Ailsa Abraham's Blog: Ailsa Abraham, page 51

Shani and Jessamine

It’s a real treat today to welcome my friend and fellow Crooked Cat author Shani Struthers back for a visit to chat about her new book, Jessamine. So tell us, Shani…What are the main ideas or themes in your book?

Jessamine is primarily the story of love, loss and acceptance, told from a subtly supernatural angle. Yep, it has ghosts in it, I just can’t help myself! But it’s not just actual ghosts we’re talking about, it’s metaphorical ghosts too, ghosts from the past, which haunt us, or perhaps we haunt them. Perhaps we cling to them, keep them alive somehow, when actually they’d prefer if we let them go. That may sound a bit airy-fairy, but Jessamine is a very human tale about coming to terms with loss.

Tell us more about the main characters and their dilemmas.

There are four main characters – Jessamin Wade (note there’s no ‘e’ on the end, it is not a spelling mistake!), whose husband is dead, a death she feels wholly responsible for. There’s also Fionnlagh Maccaillin, who has returned to the village of Glenelk, in the Scottish Highlands – where the book is set – after fifteen years in the army, bearing scars that are obvious and not so obvious. Stan is his grandfather, who has also suffered a recent loss, the death of his beloved wife, Beth and last, but by no means least, there’s Maggie, who runs the village store, an enigmatic character with an ability to ‘catch’ thoughts.

Why did you write this novel?

Having spent time on the west coast of Scotland, a mysterious place if ever there was one, I knew I wanted to set a novel there. Glenelk is based on the village Glenelg, which overlooks the Isle of Skye. Spectacularly beautiful, it has a haunting quality to it but a healing one too, it’s possible to feel a lot closer to something more ‘spiritual’ when out in the wilds as opposed to being surrounded by neon. These four characters need to ‘heal’ because of recent events and events in the past but first they have to find a way to ‘let go’ before moving on.

How do you go about writing a novel? Is it a simple or complex process?

When I sit down to write a novel, I start off with a theme usually, a title and a rough idea of how the first three chapters should be. I don’t bother to outline a novel beforehand, I find that as I write they tend to take on a life of their own and the best thing to do is just go with it – connect to the flow and let it write itself! So, in a way it’s a simple process, although there’s nothing simple about being immersed in a fictional world whilst trying to live in the real one!

What advice do you have for less experienced writers?

Don’t think too hard, don’t worry about spelling mistakes, grammar, how rough or disjointed it is, just sit down, write the story in your head and try and write it as quickly as possible to keep the flow. After that, you can go back and ‘sculpt’ it to your hearts content. Once ‘sculpted’, give it to a few carefully selected test-readers, get their feedback, ‘sculpt’ it once more and then find an editor to knock it into the best shape possible.

What are you working on currently?

I’m finishing up the final book in the Runaway series, my contemporary romance trio and then, from 2015, it’s paranormal all the way! As well as writing Book 3 of the Psychic Surveys series (Book 2 is currently with the publisher), I plan to do a few dark spin-offs from the series, concentrating on single case studies and making them very dark indeed! I’ve also got a reincarnation thriller I’m working on, so very busy times.

Excerpt

His anguish concerned her. “Stan…”

“Och, don’t mind me. I’m getting maudlin is all.”

“Stan, how could you think I’d mind? Of course I don’t.”

Furtively, she studied his face. He seemed so tired of late. The cough he’d developed was wearing him down. Into the lines of his face, his entire life seemed etched – a good life at times she knew but also painful, like any long life. No one sailed through the years unscathed. She felt bad she’d mentioned Flo’s death, Mally’s leaving again; there was no need to wallow in sadness and she said as much.

“You’re right, dear. Concentrate on happy times. Why not? We can’t go back. We can’t change things.”

If only we could.

“And when the sun is shining, it’s an easy thing to do. But, and I expect you know this as well as I do, it’s the dead of night you have to watch out for, when the wind is howling, when the rain pelts relentlessly against your bedroom window, when sleep refuses to indulge you. That’s when the bad memories rear up, when they demand their fair share of attention too.” He shuddered. “The dead of night, it’s an accurate description.”

Jessamin turned to face the old man fully. “Stan, you’re worrying me.”

