Authors Electric

Image Credit:  Images created in Book Brush using Pixabay photos. In the character -v- plot debate, I’m on the side of the characters. Characters trigger plots. If I’m writing a pompous character, I’m almost always going to put them in a humorous tale and set them up for a well-deserved fall. Laughing is the best thing to do with pomposity.   A great plot can be let down if it is served by “weak” characters. Conversely, a strong character can “lift” a weak plot. (Naturally you aim for a great character and a terrific plot but I’ve found knowing my characters well enough to write their stories is the logical starting point for me).   An intriguing character keeps me reading. I struggled with Mansfield Park by Jane Austen. Fanny Price is easily her worst heroine - far too insipid. Had this been by any other author, I wouldn’t have finished reading it.    I must care about the characters to want to read their stories. Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice is t...

There’s nothing quite like having a procedure you haven’t had for over forty years to make you realise how different things are today from what you once knew. This may even determine whether you set your book in the present or the past!           Going to the dentist as a child was the ultimate horror experience. I don’t remember ever having an injection – although cocaine was involved somewhere along the line, so to speak. A filling was a lengthy and painful procedure. What you did get for a tooth extraction was a general anaesthetic through a mask. I don’t remember anyone other than the dentist being present for this, but I do remember having weird dreams, one of which consisted of a series of treble clefs doing some sort of circular dance. I liked general anaesthetics, which came in pretty handy in later life when they didn’t frighten me in the slightest. A few months ago I had a broken molar removed, and this was done with the aid of seve...

  I started out as as author of adult mysteries and branched into adult humorous mysteries and young adult mysteries. I am sure you are sensing a theme here. Then, I was asked to write a children's book. This came completely out of the blue and my initial thoughts were , no way on God's earth could I or am I writing a children's picture book. However, the reason was intriguing and my more rational and sensible self talked me into it. I went from no way to why not. The original Bertie book, Bertie the Buffalo , was based on the true story of a baby water buffalo who went missing from a farm in Fife in Scotland, where he proceeded to roam the countryside evading capture for 14 days. This brings me to my top ten tips. About time I hear you say. Bear with me, I was pinning my credentials to the literary mast if you may allow me to mangle a metaphor. So my tips are: 1. Find a good story, one which hasn't already been done to death and which will excite young readers. 2. Try ...

This week, we’re at a homeschool camp with the kids. It’s a camp we have been going to for several years, although this year all meetings are outside. As the camp is held in the middle of Wales, that’s made for some interesting experiences. Like the opening meeting in torrential rain. On Wednesday, the organisers had arranged for a long walk along Ceri Ridge. I don’t particularly like walking, only once I’m back home do I appreciate a good walk. I do enjoy the scenery and the idea of going for a long, healthy walk appeals to me. My children don’t like walking until we’re home at which point they will declare it the best outing ever. So, with some other families, we decided on the Medium Length Walk. It was only seven miles. My kids have never walked seven miles, and according to Strava, it was the longest walk I have recorded as well. It felt like a very long walk. When we got back, my husband just laughed. He had stayed back with the youngest. They had played golf and had a relaxi...

  I had the right footwork down...so I thought. So there shouldn't have been any problem. Come on! I'd written more than a dozen novels...picked up a major award...and over the years I'd found tacks to turn books out more quickly without sacrificing quality. And yet here I was at the start of my next novel...shaky as a schoolboy before a major exam.  I'd finished the usual first month of filling a Moleskine notebook with questions and notes. Done! I now knew the basic storyline and had two full months to cook up my outline. This has worked over and over--and yet my confidence was fading.  On an unrelated whim one day I ordered a package of reporter's stiff-covered 3.75" x 8" notebooks manufactured by Portage. I'd thought the size would be perfect for household use: one book for finances...one for tracking orders...one for bills...etc.  But I had a lightbulb moment the same day the notebooks arrived. I could try using one of these for 'master keys...

I’ve often asked myself the question “What is writing for?” Why do we do it? To entertain? To educate? To inspire? Perhaps all of those things. My writing falls into two areas. The first is freelance, where I write content for others, interview people who are selling their houses and write up a lifestyle piece for the brochure, write blogs for several charities, help people with content for their websites and so on. The second is my budding literary career, where I sit here in my dining room making stuff up, which is great fun.   But being a writer is more than that. Sometimes the words build up and you can’t rest until they’re out. This is one of those pieces.   Back in July 1975, I was nine years old, living in a village in Epping Forest in Essex, on the London borders. Nothing much happened in our excitingly named settlement (Theydon Bois – feel free to look it up). I walked to the village primary school, learned things then walked home again. We had freedom to walk, roll...

' The rain drummed loud on the roof tiles and it was dark that morning. I sat listening to the tyres on the wet road. I sat waiting for the rain to ease and for the light to come on in the house. While I waited I wiggled my bare toes and I didn’t think about much, only the fact that the leaves had begun to turn, that summer was well and truly gone for this year. Sometimes I glanced at my watch but the minute hand appeared to have stuck so I stopped checking it and concentrated on the movement of the leaves behind the window and the pattering of the rain, now insistent, now soft - a rain of pauses, arpeggios and adagios. Once in while there was a slight metallic ring to the rain, like a triangle or a zill, and the movement of the traffic outside lent the whole a solid bass note and that’s how it was, that wet, dark morning, waiting for the light to come on.' Those are my words, written during a change in the season. But as I write now, it is raining – one of those downpours that...