Tag Archive | new novel

Life Playlists Replayed

Jun15

A few weeks ago author Jo Lambert invited me to talk about the music of my life, which I have to admit was a hard task to pick out 5 songs that had special meaning or memory for me and so thank you, Jo, for inviting me to take part on your blog, which I’ve reblogged here in case anyone missed it. (To read more about Jo Lambert and her books, click here.)

Music, as well as books, has always played a major part in my life: from growing up with German folk songs and classical music to marrying a part-time DJ. From Saturday mornings listening to Children’s Favourites and Sunday lunch over Family Favourites on the radio and teenage years those of the 1960s and 70s, to right up to this very day. Thus love, life, family and memories are sealed by music – the happy and the sad. So, where to begin? A German song or the first 45 single I bought (Adam Faith)? The Beach Boys, Moody Blues, The Faces, or Keith Relf’s Renaissance? …The list is endless.

For my first choice, I’ve picked music from the late 1960s. What an era it that was with so many fantastic songs and bands out there. Living in London and having a music-mad boyfriend who became a part-time DJ, I was spoilt with shows, nightclubs and concerts and discos a constant happening. One big favourite was Fleetwood Mac. I’ve chosen the instrumental Albatross because it brings back happy, memories of warm summer days and sultry nights, of being allowed to stay out all night for the first time to attend a midnight concert at the Lyceum Ballroom, London where Fleetwood Mac, among many others were playing that night.

It was also back in the 1960s I came across folk singer Ralph McTell, a prolific and gifted songwriter whose style invites you into a unique world, weaving words that can tug on your heartstrings with songs and music that are significant, poignant and sometimes amusing. It’s impossible for me to pick a favourite but this one, Let Me Down Easy, holds particular meaning from when my first marriage broke apart. However, Ralph’s music and songs have always been there for me, and always will be.

When I moved to Gloucestershire in the mid 1970s, I thought I would lose the concerts I habitually frequented in London. Thankfully, I was wrong. Bristol has two fantastic concert venues, the Colston Hall and the Hippodrome, and I was fortunate to attend both many times to see and hear Ralph McTell, Status Quo, Queen, Stevie Millar Band, Rod Stewart and the Faces, Mike Harding, Inspirational Choir and many, many more. It was at this time I also met (at a dance) the man who is my husband now for 40+ years, and no playlist would be complete without “Our Song”. For us, it’s Just the Way You Are by Barry White. I was never a great fan of Barry’s but this song says it all. It has to be his version, mind. The original and other covers don’t do it for us.

The 1970s and beyond has been filled with wonderful singers, bands and music. George Michael, Billy Joel, Pink Floyd, the Eagles, ELO, Stevie Wonder, Abba and so much more. Amongst all of these the passion for classical music held strong, with many a summer evening enjoying what became a family tradition of open-air classical picnic concerts. Milton Keyes Bowl provided a regular location for music, song and fireworks. From Duxford airfield to the majestic grounds of Berkeley Castle, we much preferred listening to the Three Tenors than the Three Degrees. One piece in particular was a firm favourite of my family, one which we also played at my father’s funeral: the Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana by Mascagni. From its melancholy start to the heart-tugging end, it took many years before I was able to listen to this again without the tears welling. But time heals.

Throughout all of the music world there is but one singer who can make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He came to the fore about 20 years ago with a voice often described as “The voice of an angel” and “If God could sing, he would sound like this.” Who? The one and only Andrea Bocelli, of course. His songs helped me through long convalescence when I was first struck down with a now life-long medical condition. His songs also bring back wonderful memories of holidays shared with my mother and two beloved sisters, of lying on sun-drenched Greek beaches with the beach bars close by playing his CDs. Utter bliss. Again, it difficult to choose which song from the many. Bocelli often duets with other singers, ie Celine Dion, Sarah Brightman, John Miles, his wife and even his son, but last year he duetted with another of my favourites: Ed Sheeran. A double whammy! Thus for my last shout I have included Perfect Symphony. Oh my, those hairs are on end again.

Music, in particular, classical music, is also at the heart of my recently released novel: White Stones, a haunting story of love and music transcending the barriers of time, featuring a relatively unknown real-life composer and one of his works rarely heard in the UK. In no way a frightening read, this novel may change your mind about the supernatural and how the world around us works. It’s not your average usual ghost story – it won’t give you nightmares, it won’t make you scared to sleep with the light off, but it is a thought-provoking romantic mystery full of music, intrigue and a few things that go “daa dee dee, dee da da” in the night!

Available worldwide on Kindle and soon to be released in paperback and other e-formats.

