Authors Electric

Margery Allingham on Mersea Island Very few people these days have read Margery Allingham’s first novel, Blackkerchief Dick , published in 1923 when she was aged 19. They are probably wise, though for the uber-Allingham nerd, there are definitely points of interest. But for anybody who writes fiction, its genesis is surely fascinating. The plot and characters for this first novel were, apparently, ‘given’ via a series of eight séances, initially undertaken by the Allingham family as a summer holiday pastime on Mersea Island in August 1921. From the first moment that I read through the slightly tired looking leaves of paper with transcription in capital letters and blunt pencil, that survive in Margery’s archive, I’ve felt convinced that here lies treasure for the literary psychologist.   The word séance probably makes this sound more occult than was intended. At its most basic level ‘playing the glass’ is a game.   A wineglass or tumbler is placed on a table and encircled ...

  It’s been a busy few days. Last week we visited a couple of castles, Linlithgow Palace first, most famous for its connection to Mary, Queen of Scots. My wife has had a fascination with Mary for as long as I’ve known her and the castle has been closed for the past few years for renovation work, so it was good to finally get there and soak up the atmosphere. As an aside, we also popped into the church that sits alongside, both for the stunning architecture and stained glass windows, and, for myself, to have a close look at the pipe organ they have – I’ve heard it in recordings of Bach and Widor, so it was good to see it in the flesh. Thursday was another train ride, over the Forth Rail Bride, to Aberdour, and have a look around the castle and gardens. This one will be familiar to anyone who’s watched Outlander, as it features as the Benedictine Monastery in the first series. One of the parts that really got me was the room with the painted ceiling. Yes, it’s faint, and...

June is National Crime Reading Month and we had a great time at West Barnes Library with Sam Frances and Rod Reynolds, talking about their female-led police detective books. Thanks to them for coming in and to the Friends of West Barnes Library who help me to organise the events. All Eyes On You  is the debut novel from Sam Frances, featuring DS Alice Washington. Sam describes the book as Bridget Jones meets Luther! Alice is a feisty and determined officer but still has the ability to majorly stuff up. Although it’s set in a fictional village in the UK, it’s not a cosy crime novel. Detective Casey Wray is back for a second outing in  Shatter Creek . The no-nonsense American cop is still dealing with police corruption on Long Island, as well as a shooting that disturbs the community. We talked about writing with different viewpoints and whether the authors are plotters, pantsers or plantsers! Rod tries to challenge himself with each book and maybe write it in a different way to...

Me: Write me a paragraph in the style of the crime author DJ Bennett  ChatGPT: Sure! D.J. Bennett is known for her gritty, atmospheric style, tight prose, and psychological depth, often weaving suspenseful plots with flawed but compelling protagonists. Here's a paragraph inspired by her tone and style:  The city breathed a low, oily fog that curled around the streetlamps and slid between the cracks in the pavement like something sentient. Detective Ava North leaned against the rusted rail of the overpass, cigarette forgotten in her fingers, eyes fixed on the pattern of blood just below—a smear like a dragged brushstroke, vivid against concrete. No witnesses, no weapon, just a girl with secrets stitched into her silence. And Ava, haunted by the same hunger that kept her up at night: the need to understand why people break, and how far they’ll go once they do.  Would you like me to write a few more paragraphs? Me: Yes, please  ChatGPT thinks for a few seconds and pr...

What I'm about to describe is not my usual way of editing and certainly not particularly recommended! Still, it seems to have worked this time. I had been worried all along that I wouldn't get the 29th novel in my mystery series finished before being summoned into hospital for my heart surgery. I worried that if I had to have a long break from writing, I would completely forget where I was going with the story, and the whole thing would turn out as disjointed as one of my previous novels in the series, the one entitled 'Unrelated Incidents' because that was more or less what the plot consisted of. Fortunately this title fitted in with those of some others in the same series ('Unpredictable Events' and 'Unsafe Distances', for instance). I have just completed this latest one, and edited and published it in record time, thanks to a more or less unexpected combination of circumstances. As I write this, there is still no sign of a message from the hospital, w...

