Isabella May's Blog, page 3
November 19, 2018
Writing Books = Creating Assets
The writing journey is a baffling thing, and no two roads are ever the same.
On the surface, my journey tells me I’m in limbo; that in-between and nowhere place. The one where everybody else is bagging the awards, getting signed up for multi-book deals and Netflix adaptations, and smiling sweetly – pinkies extended – with their flutes of champagne for page three of The Bookseller.
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But how do I know that my beloved Book 4 hasn’t been shoveled out of the slush pile of the four pretty big publishers deciding its *current* fate? How do I know that it’s not somebody’s bedtime reading/train journey companion/lunchtime lothario? (I say the latter for deep within its pages lurks the rugby world’s most seductive sweet talker you’ll ever meet in your head.)…
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I don’t know any of that at all.
And on the other hand, I also don’t know if they’re hating on my every single syllable, turning my pages into paper balls for a little light bin target practice… regardless of the fact that I have three novels published with a small press (a fabulous stepping stone and credential, indeed!) – and regardless of making it to 33k with Book 5, whose saccharine storyline with a difference I’m head over Hummingbird Cake in love with.
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I’m 70% Acting As If. I mean, I guess the very motion of writing Book 5 is sending out all the right vibes to all the right corners of the universe.
But I’m 30% fretting/doubting/tossing and turning in my duvet at night:
Will tomorrow be the day I hear something… anything?
How can long can it seriously take to read three chapters?
Why haven’t they snapped me up by now?
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And on… and on… AND ON.
Despite the odds feeling more stacked in my favour than ever before, it’s easy to get despondent.
Wherever we are on our writing journey, we can’t help but take a rubberneck look at the ‘glaring reality’ of the stats and wonder why we ever bothered in the first place? And then there’s the endless variety and array of marketing. Does it truly make a difference, wouldn’t the world keep spinning anyway if we called this whole thing a day, got a ‘proper job’ and became a ‘normal member of society with a bank account that had something a little more fruitful to show for it every month’?
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Yep. At this wobbly time in publishing’s illustrious history, it has never been more tempting to tear our manuscripts to pieces and toss them over our shoulders like confetti.
It was fun while it lasted. At least we gave the dream a go. Off we trot to find a regular 9-5 job now like the rest of the sensible population so we can pay off our mortgage.
Don’t!
Don’t you dare…
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Your books are your ASSETS.
And believe it or not, with every word, sentence, paragraph and chapter you write, you are damn well banking them – novels, non-fiction and articles.
Speaking of fruit, maybe our stories won’t be ripe just now, and maybe we won’t cash in on them for the next few years either, but, nothing that we commit to paper is EVER wasted. Our books are art: un-quantifiable and priceless.
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And that’s before we even contemplate the unseen changes they are making in our readers’ lives!
This is a short blog, but it’s no less an important one.
Carve out your writing time and keep adding the unique insights of your characters, plots and settings. More often than not, this will mean ignoring the peanut gallery in your head (as well as the flesh and blood hecklers who nay-say in every nook and critique in every cranny), and trusting that better and wiser part of you (the heart), for as Vinith Kumar says:
“Your heart knows things that your mind can’t explain.”
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There’s a reason the idea has come to you in the first place. Be you Walt Disney (did you know Mickey was 90 yesterday?), the designer of the Burj Khalifa, Monet, Lady Gaga or a budding author.
Use it or lose it. Love it, create it. Then onto the next, and the next, and the next.
One day you’ll look back at this journey and savour these simple steps which led to the monolith milestones…
November 5, 2018
Why I’m Glad My Books Haven’t Peaked too Soon.
Wait, what? Who would turn down the chance of a debut bestseller?
At first glance, my words sound a tad sour grapes; aimed at the great and the good of the literary world, those who have struck it first time lucky, secured multi-bidding wars from the Top 5, a flurry of foreign rights with all the best European houses, and that ever-sought after (and highly elusive) O word: optioning.
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But if that was my ride, I’d positively *read negatively* become star struck around myself, never to trust another word I scribbled onto paper, for fear it wouldn’t live up to the hype. Then again, I’ve always been a kooky and embarrassing ball of nervous energy around a celebrity (Joanne Harris, Miles Jupp, Arabella Churchill, Jeffrey Holland, Mike Skinner to name but a few variations thereof) and, if I turned into one of those overnight – even a Z-list one – looking at myself in the mirror would be no exception to the rule.
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Incrementally, is the only way forward for me. Always has been.
Oh, I put on a good show with a little help from my pen name. But beneath that hammed-up version of my inner Pollyanna, the other me has been on quite the journey. From school bullies to a decade-long domestic violence relationship, dodgy employers through to the stillbirth of my beloved baby girl… and then near bankruptcy after a nervous breakdown when I was treated abysmally by yet another employer (I was the breadwinner left with no choice but to walk away from a high flying publishing career)… after which me, my husband – and then small daughter -almost lost our house, it’s been a bit less roller coaster, and a whole lot more vertical free-fall from one of those hideous drop rides you see at the fair.
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It would be no exaggeration to say that at that particular point in my life, I began to understand why somebody might consider the only way out was to end it all.
But then a rainbow baby, a move to Spain, a spiritual awakening thanks to the ‘discovery’ of the Law of Attraction… and quite a few years later, and life is pretty damn rosy. It really is true what they say about the phoenix rising from the flames, and I’ve long been able to relate to J.K Rowling’s rock-bottom-being-an-excellent-foundation-to-begin-all-over-again quote.
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I wake up to the beach (literally, we live right on it), the cerulean twinkle of The Med (recent thunderstorms aside), and a blessed life filled with love from the world’s most amazing husband and two wonderful children, churros a plenty and Aperol Spritz. Did I mention that the nearest chiringuito beach bar is just 100m from our back gate?
