BOOK EXTRACT NANOWRIMO: JUST THE ECHO OF A SIGH

10 December 2011

I have published my NaNoWriMo novel Just the Echo of a Sigh on Lulu. An extract from the book appears below.

JUST THE ECHO OF A SIGH by JEAN COLLEN

 

30 November 2011

I finished my novel today and have submitted it  to NANOWRIMO. I managed to write 52,424 words during the month of November. It was certainly a very good exercise in discipline. I have had ideas for this novel floating around in my mind for some time, but this was the first time that I made a determined effort to form them into a story. There is probably quite a lot of work still to be done on it before it is fit for public consumption but it certainly gave me some satisfaction to finish it in time and have it validated earlier today.

The synopsis of the novel is as follows: This novel traces the life and career of singing luminary, Malcolm Craig. He is a great tenor and has success in his career, but his private life is far from tranquil. The book returns to earlier days and traces the course of his life from the 1920s on.

Nanowrimo. Completion of "Just the Echo of a Sigh".

15 November 2011

I am halfway through the month and have managed to write 34664 words of the novel, Just The Echo of a Sigh. Here is an extract from the beginning of the novel.

PROLOGUE

"Your tiny hand is frozen, let me warm it into mine.."

Malcolm Craig cast his eyes over the first few rows of the audience in St Mary's Church Hall.  There were few signs of the latest liberated fashions of the twenties amongst this staid middle-aged crowd, clad in sombre colours. The only vanity Malcolm noticed was that most of the ladies were sporting cumbersome hats, which blocked the view of the stage to those seated behind them. Not many flappers, with bobbed hair and close-fitting cloche hats, to be found here. He was reaching the climax of the aria from La Bohème when he caught sight of Felicity at last. She was further back than he had expected, seated demurely between her stern father and her scrawny twittery mother.

Malcolm was going to London the following week to begin rehearsals for the new season of the touring King's Opera Company. Despite his outstanding voice, his singing would be confined to the chorus, with only the occasional small role to fulfil, and although he would be given leading parts to understudy it was unlikely that any of the principals would be taken ill and give him the chance to substitute for them.

He took the last note of the aria in a delicate falsetto, and the audience erupted into cheers for Mr and Mrs Craig's gifted son. He acknowledged the applause gracefully and drew his accompanist, his old Church organist and choirmaster, who had known Malcolm since his early days as a mellifluous boy alto, forward to receive his share of appreciation for the performance. He looked directly at Felicity and was gratified to notice that she was applauding wildly. With the lights up, he could see that her face was flushed and her eyes were shining. She was aglow with the unaccustomed excitement of the occasion. All this applause was for her young man who had acquitted himself beyond everyone's expectations in his solo recital.

Tea would be served after the concert. Already the Church ladies were gathering in the hall kitchen, competing with the applause as they clattered the cups and saucers into position on the long trestle tables. The last thing Malcolm wanted to do was to make polite conversation with Felicity and her parents over a cup of weak lukewarm tea and a slice of dry seed cake. He wanted Felicity to himself, to hold her tightly in his arms and watch her rejoice in his good fortune. But he knew he would have to break the news of his change of career to everyone first. He joined his parents and his older brothers and sisters, as they waited for the tea to be served.

"That was wonderful, Malcolm," said his mother proudly. 'You're as good as a real professional now. It was wonderful of you to sing for your old friends at St Mary's."

His father growled in agreement and his sisters and brothers crowded round him, eager to be associated with their talented and attractive young brother, who towered above his parents and his siblings.

"Glad you all enjoyed it," he replied nonchalantly. "But I could do with more than tea after that lot!"

The vicar creaked up the stairs to the hall stage during the tea. He called authoritatively for silence so that he might give his prepared vote of thanks to Malcolm. He announced triumphantly that the Church had raised a considerable amount towards the Organ Fund from the proceeds of the concert. Gloved hands applauded warmly, if mutely, and Malcolm smiled modestly, acknowledging the gratitude of the congregation.

Malcolm's old school mates approached him diffidently. When they were younger they had been his boon companions, cheering themselves hoarse in support of the local football team, but now his gift set him apart, although he himself had not changed for he had always been able to sing.

He reached Felicity at last, relieved to see that her parents were momentarily away from her, doing their duty by mingling with their middle-aged, middle class companions.