Over the weekend I took several train journeys and everyone around me had their heads bowed in reverence over their phone. It happens everywhere – on a train, a bus, even in a restaurant. Are they doomscrolling, catching up with social media gossip, maybe reading the news, answering work emails, sending cheeky texts to loved ones, playing a game, or checking their connection is running on time? Of course, they could be reading something more substantial – although reading a novel on a small phone screen is very taxing on the eyes. It’s far easier to read on a Kindle, because that is what it was designed for, but I much prefer a REAL book. In many ways I'm advertising the book in my hand and long for conversations with strangers about my choice of reading material. "Is that any good?" "Have you read their other novels?"  "Such a great storyteller."  "I cried at the end and the story has never left me"  Anecdotally I heard once that erotic ...

A couple of months ago I promised you a particularly intriguing example of a false cultural memory , before being derailed by discovering that this phenomenon has been labelled the Mandela Effect.  Well, it can just get relabelled, because I refuse to trivialise that great man by association with a group of dopey people with a shaky grasp of real life events.  Instead, I give you the Casablanca Effect ( see here if you don’t immediately get why), followed by my contribution to this rich field of research.  Notre Dame Cathedral, Paris, beautifully restored. My husband and I visited Paris recently, and, after having admired the astonishing restoration of Notre Dame, retired to a café. The great cathedral bells began to ring, prompting me to squawk, ‘The bells, THE BELLS!’, in a mock-heroic tone, a tired old joke that still appeals. (My children will tell you how much tired old jokes still appeal to me, and by the way, that wasn’t an intentional pun. A good one though.) No...

                                                                      I consider the ups and downs of being a freelance businesswoman and creative, and why it is sometimes a battle to be taken seriously. It’s a stormy day in what promises to be a sweltering summer, and am I relaxing with my feet up on this ‘day of rest’? Don’t be silly, I’m self-employed! Time off? You must be joking! Whilst you nine-to-fivers can make plans for the weekends and evenings, every time I do something other than my actual job, I lose money. So, I work seven days a week, every evening and a bit of Saturday and Sunday morning. Yes, I love what I do, and you know what they say – if you love what you do you never work a day in your life. Well, it sure feels like hard work sometimes, I can tell you. ...

    The hosta that grows in a pot near my kitchen door. The pink petals have fallen from the climbing rose above. I was told that hostas grow best in damp, shady places and don't like growing in pots. I suspect I was told wrong because this hosta is living its best life-- in a pot, in the sunniest, warmest spot in my garden.  It's starting shooting up arcs of delicate, bell-shaped, lavender coloured flowers.  Another view of my garden in all its scruffyness. Seed trays piled on the bench. A watering bucket making the place look untidy.    This peaony -- paeony -- peony is called 'Bowl of Beauty.' No argument from me. And it's a sight easier to spell than 'peony'.     The herb trough - marjoram, thyme, sage -- and a tiny olive tree poking up at far right. It is now covered in miniscule yellow flowers.  The yellow flag in the pond.  The roses, hanging in swags from their broken arch. Light through hazel leaves, and the roses... Writing? I ...

To mark the halfway stage of my reading year and Derby month, I'm reviewing not one but TWO titles by Clare Balding. Both are for young readers and inspired by horses, which fits perfectly with the author's background as the daughter of a racehorse trainer. First up is fiction, and it's a fun read for ages 7+. T he Racehorse Who Wouldn't Gallop by Clare Balding illustrated by Tony Ross 10-year-old Charlie Bass lives on the family farm with her annoying brothers Harry and Larry, a dog called Boris, and a herd of milking cows named after celebrities. When their farm is in financial trouble, the whole family is invited to think of ways to raise some cash. So Charlie buys a racehorse entered for the Derby... bear with me, this is fiction! The only problem is, Noble Warrior ('Noddy' for short) won't go anywhere without his pony friend Percy, and the Bass family can only afford to buy him because several trainers have already given up on him. To be fair to our plu...