I’m even further blessed to see more of the kids than I ever would in the UK – school being five short hours a day; summer holidays stretching out with all the delight of a ‘spot of’ lounging on a picnic rug for an entire eleven weeks! And the Spanish will use any excuse for a fiesta. I also get my fair share of blissful catnap-esque siestas.
Aside from all of that, life has grounded me. A new location on the map has helped me wake up, smell the cafe sombra, and recognise that the only risk in life is not to take a risk and go after your dreams.
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Mine, like that of many people all over the world, was to write a book.
And so I did it… gingerly at first; I joined a couple of local writing groups, I went on a writing course, I helped set up and contribute to an online women’s magazine. Little by little, I started all over again with a brand new career and no guarantee of success – or an income; building up my confidence, slowly but surely, every step of the way, until one day I just knew it was now or never: time to send that damned manuscript out.
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Three magical foodie romcoms later, lots of high praise (and the usual suspect hit and runs that are those delightful and eloquently written 1 and 2 star Amazon and Goodreads book reviews), and I am ready with a capital ‘R’ to jump a few more rungs up the ladder. I have loved every minute with the small indie publisher I am signed up to, and will forever appreciate the stepping stone their help and support and exposure has given me on this journey. But now I have honed my writing skills even more, now I have read piles of books in my genres, now I have served my stint as a ‘silent witness’ to countless well-established authors in Facebook writing groups and on Twitter, now I have built my social media followings up rather nicely, now I have hung out with my author tribe long enough to genuinely feel like one.
But, perhaps more importantly than anything else, now attracting an agent and a big publisher feels like the next logical step as opposed to an elusive pipe dream. Now the timing feels divinely right.
And I say that not in a big-headed way, but as someone who has learned their craft, as someone who, inch by inch, has felt their way (often in the pitch black dark… and the dark nights of the soul) to the sweet spot that is their little niche in the vast bookish market. I have written from the heart fusing subjects in a way that is hopefully (and unintentionally) pretty damn unique. And every day I get up excited to create, guided by my my muse – aka. The Giant Idea Cloud above my head.
Now I am ready for the next level of success and all the good stuff that brings with it… as well as the inevitable not so good stuff. And as an author who hasn’t peaked too soon, I am all the better equipped to:
-deal with rejection (and know that copious amounts of cake is THE only way to nurse the heartache)
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-let stinking book reviews *mostly* go in one ear and out the other
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-stay grounded, especially amidst the fickle ebb and flow of success
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-trust my ability to produce more than a one hit wonder… because having written four novels, I know I’m not a one trick pony
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-ask for what I want and not settle for anything less
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-know the industry standards on a whole range of publishing subjects
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-write to a tight deadline
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-rip up the pesky ‘writing rules’ that don’t work for me, toss them over my shoulder like confetti and do it my way
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-not take it personally when friends and family STILL haven’t bought/read/reviewed my book
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I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Universe… and will be subbing Book Four far and wide THIS very month.
Thank you for aligning me and my books with the best new home.
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Bring It On!
Who else is with me and climbing the rungs of the wobbly ladder? Let me know how you’re getting on…
October 8, 2018
Seeking Perfection amidst Imperfection
If you haven’t yet heard of the term Law of Attraction, or Rhonda Byrne’s book, The Secret, I’ll eat my hat. The existence of LOA (as it is affectionately abbreviated) has taken the world by storm. Some of us believe in it to a point, some of us know of its truth with absolute certainty – and some of us are completely skeptical (if you can’t see it/taste it/hear it/smell it/touch it… how can it possibly exist?).
All of which are fine and completely normal. There is definitely never a crowd on the leading edge.
Life is a journey and the teacher will appear when the student is ready. One of the great teachers in my life (not to discount the good job most of my school teachers made) is Gary Temple Bodley. Gary and I met via mutual friend (and LOA coach), Jeannette Maw, a few years ago on her hugely popular Good Vibe Blog (check it out for a treasure trove of practical, bite size nuggets on all things Law of Attraction) and his books and insights have transformed my life in the very best way. I’d read The Secret, like many people, but I was hungry for more… and I sensed that there was much more to the Law, much more to discover.
I was just a little bit right!
Anyway, on with the show, because today Gary has a special piece of channeling to share with us from The Teachings of Joshua
So read on if you’d like to challenge your perception… and you may need to read this a couple of times. Not just because of the challenge to a possibly new way of thinking, but because the beauty of all of Joshua’s teachings (and indeed those of other leading edge LOA teachers such as Abraham Hicks), is that with every read, something new will jump out at you – in a very good way. Suspend your mind chatter and immerse yourself, for this particular piece is a really timely one:
Perfection and Imperfection
Everything is right. There is no wrong anywhere in the universe. The perception of wrong can only come from a limited perspective. From the higher perspective everything is right. If it is right, then it is perfect. Right equals perfection. The distance from the sun to the earth is perfect. The distance from the earth to the moon is perfect. If these distances were different than they are, you would literally not exist in your current form. You exist, therefore you are perfect, as is everything that exists.
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If everything is perfect as it is, then where is the imperfection? Imperfections can only be created through judgment. Without judgment everything that exists is right and perfect. However, judgment also exists and therefore judgment too is perfect. Judgment is often influenced by fear. Without fear, everything would be judged as right and perfect. The more you reduce the influence of fear, the more perfect everything is perceived. The less fear, the more love. The more love, the less judgment. The less judgment, the more acceptance. The more acceptance, the more perfection.