"That was beautiful, Malcolm," Felicity whispered, as he reached for her hand, warm through her glove, quite unlike the tiny hand of his recent aria. "My stomach was turning over with excitement when I listened to you. Were you singing just for me?"

"Always for you, darling," he replied hoarsely.

Her red hair shone like a bright cap on her well-shaped head. She looked pretty, pert and modern with her new hairstyle, but Malcolm regretted the loss of her unruly curls, which she had pinned up with pretty tortoiseshell clasps. On the few occasions they had managed to be alone together he had delighted in freeing her hair from the clasps and running his hands through the luxuriant curls as he held her close.

CHAPTER ONE

Malcolm had met Felicity Gregory when they spent several years in the same class at Parsons Road Infant School. Felicity was a few weeks older than him, the daughter of a local teacher. She was a confident little girl with green eyes and a shock of curly red hair which her mother struggled every day to tame into two tight, stout, beribboned plaits before Felicity set off for school with her satchel over her shoulder. She was the opposite of her dull conventional father, whose two claims to fame were that he had been the first member of his family to complete a Master's degree at Cambridge and had written the words of the school song at the newly established school in Aston, where he would eventually become headmaster.

As a seven-year old, Malcolm was the leading light in St Mary's Church choir, despite the choir master's disapproval of putting one chorister ahead of the others, especially a seven-year old who was far from perfect in other ways. But Malcolm had such a remarkable voice and was musically advanced far beyond his years, so Dr Bernard found it difficult to do anything else but put him forward. Two years later, Dr Bernard reluctantly suggested to Malcolm's parents that Malcolm should do a voice test for one of the great cathedrals, where he would receive free education and excellent training in music and choral singing. At the age of nine, Malcolm was accepted and became head chorister in his last year there, just before his beautiful boy's alto voice broke.

Rather sadly Malcolm was forced to return to war-torn Birmingham after spending four years at the Cathedral. By that time Malcolm had set his heart on making singing his career, but his parents were unhappy at this idea, fearing that he would not be successful enough to make a living at singing. He was depressed at not being able to do more than croak out a tune, and waited impatiently for three anxious years to see whether he would still have an exceptional adult voice.

The Craig's eldest son, Edgar had completed his hairdressing apprenticeship in Brighton before the war, and, after a stint in the forces, had joined his father in his business and would eventually take over from him. Their middle son Frank was still in the navy, but was set to do his board exams in accountancy after the war ended. Without consulting Malcolm, the Craig's decided to send Malcolm to do a commercial course in preparation for the steady and lucrative career of chartered accountant they planned for him.

"Your brother will be doing his board exams when the war is over and he's discharged from the navy, and soon you'll be able to follow the same path," Malcolm's father told him. "Of course you can always sing in your spare time. You can join the Church choir again and sing in the local operatic society, but accountancy is a good steady profession. You and Frank could go into partnership together once you've finished your articles and had some solid experience with a reputable firm. I've spoken to Mr Gregory. He's agreed to take you for the commercial course now your voice has broken."

Malcolm was not a rebellious boy and went along with his father's wishes, hoping that if he was as good a singer as he prayed he might become after the three years of enforced silence ordered by his Cathedral choir master, one day he could still become a professional singer despite the dreary plans his father had made for his future.  The very idea of singing in the local choir again after he had been head chorister at one of England's finest cathedrals, or joining the local amateur operatic society, composed of many middle-aged matrons and a few middle-aged men, made him shudder. He wasn't being big-headed but he knew that his voice was special and unless he could use it to the best of his ability his life would hardly be worth living.

He paid half-hearted attention to his studies in accountancy and related subjects, such as Spanish, which was regarded as an important language for commercial undertakings, and during the silent years while he waited impatiently for his adult voice to reveal itself, he whiled away his spare time playing goalie in the school football team, and shouting himself hoarse at West Brom or Aston Villa matches on Saturday afternoons. During those songless years his great consolation was to support the old team as avidly as he had done as a boy. He owed his first loyalty to the Baggies, the team his father and brothers supported, but he could not help but be fascinated at the superior prowess of the suave Sam Hardy, the brilliant Aston Villa goalie. He sometimes thought that if, by some miserable mistake of nature, he did not develop a good adult voice he could always consider football as a career and follow his idol as goalie at the Villa, but whatever happened he knew he could not bear to spend all his adult life balanced precariously upon an office stool totting up endless rows of figures and balancing books…