Clodagh Phelan's Blog, page 6
April 15, 2014
April 9, 2014
The Sixth of March
The Sixth of March, which is to be published a bit later thanThe Eighteenth of November also takes as its subject another avoidable disaster. The sinking of MV The Herald of Free Enterprise on the night of 6th March, 1987. A tragedy caused once more by negligence and where, if anything, the ‘disease of sloppiness’ was even easier to trace back to the boardroom. The book tells the story of Ben, who as a small child, experiences the trauma of the shipwreck and the loss of his fa...
April 2, 2014
Salvaging the Herald
This is a moving little video recording the visit of the friends and families of the victims to pay tribute and the difficult and dangerous righting of the Herald of Free Enterprise, a month after she capsized. The soundtrack is poignant – the hymn Eternal Father Strong to Save, known throughout the world as the mariners hymn. It has the refrain ‘for those in peril on the sea’.
To know all is to understand all … sort of
David Crystal’s lovely book
One of my Christmas presents this year was a splendid book about the history of English spelling. Browsing through it I found a chapter on the differences between the way we say and spell things over here and the way it’s done in the USA. The book is about spelling, rather than usage. So while I don’t think I’ll ever be happy about ‘different than’ as opposed to ‘different to’ or ‘different from’, this wonderful book does throw light on why we write ‘humour’ and the...
March 25, 2014
Catching up with the past
Under this heading – Form an Orderly Queue – you’ll find previous blog posts and articles and also brand new ones, all neatly organised under their respective headings! To read the old posts, either click on the link above, which will take you to the blog on the Words with Wings site, with both posts and articles. Or click here on the aptly titled Old Blog Posts where you will also find the old posts.I will addnew posts on this site, at least weekly under the headings On Writing and Form an O...
December 2, 2013
The King’s Cross Fire – November 18th, 1987
Where do authors get their inspiration? In my case it was my reaction to the terrible and avoidable fire at King’s Cross station twenty six years ago. That was the starting point for my novel – The Eighteenth of November. I had hoped to publish on the anniversary but that has not proved possible (see earlier post). However, as promised here is an extract – and I would like to dedicate it to all those who were affected in any way and whose lives were changed as a result.
Extract
“The minute he...
November 25, 2013
The King’s Cross Fire
The Eighteenth of November
Where do authors get their inspiration? In my case it was my reaction to the terrible and avoidable fire at King’s Cross station twenty six years ago last week. That was the starting point for my novel – The Eighteenth of November. I had hoped to publish on the anniversary but that has not proved possible (see earlier post). However, as promised here is an extract.
Extract
“The minute he stepped onto the concourse, he sensed that something was wrong. His initial feel...
November 18, 2013
If it ain’t broke …
This post is in danger of becoming the rant of all rants. So I won’t write everything that’s in my head as it would go on for ever. Suffice to say that a couple of weeks ago I installed Apple’s new operating system, Maverick. On their advice. It wiped my hard drive – entirely. Nothing left. Nada. Gone. Fortunately I had back up, though I wasn’t even sure of that for a few hours. All in all this has cost me well over a week’s writing time and a great deal of anguish. It also me...
November 17, 2013
The Eighteenth of November
I didn't know it was an OS (all their operating systems have big cat names). The important thing is what it did to me - it wiped my hard drive. Yes it was backed up, no I couldn't afford the loss of over two week's working time. To add insult to injury it has also messed up my WordPress site somehow, so that I can't post. Here, as a taster, until I can get back to normal and publish on Kindle, is an extract from the first chapter. And try as I might, I can't get the extract to format properly so that the paragraphs below are not indented, as they should be.
The Eighteenth of November
At 7.45 pm on the night of 18th November, 1987, 31 people died in a fire that engulfed King's Cross underground station in London. Police put names to each of the bodies, except for one.
ES Evening Standard Magazine, 11 September 1998
Chapter One
He was running through a wood, moving faster than the ground allowed. His toe caught on a root, he fell heavily onto his shoulder and lay winded. He scrambled to his feet, cursing, and ran on until the trees began to thin out and he could see a vast field, stretching ahead of him. It sloped downwards in a gentle gradient before rising sharply to a small hill. His breath caught in his throat. From the summit of the hill a column of smoke rose dark against the sodden winter sky.
He threw himself forward, almost falling down the field in his desperation. As he reached the bottom, drifts of thick yellow smoke billowed towards him, searing his eyes and burning his nostrils. Firefly sparks settled on his clothes and in his hair He pulled his cloak across his face and charged upwards. As he mounted the last slope the smoke parted, revealing indistinct shapes darting and scurrying about like ants round a disturbed nest.
At the summit a mass of people formed an impenetrable hedge, the smoke so thick he could scarcely see their features. He fought to get through, clawing, gouging, kicking, using hands, feet and elbows. Suddenly the crowd surged forward, baying, dragging him with them. He burst out of the circle and found himself staring at the thing in the burning embers.
Fabriel woke screaming, lay still, trembling, the screams still ringing in his head. They could stay there for hours, days. There had been times when he dared not sleep for fear of them. He made himself take deep breaths and look methodically round the room, ticking off the familiar items now reduced by moonlight to shades of grey. The heavy carved chair with his linen shirt draped across it. Dark suit hanging on the wardrobe. Deep leather armchair. Tiled floor. Mosquito grilles. The door into the bathroom was half open; it creaked slightly in a sudden movement of air. He could feel it play over his face, a touch like a spiders web.
October 23, 2013
Kindling
Source:clayoven.wordpress.com
No, not the stuff you use to light a fire, though there have indeed been occasions in the past weeks when I would willingly have lit a fire under Kindle and all its works. I am in fact referring to the process by which a logical but not particularly technical person attempts to format a book for Kindle.
Kindling is a sure fire way to turn anyone into a raving loony. (I imagine the thought police will get me on that one. I’m past caring. That’s what Kindling does to...