What about the things you do not like? Are these things also perfect? Indeed they are. The fact that you personally do not like something or someone does not bring forth imperfection. It is simply an indication of fear resulting from the activation of a limiting belief. Without the limiting belief, there would be no resulting fear and therefore there would only be acceptance. You accept that which is considered perfect. The more acceptance you offer to all things, the more you will perceive things to be perfect. The more intense your limiting beliefs, the more you will notice the imperfections.
In order to abide by your limiting beliefs and avoid fear at the same time, you must control your conditions. In the control of the conditions, you will seek to create a state of perfection. However, this state based in control is never reachable and so you strive to make changes to your conditions only to be cast back into imperfection. This triggers more limiting beliefs and causes you to feel more fear. It is the old approach to life. In seeing everything as perfect as it is, you can simply let things be and move toward that which you personally prefer. If you can stop and understand that the idea of wrong is simply your interpretation of conditions in a way that activates limiting beliefs, you can address those beliefs rather than casting judgment on that which you perceive as bad or wrong. If there is no bad or wrong, then what you are left with is fear. Deal with that internally rather than changing conditions.
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The conditions now are perfect. You either feel fear or feel love. In the good feelings associated with love, you are seeing the conditions as right as they are. If you feel fear, you are simply perceiving conditions inaccurately. Your perception has been thrown out of whack due to the activation of a limiting belief. Something has caused you to alter the perception of your reality so that it is now out of alignment with the true reality. What you are perceiving is an illusion. It might be a very convincing illusion and this is why you argue with it so fiercely. However, the way you can see through the illusion is to notice whenever you think something is wrong or bad. Once you understand that
you are judging something or someone to be wrong or bad, you can know for certain that you are currently perceiving a false reality. Address your fears and limiting beliefs before you take action to change the condition. If you change perfect conditions, you create chaos and more fear.
If you notice that something is wrong and you take some action designed to correct the perceived problem, you are simply chasing shadows. You see, if the wrong exists in your reality, it is there to make you aware of the vibration you are offering. Your reality is simply a reflection of your vibration.
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It is a mirror to how you are being. If you do not personally prefer something, notice that it is there to alert you to some aspect of your vibration that is not in alignment with who you really are. Address this frequency rather than the condition itself. Change you belief, not the thing you do not like. If you can do this, you will notice a shift in your reality towards perfection, rightness, ease, and more acceptance.
With our love,
We are Joshua
Curious for more insights? Here’s where you can find The Teachings of Joshua on social media:
Twitter – @JoshuaTeachings
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/teachingsofj...
Instagram – @joshuateachings
Website – http://www.theteachingsofjoshua.com
Gary has also written a wealth of material to share the insights of Joshua. All of these books can be found on Amazon:
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October 2, 2018
Why Novels NEED Social and Cultural References…
I am about to tackle a subject smack bang in the middle of Marmite territory. But sometimes these things just have to be done, especially in our current world climate; a pivotal time when understanding, open-mindedness and love are the only driving force behind positive change.
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As an author, one thing I love to do is to lace my books with a healthy dusting of social and cultural references – a little regional lingo here, a mention of a national rock star/cake/TV programme/dish/event/attraction or two there. Without them, my stories would be floppy, meaningless, wooden and hollow – and for want of a better word, pretty goddamn BORING.
I’m not for one minute saying that social and cultural references are a prerequisite for every novel. Sometimes they aren’t, and sometimes we can definitely overdo them – the line is fine, after all. But from the sensational psychological thrillers of S.E Lynes, through to the riveting romcoms of Julie Caplin, some of the very best British books include them. And yes, the British part there is intentional. I’ll get to that bit in a wee while… (shucks, now I’m starting to sound Scottish).
Social and cultural hints paint a unique portrait of the times.
All too often we’re taught not to ‘age’ our stories, not to ‘date’ our writing, not to alienate our audience so that our book might also ‘break into Europe and America’. Who exactly made up this crock of shit iron rule? I, for one, would like to have a word with them over a Great British afternoon tea at 4pm on the dot.
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I jest.
But not on the rule-breaking bit. Because if we’re not writing primarily for ourselves and the joy of our craft, we may as well not bother.
This outlandish ‘pearl of wisdom’ is one we writers are all infinitely better off without. How else do we learn of other cultures, how else do we garner respect, infuse ourselves with tolerance and open-mindedness? And how else does a flippin’ historical novel ever come to pass?
I lose count of the amount of (in particular) U.S. based novels that talk of actors I have never heard of from TV channels to which I have no access, Spanx and Smores. But that’s okay and that’s fine and that’s perfectly normal. I’m good with it. It never detracts from the story, simply adds to the flavour. In the same way, I wouldn’t expect an American author to cut out the state-isms, to never mention a country song, to quit referring to Walmart, to use the words ‘colour/rubbish and dummy’.
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Our cultures and the societies within them are what make us humanity. We are a rich melting pot of diversity, and critiquing a book because it bucks the all-too-oft sterile, mainstream trend of box ticking and comfort zones and neutrality, is frankly short bloody sighted.
There I have said it.
Although I can only count the number of times on two hands that I have been critiqued *mainly, I have to say, by U.S readers* for making my books ‘too British’, ‘too European’, or a novel that warranted nothing short of fifty trips to the Wikipedia page, peppering my stories with culture and important tidbits of social history, is not something I plan to stop any time soon.
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Anthropology needs us to chart where we are. Entire languages have been lost in this way, deemed as ‘dead’ and irrelevant; religions are belittled this way, heck… I’m only going to come right out and say something even louder on the back on that, too: entire wars begin this way.
All of which may sound ridiculously mountain-out-of-molehill-esque, but acceptance begins at home… in our books and magazines and newspapers, on our TV screens, in our local cafes/supermarkets/schools/streets. An attack on a book for being ‘too African/Australian/Icelandic/Japanese/Russian/Polish/American/British/Welsh/French…’ is an attack on a nation, an attack on an identity.