“No, dear, there’s no need to worry.”

“Despite what I said about concentrating on the good stuff, you can tell me anything, you know that don’t you? Whatever it is… I’m here for you. I’m on your side.”

There were tears in his eyes. Quickly, Jessamin reached out a hand to comfort him. He took it, his grip surprisingly firm – desperation lending him strength perhaps. Her breath caught in her throat. What was he going to say? What had upset him so much?

When at last he spoke, his words chilled her.

“The dead of night, Jess, I wish they’d leave me alone.”

Thanks so much, Shani, it’s been a huge pleasure as usual. Now the all-important bit – where can you get it???

Buy Links:

UK http://tinyurl.com/ml3om46

US http://tinyurl.com/n5adytl

Facebook Author Page: http://tinyurl.com/p9yggq9

Twitter: https://twitter.com/shani_struthers

Blog: http://shanisite.wordpress.com

Website: www.shanistruthers.com

Want us back?

OK, folks, I understand that Britain is an island and your space is limited.  That is a no-brainer. All countries have a limited ability to welcome incomers. The question I want you to consider very carefully before screaming to leave Europe and get rid of “all these EU immigrants wanting hand-outs” is this.

Do you want to swap them for your streets flooded with elderly, sick, poor Brits who used to live elsewhere? Believe me that once they are thrown out of whichever country they moved to, they will not be able to buy a property in the UK and even renting will be steep.

See – the thing about going abroad for profit isn’t new. Selling a modest semi in Britain to buy a small manor house in France is an old story, investing the profit, using the bigger space as a B and B …and having access to a cheaper cost of living, the best health care service in Europe and sometimes playing both ends off against the middle to avoid paying tax. These people were laughing all the way to Credit Agricole.

I’ve been in Europe long enough to know what it was like before the “free movement” rules and was nearly evicted from France when living aboard my boat. Due to an incorrectly filled-in form, the customs arrived to ask if I was leaving today or tomorrow and would I like them to arrest me now.

Make no mistake, if Britain leaves Europe, a lot of your grandparents, in-laws etc will be seeking lodgings. Want them in your house?

Me? I’m a French citizen. When I decided to live and work, pay my taxes and be in the system, I applied for and got naturalisation. There are, however, a great many others who are going to be in “la merde” big time if you lot get your way.

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction – think about it before you vote to leave Europe.

 

A dog’s life

As any of you who have read Alchemy and Shaman’s Drum will know, I’ve gone a bit of a way down the shaman’s path (via detours around most religions).

As an experiment I decided to take up a local mutt on a bet. He said I didn’t understand at all what being a dog was like. So I shape-shifted until I felt that uncontrollable urge to bottom-sniff. Mine or anyone else’s – doesn’t matter. That’s when you know you’re really a dog.

My eyesight immediately became poorer but my sense of smell hit me like a brick. Although I couldn’t see as well, I could find my way by niff. Lily, our small terrier, thought it hilarious and accompanied me down the road, reminding me that I was lucky not to have a human hauling on my neck and stopping me investigating “good bits”.

We met some people and I realised that dogs don’t see us. Just as humans will call people by a distinguishing feature if they don’t know their name: Mr. Buck-tooth or Mrs. Veg Patch, dogs call you what you smell of. The lady by the bridge is Mrs. Furniture Polish and a younger woman is “Stinky Clean Stuff” as dogs aren’t too fond of shampoo. Cleaners remind them of vets. No, they aren’t heroic helpers. Vets is generally known as “place of thing up bum” because that is the first thing that happens to a patient when they arrive. Mostly the view is that it’s a mad human form of fetishism.

My husband, I discovered, was Mr. Paté as he eats so much of it that is what his sweat smells of. Finding that my canine moniker was “Comfy Bed Bitch” I wondered if my personal hygiene needed more care.

Yes, tufts of grass on the side of the road really ARE fascinating. Like a village notice board, it is possible to read who has been by, when and in what state. Very nervous Dachshund yesterday morning, followed by randy Labrador. (no wonder she was nervous!)

I’d just stress that this was cruelty-free shape-shift, not “skin-walking” which is an entirely different matter I’ll cover in another book one day, when the action moves to North America.

