveal for The Bridle Path
I believe that there's a little of the romantic in all of us. I also believe we all have the potential to be magnificent. "The Bridle Path" is one woman's transformation from doormat to shining star.
When Matilda finds the strength to fight for what she believes in, she transforms not only her own life, but also makes a real difference to the lives of others.
And of course, all bridle paths lead to romance, especially for country lovers!
"The Bridle Path" will be republished on July 6th, having been re-edited to make room for a sequel: "Will to Win". Book bloggers are welcome to request an advance review copy, and exclusive pre-release copies will be offered throughout the next few weeks.