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We can dress it up every which way we like, but the seeds of racism are the seeds of racism, no matter how subtle they may seem.
So next time you pick up a book and come across these regional and national iced gems of tradition and ritual, thank your lucky stars you are now armed with something which might help you win a pub quiz… or University Challenge (oops, there she goes again!). Failing that, read the blurb, understand what you are buying into, or just stop reading altogether if the intricacies of a romance set in North Carolina/a romcom based in Melbourne/a thriller situated in Hull/a spot of magical realism on Spain’s Costa del Sol doesn’t float your boat.
One thing all of us have in common, in spite of our differences, is way too many other books waiting to be devoured in our To Be Read pile.
September 28, 2018
T.E. Taylor’s ‘Revolution Day’
Hello, Isabella, many thanks for inviting me onto your blog today!
I’m having a little promo for my novel Revolution Day, the e-book of which is reduced to £/$/€ 0.99 for a short period. It’s a political thriller about an ageing Latin American dictator, Carlos Almanzor, who is starting to lose his grip as his vice-president, Manuel, plots against him. Meanwhile, his estranged wife, Juanita, is writing a memoir of Carlos’s regime and their marriage. As Manuel makes his move for power, she and others close to Carlos will find themselves unwitting participants in his plans.
In this short excerpt, Juanita recalls the moment of triumph following the chaotic events which brought Carlos to power – and also precipitated the start of their relationship.
The cliché has it that power is the ultimate aphrodisiac, and I suppose many people have interpreted what happened between me and Carlos in that way. But I have lived with power for decades, and it is a cold, soulless, sexless thing. I watched it take possession of Carlos and turn him into an instrument of itself, slowly obliterating whatever I had come to love in him.
No, it was not power that drew me to him on that day, but something purer, nobler in him. It was there in those bewildering moments in the alley, when it told him what needed to be done; it turned this introverted bureaucrat into a man of action, a leader of men. It strengthened his limbs and sharpened his mind, it caused passionate speeches to flow spontaneously from him, with an effortless eloquence that he never achieved in countless hours of pouring over drafts. And it lived on, in quieter form, after that day, sustaining him and guiding him through those first fraught months and years of his presidency. It was as if some other, greater self had slept within him and stirred itself to meet the crisis.
I looked across at him, as we stood on the balcony of the presidential palace for the first time and basked in the endless cheering of the crowd. I held his hand, and he turned towards me. It was the same familiar, unexceptional face that I had seen almost every day for years, and taken little notice of, but now I was overwhelmed by a surge of love and desire and happiness. I felt that, just as he had come upon his moment of destiny, mine too had now arrived. There was no stopping me. I kissed him, passionately, on the lips. When we separated, he looked surprised, but made no attempt to remove my arm from his waist. There was redoubled cheering from the crowd, then we kissed again. Someone brought champagne out. Angel did the racing driver thing, shaking a bottle and spraying the crowd. He, Pablo and even Manuel rapidly got very drunk. But not Carlos, and not me. We drank a little, enough to put an extra shine on the day, not that any was needed, but no more. We had things to do, the two of us. After two or three hours of joyous celebration, Carlos was still composed enough to make a final speech to the crowd, asking them to go to their homes and to return in the morning, telling them to remember this day for the rest of their lives. And slowly, obediently, they drifted away. The boys staggered into the palace, where someone found them a lounge with a bar in it. Carlos and I spoke to the domestic staff, who had been waiting patiently for us for a long time, informed them that we were tired, and were shown to the presidential bedroom. It did not occur to them to ask whether we wanted separate rooms – they had no doubt seen us together on the balcony – and I was not about to correct their mistake ….
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You can find out more about Revolution Day here: http://www.tetaylor.co.uk/revday
Tim ‘T.E.’ Taylor was born in Stoke-on-Trent and now lives in Meltham, near Huddersfield, with his wife Rosa. He spent a number of years in the civil service before leaving in 2011 to spend more time writing. Tim now divides his time between creative writing, academic research, and part-time teaching in ethics at Leeds University.
Tim’s first novel, Zeus of Ithome, is set in Ancient Greece and follows the real-life struggle of the Messenian people to free themselves from Sparta. His second, Revolution Day, is about an ageing Latin American dictator who is clinging to power as his vice-president plots against him. As well as fiction, Tim writes poetry, and has won prizes for both poems and short stories. He also plays the guitar and a bit of piano, and likes to walk up hills.
September 24, 2018
Mystery Solved: Kale Soup in Joan Livingston’s Series…
The one and only Joan Livingston joins me on the blog today. I’m a BIG foodie (which is hardly a secret!) and having read – and fallen in love with – Chasing The Case, the first book in Joan’s brilliant mystery series, I just had to know if Isabel Long’s kale soup would be putting in another appearance in Redneck’s Revenge…
Thank you, Joan for spilling the (white) beans:
Growing up, kale soup or Caldo Verde was a staple in my family’s household. It’s the same for Isabel Long, the protagonist of my mystery series. She and I are of Portuguese descent, and it’s one of the dishes of our people. In fact, it is the number one food mentioned — after bar fare — in Chasing the Case and the newest, Redneck’s Revenge.
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Caldo Verde is one of those stick-to-your-ribs soups— kale, potatoes, white beans if you like them, sausage if you eat them. All you need is some good hearty bread. And it can last days as long as you refrigerate it.
And now that Isabel’s 92-year-old mother — her ‘Watson’ — lives with her, she eats a lot of it at least during the cold weather months.