Christmas Holly

We don’t do Christmas in our house. I know what it is because I see it on the box. When the cold weather comes I see gorgeous food and happy people and it makes me sad. Sometimes my mouth fills with water and I dribble which makes Mum smack me and call me a cretin. She hits me often. Last year I got obsessed by Christmas so when she was drunk and reeling around, trying to find a reason to beat me up again, I slipped out of the open door, out into the night.

It was cold. Snow was falling but I just ran until I was in a street  I didn’t know.  I peered through a window and  spotted it – Christmas, just like on the TV! ! I rattled the letter-box. This would be tricky. I can’t speak, you see, which makes people think I can’t hear or understand: they’re wrong. A woman opened the door and immediately squeaked.

“Oh you poor thing. You must be frozen. Look at you!” I gave her my most pathetic look and sniffed hard. She bent forward and dusted some snow off my coat and then invited me in.

The room was lovely with a massive table seating three generations. A place was made for me between the two children. I could sense that the little girl was like me. I couldn’t speak and she couldn’t see. I knew that by the way she felt my face and ears before saying

“Oh how beautiful you are!” So I put her hand on my neck and hoped she’d leave it there.

There was crunchy turkey skin and sausage. I was in heaven. The little boy waved a paper thing telling me to pull. I grabbed it and we both pulled. He told me to make a wish so I wished I could live with a nice family like them. There was a bang that made me jump. Everyone laughed and the boy put a funny hat on my head. I squinted up at it and they laughed some more. I didn’t care. I was having my very first Christmas dinner and these kind folk didn’t mind at all. The very old lady at the end kept passing things down to the kids saying “Give this to our guest.” There were some horrid hard green balls but I flicked them across the table. They didn’t taste nice.

Suddenly all the family went over to the tree in the corner which was covered in shiny stuff and started sharing out packages. The little girl kept me by her side and showed me her treasures. I grinned, nudging her to show my approval and she giggled, hugging me. The old lady said,

“There’s a present left over. No name on it. Must be from Santa! Shall I open it?” They all roared their agreement so she peeled off the paper revealing a beautiful chain with a round pendant. “Oh it says “Holly” on it. Must be for our guest. She didn’t have a present!”

I sat there, proud as punch with my new collar on. From then on I was Holly…wishes do come true sometimes, especially at Christmas, even for unwanted dogs.

Naturally…

“You should take some …” is a bit of advice I’m slightly sick of hearing. No, I know that people are trying to help but at the moment I’m on so much medication that morning pill-taking counts as breakfast.

Belladonna

I have become slightly appalled at the things that are available as over-the-counter remedies advertised as “totally natural”. This is taken to mean herb-based and everyone assumes inoffensive. Sorry but although I am not an expert I dabble in herbs and have had to learn a fair bit about them. Were I to pick a random fungus off the ground and offer it to you, you’d want to know what it was and be sure it was safe – right?

Hypericum

Herbs = natural = safe isn’t a good mantra. Belladonna and monkshood are herbs. They are also deadly poison. In my own case I’m already taking a Valerian-based medication for my Bipolar condition and most of the “natural” sleep aids are full of things that would combine with that to give me an overdose; only worrying if I want to keep breathing in my sleep. These include large doses of Valerian (again) Hypericum (St. John’s Wort) and other plants which have the same active ingredient. It would be like taking paracetamol, codeine and ibuprofen at the same time, which none of us would dream of doing.

Monkshood

Even creams have to be examined carefully as their molecules get into the blood stream …you see where I’m going? Over the years I have worked out what I can and can’t take, read labels like a demented Fair-Trade shopper and know what works. You’ll understand why I steam quietly. These people are trying to do me a favour, the stuff is freely available and I need some sleep…oh dear, we didn’t mean to kill her! Is this the original “killing with kindness”?

 

“Did I flinch? Oh, tell me I didn’t flinch!” On idolising stoicism

“Did I flinch? Oh, tell me I didn’t flinch!” On idolising stoicism.

Shared from my wonderful friend Vivienne Tufnell

Author, blogger, international criminal

Some of you may remember that we got into a “contretemps” with three young ladies of the travelling persuasion some time ago in a supermarket car park.

I’ve just got back from the local gendarmerie with my fingerprints, DNA and mug-shots on record. Why? Because the whole thing was captured on CCTV.

