Authors Electric

Lear and daughters Choices narrow as I approach 90. I see across denial. I find that I must adjust, while struggling to preserve as much as possible of what I find most essential. I see why we ultra-oldsters disturb our juniors. It's not just individual disposition. We rattle their operative mythology. Yet I have no choice but to accept death's proximity -  no choice when I consider the alternative.  At the same time, I find that everyone needs some degree of denial. The feeling of immortality comes with consciousness.  As an outspoken critic of an 80-year-old President who mocks the aged and fakes youth, and for whom denial is a way of life, I don't like admitting to any degree of it.  But I try my best tot to admit my shortcomings. I'm not a felonious poser and sexual predator. I don't dye my hair, wear makeup and demand flattery from those around me. I continue to write, edit, and publish drafts of my latest novels, essays and short stories with more urgency, but...

 Image Credit:  Images created in Book Brush using Pixabay photos. AI images avoided. I don’t celebrate Halloween (much preferring the following day, All Saints Day) but I do have a soft spot for a well told ghost story.  My favourite is Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol (with The Muppet Christmas Carol being my favourite adaptation). I like the redemption theme with this marvellous story and that ghosts are used to bring about a change of heart in Scrooge. Ghosts don’t always have to be scary (though there are dark moments in that book which The Muppets, to their credit, don’t shy away from). I like ghost stories which make me think. One of mine was where a character hadn’t realised they were a ghost, were wondering where their family was, and needed another ghost to show them the truth.  I like stories which encourage empathy for characters and see no reason why ghost stories can’t contribute but, as with any tale, the ghost has to be in the “cast” of characters ...

  My dad, Feliks Krzewinski, at work as a display artist in London in 1960 Most people seem to prefer to do this after those concerned have died. Not so easy if your mother lives to 104, like someone I know. However, if you had a good relationship it’s not such a problem – it’s the things you’d like to get off your chest that’s the issue. My parents were elderly, 42 and 49 when I was born, and I was an only child. They both died over 40 years ago. Having a clear-out, I recently discovered a note I wrote after my first trip to Poland to visit my father’s relatives on my own. My mother was English, and after my father died the Polish side cut off all contact. Unbeknownst to me my mother, on her one and only trip abroad, she told my father’s relatives I considered myself to be entirely English, and didn’t want anything whatsoever to do with my Polish heritage. Many years later, out of the blue, I had a call from my cousin who was in the UK for a visit. I cried my eyes out with relie...

  You and I have never met. But I know at least two things about you. 1)  At some point in your life you've been in sudden trouble. Medical, financial, career, relationship. So you understand the assignment: you've got to stay focused and faithful, organized and calm, while your world seems to be swirling about you. 2) Whether you work from your smart phone or handwritten notebooks and planners, somehow you must find your own eye of the storm. Your way to keep your (bleep) together when the turmoil threatens to addle your brain and you don't even know where your keys are. Where the devil is that all-important link to your GoFundMe account? Where's the ID you'll need? Have you gone shopping but left your debit card at home? Where did you put that all-important number you got during a call on a bus? And so on. Friends, I'm with you. As a non-techno soul, my solution is grounded in hard copy. But you can tailor it simply, I'm sure, to your smart phone you adore...

Ann Davison arriving in New York Our holiday in America began in New York. I knew that the place I most wanted to see was the Hudson River. I’d read and re-read the last chapters of My Ship is So Small, Ann Davison’s funny and moving account of her arrival in Felicity Ann and the end of their record-setting voyage together. Desperate to find somewhere, anywhere, to tie up for the night, Ann accepts a tow from a fisherman, runs aground on a sunken barge and spends the night in a mysterious boat cemetery.  The following morning she sets out to sail the last few miles to 79th Street yacht basin. But it’s closed. Everyone tells her this is the only place for yachts. Where else can she go? Darkness is falling once again when a crew of Engineers take pity on her. ‘Why don’t you tie up with us at our place?’ ‘Why don’t I indeed, where are you?’ ‘Pier 75, the fireboat pier.’     So away they go together, moor for the night and settle down to some serious celebrating. T...

2011 version I first wrote Edge of Dreams way, way back. It was probably my third completed novel and the first that was realistically worth carrying on with! I think I posted a couple of months ago about my first novel I hand-wrote as a teenager? After that I wrote an otherworld fantasy that was also pretty dire (but again, I got to the end) and I can’t even find the dot-matrix print out or the old computer files, which were pre-Word and would probably be unreadable anyway.  So Edge wasn’t too bad. And I know I posted about the motivational aspect of this book a couple of months ago too, but stick with me - this isn't a complete regurgitation. I sat on it for a long time while life happened, then dusted it off and rewrote it a few times. This was the first novel I submitted to traditional publishers (indie publishing wasn’t a thing back then), and it did almost get picked up by Chicken House, failing at the last hurdle of the Acquisitions meeting. Still, it gave me a little confi...