Here Isabel talks about it in Chasing the Case:
The kitchen smells like kale soup. Ma’s been busy. Long before kale became the foodie thing to eat, we Portagees ate the green. No kale salads for us. No kale smoothies. We cook the kale to death in soup with white beans, potatoes, chorizo pork sausage, and cubed beef. That’s the way my mother makes Caldo Verde, and we eat it three days in a row. The soup only gets better, well, as long as it’s refrigerated. Being one of those natural food nuts who prefers not to eat red meat, I skip the chunks of beef when I make the soup, and if I have to use sausage, then it’s turkey or chicken instead of pork, which horrifies my meat-loving mother. I figure if it makes my ninety-two-year-old mother happy, I can eat a soup with pork sausage and beef cooked in it.
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Kale soup is not haute cuisine, but the food of working people.
Here’s an excerpt from Redneck’s Revenge:
Ma moved in with me last year because she was tired of living alone. I was alone, too, after my Sam died. Our three kids, Ruth, Matt, and Alex, are out of the house although they don’t live too far from me. It’s worked out well with Ma. She’s a fun companion. Who would have thought when I was younger and wilder? She’s a good cook, and like the fine Portuguese woman she is, she keeps me in kale soup, a staple of our people. Yes, Long is my married name. Ferreira is the name I got at birth.
Here’s a family legend: My grandmother, Angela, ate kale soup every day. If so, it may account for her longevity. She lived to be in her 90s and strong nearly to the end.
Yes, I make kale soup at home during the cold weather months. When I had a garden, I made sure I grew enough kale, and if I was lucky it lasted almost to winter. I even taught my husband, who is not Portuguese, how to make it.
There are times, when I’m not eating meat, I don’t add sausage, or I use a spicy poultry sausage. I add white beans (from the can). Other cooks don’t. I’ve even seen recipes that use chicken. I am not the kind of cook who follows recipes, except when I bake a cake. Besides, the original calls for a certain cabbage that isn’t available in the U.S. So kale — or collards, I suppose — it is.
Here’s how I make it. Because it contains white beans and potatoes, the broth gets thicker every meal it was served.
Kale Soup or Caldo Verde
Serves 6-8 people
1 pound kale, washed carefully, chopped
2 quarts soup stock
6 ounces chourico pork, turkey or chicken sausage (any spicy sausage), thickly sliced
3 large potatoes, cut in chunks
1 can white beans
1 large onion, chopped
1 large garlic clove, minced
1-2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Cilantro, chopped
Sauté onion and garlic in olive oil until they are translucent. Add the soup stock, kale, potatoes, sausage, and the can of beans. Bring to a boil, lower, and then simmer an hour. Add salt and pepper to taste. Ladle into bowls and garnish with minced cilantro. Serve with chunks of good bread.
Optional: Add browned stewing beef; half pound should do it. Or a half cabbage cut into wedges.
ISABEL LONG’S SECOND CRIME MYSTERY
REDNECK’S REVENGE
Her next case. She’s in it for good.
Isabel Long is in a funk months after solving her first case. Her relationship with the Rooster Bar’s owner is over, but no surprise there since his sister turned out to be the killer. Then cops say she must work for a licensed P.I. before working solo.
Encouraged by her Watson — her 92-year-old mother — Isabel snaps out of it by hooking up with a P.I. and finding a new case.
The official ruling is Chet Waters, an ornery so-and-so, was passed out when his house caught fire. His daughter, who inherited the junkyard, believes he was murdered. Topping the list of suspects are dangerous drug-dealing brothers, a rival junkyard owner, and an ex-husband.
Could the man’s death simply be a case of redneck’s revenge? Isabel is about to find out.
Joan Livingston Bio:
Joan Livingston is the author of novels for adult and young readers. Redneck’s Revenge, published by Crooked Cat Books, is the second in the mystery series featuring Isabel Long, a longtime journalist who becomes an amateur P.I. The first is Chasing the Case.
An award-winning journalist, she started as a reporter covering the hilltowns of Western Massachusetts. She was an editor, columnist, and most recently the managing editor of The Taos News, which won numerous state and national awards during her tenure.
After eleven years in Northern New Mexico, she returned to rural Western Massachusetts, which is the setting of much of her adult fiction, including the Isabel Long series.
Joan Livingston on social media:
Website: www.joanlivingston.net.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/JoanLivingstonAuthor/
Twitter: @joanlivingston
Instagram: www.Instagram.com/JoanLivingston_Author
Goodreads: www.Goodreads.com/Joan_Livingston
Book links to Chasing the Case and Redneck’s Revenge:
http://mybook.to/chasingthecase
http://mybook.to/rednecksrevenge
September 18, 2018
An Excerpt from Costa del Churros
Sometimes it’s nice to have a little peep inside a book before we commit to buy.
De nada!
And since Costa del Churros is a story with a feminist ‘eat what you want’ message at its heart, I can think of no better snippet than the following from Chapter Twelve, where we join Carmen for her rather unconventional flamenco class, after she has more or less force fed her new recruits on raciones of churros con chocolate:
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“My mother’s life was very restricted,” Carmen said with a frown. “Franco’s Spain was all about hypermasculinity and-“
“Come again?” said Julia.
“I mean the stereotyping of the male as the strong, powerful, provider of the family; the hunter-gatherer, if you will.”
“How very sexist!” Even Belinda was giving her full attention now.
“Indeed,” Carmen looked semi-delighted to have finally met Belinda on her wave length. “The only saving grace was that he didn’t touch flamenco, but women were so downgraded, so pigeonholed as to what they could and couldn’t do. I’m not one to dwell on the past; raking it up doesn’t solve a thing.” She secured the artificial black flower that held her mass of waves in place at the side of her head, pausing for thought before carrying on. “But having heard my mother’s story… the way she had to make a choice between playing housewife in Spain… or taking the biggest risk of her life by following the path of her heart all the way to London to become a lawyer – in those days it was nothing more than an impossible, fanciful dream for a woman in Andalusia – perhaps now you can see where my earlier words about the churros con chocolate came from?”