I believed I was leaping to the defence of my ancient and diabetic husband who also has a heart condition. He claimed that their car had run over his foot and was screaming blue murder. One of the young ladies leapt from the car, spat on him and would have kicked the living daylights out of his shins if he hadn’t grabbed her wrists and held her at arm’s length.

Today I watched the TV footage and found out that far from being the heroic loyal wifely-type critter, I am the original fool who rushes in while angels are still giving it mature consideration.  The car didn’t run over his foot, it passed too close to him and in a fit of indignation, Badger booted the side of it. That explains why the passenger leapt out to express her righteous anger.

Having been some distance away, I could only believe that his howl was one of anguish. So the scuffle that ensued while I tried to separate them,  the elbow to the face that I received and returned, the onlookers who took sides etc… were all based on a slightly elastic interpretation of the truth.

My mortification was complete, not helped at all by the gendarmes telling me that it wasn’t the end of the world and those families had records thicker than the Doomsday book … I didn’t and I wasn’t planning on having one.

We shan’t have to go before a court but there is a possibility of us being fined for assault in a public place (not causing physical damage, thanks be!) but I’m assured that we SHOULDN’T have to go to prison. Oh good, that makes me feel a lot better – stripes are so fattening, aren’t they? 

 

Nice one, Sue

Today I’m delighted to welcome my friend Sue Barnard back to the Bingergread Cottage – she’s already been here in person! So – tell us about your new book, Sue.

Sue signed her last book for me.

This year marks the hundredth anniversary of the start of the First World War – the one which at the time was called “The War To End Wars.”  Sadly that title proved to be horribly and tragically inaccurate; many more wars have found their way into the history books during the ninety-odd years since the Armistice was declared in November 1918.

One such war took place in the Spring and early Summer of 1982.  This was the Falklands War between Britain and Argentina, fought over the sovereignty of the Falkland Islands in the South Atlantic, and it forms a distant backdrop for my novel Nice Girls Don’t.

What prompted you to write it?

Like Emily, the heroine of the story, I was too young to remember the Second World War, but I was brought up by people who did; my parents’ and grandparents’ generations had lived through one (or in some cases two) major conflicts, the second of which claimed many civilian as well as military casualties.  But the Falklands War was the first occasion in my lifetime when my home country had actively gone to war. And, just like Emily, I was confused and bewildered. Would this war, like those before it, involve conscription and mass-slaughter?  What effect would it have on the day-to-day lives of ordinary people?

This led, in turn, to my thinking back to the other major conflicts of the twentieth century, to the effect they had on those who fought and on those who served by standing and waiting – and to the long shadows which they could still cast over future generations. What if, when researching one’s family history, one discovers secrets which, because of those wars, have been kept hidden for many years due to shame and guilt?

Can you put it in a genre or does it defy classification?

Nice Girls Don’t is perhaps best described as cross-genre.  Yes, it’s a romance, but it has a generous helping of mystery and intrigue thrown in for good measure, and some aspects of the story have a darker, grittier side – one which will, I hope, make the reader stop and think. It also holds up a mirror to the circumstances, ideas and attitudes of the period – and in so doing challenges a few traditionally-held views. There are some long-established issues where, on both a global and a personal level, attitudes and expectations have failed to be fair to both sides. In Nice Girls Don’t I have tried, at least in part, to redress that balance.

I hope the book will appeal to anyone who remembers the 1980s, but I hope also that it will show younger readers (of both genders) how much has changed – hopefully for the better – over the course of a generation.

Sue’s previous work.

Sounds fantastic. Can’t wait – so here are the links to find Sue’s work.

Amazon Links:

Paperback: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Nice-Girls-Dont-Sue-Barnard/dp/1909841803/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1416580266&sr=1-1

Kindle: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Nice-Girls-Dont-Sue-Barnard-ebook/dp/B00LNCDF3I/ref=la_B00IF4ZJJU_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1416580266&sr=1-1

Buy a Book for Christmas – Ailsa Abraham – Fantasy from France

Buy a Book for Christmas – Ailsa Abraham – Fantasy from France.

If you are reading this blog post … Thank You!!

If you are reading this blog post … Thank You!!.