Carmen stopped for a while once again to reflect, bringing her hand to her chin in a portrait of earnest…
…”The very moment we let down our guard so the ordinary day-to-day nuances get swept beneath the carpet; the assumption that a woman should look a certain way, eat certain things, deprive herself of certain others, have a certain job, stay at home to look after the kids, cook the meals, mop the floors… well, this is where it all starts. You may as well throw your destinies out with the potato peelings.”
Laura had to shift her gaze then,a rush of guilt crept over her for the very female cleaner who visited her house every other day.
“And it’s also where the drive for change can start,” Carmen went on, “when we begin to question, why? Why are we behaving like this, why are we following this prescribed set of rules like automated robots? In the end, this is the choice my mother made: she walked away from what was expected of her: keeping a house spic and span… just so the dust could fall half an hour later and she’d be repeating the same thankless process over and over again. There is more to life: fact,” Carmen accentuated her point with a heel dig.
“Please tell us more, Carmen.”
On the other hand, Laura felt genuinely humbled to find herself in this situation, seated before such a fountain of knowledge; a woman who had clearly been inspired to help change other females’ lives.
“It all boils down the a simple choice in the end, Laura, Julia, Belinda, Georgina: Do you want the future generations to be handed down the Sleeping Beauty version of events, or do you want to write a new one? It’s all too easy for minutes to turn into hours, hours to turn into days, and days to turn into weeks, months, a year, five years, a decade, a lifetime. Live your dreams. Embody them. Embrace them. Start now. We only ever have now. Tomorrow never truly arrives, for when it does, it’s merely a brand new now all over again.”
“Hey, you could make one of those Facebook memes out of that quote!” said Liam, covering his face at the realisation he was the only male in the room as his American accent reverberated around the four walls.
“Be our guest,” Carmen began to singsong Disney’s Beauty and the Beast tune with a flick of her invisible duster, an undoubted nod to Walt and Co for their fuchsia pink-ing of girls and navy-blueing of boys…”
COSTA DEL CHURROS, Isabella May
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Hungry for more?
Here’s the all important Amazon buying link: mybook.to/costadelchurros
September 11, 2018
From Misfit to Author…
I’m a perfect anomaly.
It took me a while *read decades* to figure that one out. But I am imperfectly perfect. You see, I have never quite fit in. Throw me a context and I’ll (usually) be the odd one out. From taste in Art through to taste in Zen. At least third from last to be picked for the school sports team (despite being nifty with the hockey stick), in the same way I’d be the third to last person on the Earth you’d succeed to drag to a Saturday night viewing of a talent show featuring Cowell and co.
I’m just not textbook enough for the mainstream.
Everyone’s reading ‘Eleanor Oliphant…’/watching Game of Thrones/eating Smores/listening to Ed Sheeran. I know it’ll be a fabulous read/view/munch (I’ll stop there because I cannot pretend not to loathe the lovely redhead’s aptly titled ballad ‘Perfect’; it’s the cheesiest assault to the eardrums in a long while… and my children love to chase me around the house with it on a variety of gadgets) but I have an inbuilt inclination to refuse to be the sheep of conformity.
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Maybe – actually, who am I kidding – for sure, this is (at least in part) because I grew up on the leylines of Glastonbury. Diversity is in my soul, variety courses through my veins, the festival has also made me an unwavering rock chick.
But why would you have the bog standard Chocolate Fudge Cake when you can have the Brownie topped with a layer of Cheesecake, topped with a layer of whipped Raspberry Cream (actually, that’s a recipe out of my Hummingbird Bakery Cookbook)?
And why holiday in the same old resort in Mallorca year after year when you can Riad it up in Morocco/ride the horses of Mongolia/trek the desert of Mali?
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I think being cast aside as the buckled jigsaw piece is a common thread for many of us creatives. From musicians to poets, screenwriters to sculptors, authors to potters; standing out from the crowd, unintentionally finding ourselves set apart, is one of the quickest ways we find our unique voices in the world.
But it’s a rare one of us who found the journey to get here plain sailing.
I first realised I was ‘different’ at high school…
Years of emotional bullying in the playground over my appearance (think snooker table sized spots, big eyebrows now somewhat hilariously in fashion, oily skin – ha, I now have very few wrinkles – and a pout the Botox brigade would also be proud of, coupled with years of insecurity and self-doubt. All of which certainly cracked me open time and time again, so that the light could get in; so that I could endlessly put myself back together – hopefully a little more stylishly than Humpty might have. And actually I’m more than grateful for it all. For without those experiences of being shunned, I’d never have the strength and the tenacity to stand alone, to rely on myself when nobody else was there to back me up, to be the authentic me. I’d never have dared put one foot in front of the other on the long path to become an author.
It really is as simple as that. My unconventionality made me.
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And ironically enough, Ed Sheeran – and many of his artistic pals who have equally soared to the stratosphere – are classic examples of this!
When you don’t have the fear of tarnishing the perfect childhood/school yearbook, it’s a gazillion times easier not to care about the peanut gallery: you never pleased most of them in the first place. There’s nothing to lose, no pedestal to fall from. All of which means it’s easier to take a risk, to uncover your talents, to come out of the closet of modesty, to unleash your hidden flair; the one they didn’t have an inkling you possess. The underdog has no record to maintain, after all. Nobody is waiting for them at the finish line – at least not until it becomes obvious they might succeed… in which case waiting to clink glasses with that bottle of Bolly is suddenly oh, so bang on trend!
We also curate a burning desire.
An unwavering belief in our ultimate destination. Not to prove to others that we’re better than their false and unfair impressions of us, but to prove it to ourselves. And to make art, we don’t need anybody’s approval. This is the greatest thing of all.
I believe that all of us creatives are perfect anomalies. And that’s one of the wonders of this career: meeting them, sharing with them, throwing ideas about and working with them. It’s an honour and a privilege. I learn so much from my colleagues… even if we don’t sit in the same ‘office’.
And I’ve learnt that it really does take a warrior to put their book/frame/movie/clothing line/music/poetry/mural/cake range out there in the world; to open themselves up to the critique and the backlash of all those who ‘could do it better’.
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Thankfully our many routes to get here – no matter whether here is big time, medium time, or, like most of us… small! – have equipped us with all of the tools.
I’ve given you a glimpse of the seeds that sprouted, bloomed (and will hopefully blossom!) into my path, how has your misfit past shaped your journey so far…?
September 6, 2018
Why You Should See Santiago de Compostela!
Barcelona, Madrid, Granada, Seville.
They’re the usual suspects when we think about a city break to Spain. But off the beaten track (a little… okay, quite a lot) and over in the top left hand corner of the country to be precise, lies the uniquely spiritual, magical and religious city of Santiago de Compostela. This city hums to its own distinctive beat. And if you haven’t added it to your travel wish list yet (I loathe the term bucket list… soooooo mainstream), now’s absolutely the time to do it.
Why?
Well, picture the scene. Hundreds of hikers and friends meeting in Santiago’s middle (aka. the iconic cathedral square), torn between gazing up at the allure of one of the world’s most seductive buildings… and filming their videos of ‘we-made-it!’ after their mammoth trek, amidst jubilation and tears. The atmosphere is not only electric but spreads like wildfire. Even if you are not religious, there’s something deeply moving about this place and you could sit and soak it up for hours. Indeed, you don’t need to be a pilgrim – at least not in the traditional sense – to make this journey, whether you come by foot across the infamous Camino de Santiago (or by car, like we did).
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Santiago is for all.
But I’m not going to pretend to be a fan of its… erm… *dried* almond cake… and that’s coming from a cake connoisseur!
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Still, you could always have one of these instead:
I present to you arroz con leche (rice pudding) and blueberry gelato. I’m also an ice cream connoisseur and trust me: this stuff is up there with the VERY best. Head to Bico de Xeado just a few streets from the main square for the creamiest artisan Galician ice cream I imagine exists…
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And if you don’t have a sweet tooth in your mouth, fear not, for the medieval serpentine twists and turns surrounding the oldest parts of the city, are absolutely lined with pulperias, seafood joints and cafes. Everyone is catered for.
I can’t pretend we saw everything.
We really didn’t!
This was a day trip from our seaside holiday villa down the road… a day trip with two non-culture vultures in tow: our seven-year-old boy and eleven-year-old girl. So imagine my delight when there was a super cool playground at the top of the underground car park… and then imagine my further delight when, after copious grunts and whines, we chanced upon the last four spaces on a sightseeing train (in total juxtaposition with the buildings in the main square, but hey, sometimes you have to take the path of least resistance.).
And yet our whistle-stop hour long tour of the city turned out to be more than our saving grace.
1: It entertained the children (especially because seated in front of us were a group of elderly tourists who yelled a giddy ‘wheeee’ every time we chugged over a bump… or the driver couldn’t find the brakes down a 50% gradient hill).
2: It threatened to rain at any minute. Santiago’s weather system is unpredictable to say the least: the train had waterproof canopies.
3: It was, in all honesty, a bit too much walking to accomplish in the approx four hours we predicted the kids would let us get away with.
4: We got a glimpse of everything – the convent buildings, the churches, the university, the medieval city streets, the art galleries and parks – whetting our adult appetites to return again… sans enfants.
6: All of this for around 20 Euros.
What else can I tell you about the city when we only scratched the surface?
Not a lot… but I hope this carrot dangle piques your curiosity. It’s all too easy to go to the obvious places. I mean, I’d heard of just one friend who’d visited Santiago prior to our trip. Just one!
And I do have a lot of friends.
Trying something new, be it a destination, a food, a brand new route to work, a hobby or a piece of music, adds to the fabric of our lives; opens our minds, lights up our own caminos. Maybe not in the most obvious way. But I think, a little like Santiago’s magical personality, that’s the beauty of the unexpected detours on our lives’ journeys…
August 22, 2018
How to Deal With Publishing Rejection…
Last week when my super-polished and all things enticing manuscript (at least I thought so) was rejected by one of the UK’s biggest publishers, I felt like the biggest failure. The sorry-but-not-for-us email had just as well have read:
YOU ARE SO CRAP.
NO, REALLY YOU ARE!
HOW COULD YOU EVEN THINK YOU’D STAND A CHANCE WITH THE LIKES OF US?
GIVE UP ALREADY.
YOU’LL NEVER BE ONE OF THE CHOSEN FEW…
GO BACK TO THE DAY JOB AND DON’T YOU DARE PASS GO!
Because honestly, no matter the plethora of niceties blurring my (almost) tear-stained eyes about my ‘interesting premise’ and ‘evident hard work’, these hideous words flashed out before me from nowhere in lurid neon green.
I wasn’t good enough.
More than likely I just wasn’t a fit for the publisher’s list. More than likely they prefer their romcoms a little more predictable and a lot less quirky. More than likely they simply weren’t willing – or able – to take a punt on a story that veered off the beaten track and dared to be different.
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All of which is fair enough… although it does bring us full circle to the oft unfathomable theme of subjectivity – aka. one editor/one team making the firm and final decision on the type of reading material that’s going to be readily available to the masses in several seasons time.
Because as a reading audience (in the UK alone), we are nothing if diverse. Our High Street bookshops need and deserve richer pickings… not just the TV book club endorsed titles, not just the safe as houses fiction that will make a fast buck – especially if it’s been written (or ‘written’) by a celeb.
Yet stories come in all shapes and sizes, not just those that tick the boxes of a budget’s spreadsheet.
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I digress.
I took to Twitter and virtual cried
The support was soothing and endless and is still ongoing. I DO love the bookworms of Twitter. And on a Law of Attraction note, all of this ‘just happened’ to coincide with a hashtag that came into fruition the very next day #ShareYourRejections
*If you haven’t read any of the inspirational stories that were trending under those three words last week… I implore you: Do it now!*
But for all that, I swear many of my fellow authors would have cringed, covered ears and eyes and felt glad they had the innate ability to keep a stiffer upper lip in these shock to the system situations; the ones that hit us all from time to time (or more accurately wallop us in the solar plexus). Like the storyteller within, I though, am unable to keep a secret. At least not this kind of secret. I also think it helps others – quite possibly going through the same thing right now – to know they are not alone, to come out in the open, get naked (in the literal sense) and wail from the rooftops.
Goddamit, it’s cathartic if nothing else.
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I guess I got a little ahead of myself
I’m an all or nothing girl in everything I do, in every aspect of my life. And I see this writing gig and all it entails as my career, not a hobby to embellish a morning with a cup of coffee (or three) in a quaint cafe whilst mulling over the macarons, but my true path in life.
How am I qualified to know this?
Well, I spent fifteen years selling foreign rights for children’s books in forty-five plus languages, I have also had a short stint as a boutique *read VERY boutique* literary agent. I have also co-founded and written hundreds of articles for a popular online women’s magazine.
In short, I’ve spent the earlier years of my professional life hiding behind (the admittedly) beautiful words of others, yearning yet petrified to get my own out there.
Finally, I took the plunge (repping my pen named self via my teeny weeny one-woman agency), and finally this led to three works of fantastical foodie fiction being published with my current publisher (who I love very much, and am eternally grateful to for the platform they have given me).
But now it’s time for new adventures.
Call me a dreamer, call me a Pollyanna, but my vision is bookshops and airports and optioning for movies and the whole all-singing and dancing kit and caboodle. Because why in the hell not?
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Yes. I know the stats.
I’ve worked the other side of the industry’s selective fence, remember?
I know I am neither Matt Haig nor Dan Brown, Mrs Gi Fletcher or the infamous and wonderful J.K. But I am ME and that is going to have to be enough. Because I do have something unique to offer – as it happens.
YOU have something unique to offer.
WE have something unique to offer.
And the key to our longed for successes can only be in remembering this every single moment of every single day, even the doubt-fueled ones. For we are ALL made of stars, not just the chosen few.
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My writing is eloquently romcom with a foodie and magical thread. It has its definite place and calling in a world full of doom and gloom. It uplifts, it entertains and it nourishes the stomach (as well as the soul) all in one ‘it-shouldn’t-work-but-somehow-it-does’ fell swoop. It often talks of Glastonbury (I grew up on the leylines and have a passion for injecting my hometown into more mainstream fiction!) and travel to magical lands. It leaves readers with questions swirling in their hearts and their minds.
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Okay, maybe I’m blowing my trumpet… a little. But if we’re not our own biggest fan (at moments, at least) how can we expect anybody else to plug into our words, and ultimately, buy them?
And when looked at through the filter of practicality, is what I am asking so very much?
“My breakthrough came after a ton of rejections. I was in Waterstones, feeling sorry for myself, looking at the 1000’s of books on the shelves. Imagining mine was there also. And realized I only wanted 1 space. Just one amongst thousands. It wasn’t a big ask. I wasn’t after the entire shop. Just one space about an inch wide and 7 inches tall. When I saw that, I could visualize it happening.”
This from the fast emerging talent that is Darren O’Sullivan, a psychological thriller author published by HQ, who I got the opportunity to interview earlier this year.
We have to go BIG… or go home.
So what then, can we do to feel better about our chances after that highly sought after rejection has reared its ugly (and let’s face it… puzzling) head?
One thing and one thing only:
ACT AS IF
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-Keep writing
-Visualise the book deal
-Have imaginary phone calls with agents and publishers
-Draw the cover of your book on an A4 sheet of paper, colour it in with felt tip pens and pin it to your wardrobe. *I swear by this tip in particular, it’s a powerful message and it’s the one thing I did daily in the run up to my debut novel being published!*
-Be an athlete (runners often use this approach, consistently visualising every second of their race months before their golden trainers ever leave the starting blocks) and see yourself signing that contract/reading that YES email out loud amidst screams and popping champagne corks/receiving that award on the stage.
If I sound like I’ve lost the plot, bear with…
The above is not only spiritual, but a scientifically proven method of getting back what we give out: In Quantum Physics terms, The Universe is basically a giant mirror reflecting back our thoughts and beliefs, which can be measured as energy. And that long list of rejections transforming slowly but surely to success stories listed under the #ShareYourRejections hashtag is testament to that: the absolute knowing by each and every one of those writers that one day, somehow, against all the odds their books would break through.
Some of these authors relay tales of the very same agency and the very same agent signing their book up years later. Others got lucky after their 200th NO. The point is they refused to let the speed bumps stop them, they refused to quit.
So use the critique (and laughter, as per J.K.’s suggestion below!) of your naysayers as rocket fuel, turn it around, act when inspired to submit… and never stop. Brush off their subjectivity as you would a petulant wasp. Know that if you can see it in your mind’s eye, you’ll damn well bring that image to fruition.
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Then watch out for the twigs (signs of land) as you redirect your boat (manuscript)… and, most importantly, pass the message on. Never forget to share your own success stories with others.
There are enough pieces of the ever-expanding pie for ALL of us.