 

To obtain the book: White Stones

5.0 out of 5 stars “Loved the setting, the emotion, and the cadence of this story “…”I couldn’t put this book down…”

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White Stones – A Novel 20 Years in the Making!

May30

At long last, the day arrived when my little baby matured and was finally published on 1st of June! And yes, it really has been 20+ years in the making. Out now on Kindle worldwide, and shortly to be in paperback and other ereader forms too.

The story began life in 1998, born with a different name, one which flitted between that and the published title. The first version went through the RNA New Writers Scheme, its reader recommending several agents to try. At a RNA conference, one agent asked to read the complete mss; but decided it wasn’t for her. I sent it to the book doctor, Hilary Johnson, who made suggestions, amended a few flaws and loved the story but not the then title, hence its change. She advised I would have trouble finding an agent or publisher because the book crosses several genres: romance/mystery/paranormal/timeslip/investigative/fantasy – something which at the time wasn’t readily accepted. It was also rather long, which didn’t help.

But White Stones wouldn’t die or go away. I liked the story too much, so over the course of the next few years kept tweaking and sending it out to agents and publishers. One in the USA showed interest but wanted me to change the location from England to somewhere, anywhere, in the States.

This I tried to do. I carried out a great deal of research as to where the story might work there, but it doesn’t’ allow itself to be transferred for reasons which become clear within the novel on two counts: the location is vital to the plot, as is the fact that a character (real, not fictional) within the story did not travel to America during their lifetime, and the fact this person is a crucial element of the storyline. What to do? There wasn’t a lot I could do unless I virtually rewrote the whole novel, so I put it back in the proverbial drawer and moved on to another.

That book, Every Step of the Way, proved a little more successful in that it went on to be shortlisted for the prestigious Harry Bowling Prize for a London novel in 2004, in turn leading to me being taken on by a top London agent who wanted synopses for two more similar books, hoping to secure a 3-book deal. I began writing the next, but every step of the way the agent tried, she couldn’t find a publisher for me and we eventually parted ways.

And still White Stones wouldn’t go away. It played in my head during the day. Kept me awake at nights as I tried to rework the story, tried to fathom out what was wrong with it, why no-one would take a chance on it. One night it dawned on me … no, actually it was my sister a few years later, who read the whole book in one sitting. At a certain point, she looked up and said, “At last, here’s where the action starts!” That’s when it hit me… the beginning of the novel, the entire first three chapters, was nothing but back story. No wonder I wasn’t getting anywhere. So those chapters were scrapped, with any relevant information pertinent to the plot drip fed into the new version.

Life, work, family got in the way on many levels and again White Stones was shelved whilst I wrote two new novels. And still the Stones kept knocking at my head wanting to be let out. I picked it up again and read it through from the start. Many years had gone by and, consequently, White Stones was out of touch with modern technology. People now had mobile phones, computers, the Internet and the world-wide-web ­– all things that needed to be brought up to date as they are relevant and necessary for the story to work, as were events that had taken place in the real world – important things which impact on the plot.

A few more years came and went. Having received many rejections but also many encouraging comments and feedback from some, though not all, publishers to whom it was sent, the publishing world had also changed in those intervening years. Self-publishing came along, which for a while sounded the death knell for agents and conventional publishers but, in turn, that world has again altered because publishers seem to prefer authors who have a backlist, have self-published several novels and gained a readership and following, meaning many aren’t prepared to take a gamble on a “new author”, which is what I am to them. However, I was determined the Stones wouldn’t crumble and turn to dust in the drawer. I had to release them, set them free so that I could move on.

That day has finally arrived and my baby has grown up, reached adulthood and I have cut the strings binding it to my heart.  Whether it flounders or flies, it will always be with me. I will always love it. I hope you do too. Whether you are a sceptic or not, whether you believe in ghost or angels, or if you just like reading a good love story, White Stones might steal your heart away too and leave you with some lasting memories and thoughts. It might also make you change your mind about all that you or don’t believe in. That is my intention.

Available at Amazon.co.uk  and Amazon.com and Amazon worldwide On Kindle.

Paperback and other ereader forms soon.

Brief Extract from White Stones

He blew a kiss from the doorway. “Coffee in fifteen minutes.”

In her hand she caught the love token, lay back against the pillow and listened to his retreating footfalls as he took the stairs two at a time, jumping the last two as always.

If someone had told her life could change so rapidly, become so blissfully tranquil and perfect, she once wouldn’t have believed them. But it was true. As the days and weeks had slipped by, he had filled each waking moment with pleasure, each hour of darkness with such tender love she thought her heart would burst from so much devotion.

Hounslow seemed a thousand light years away instead of a hundred-odd miles. Ten years of married hell over. Almost over, she reminded herself with a jolt. There was still the matter of the divorce to deal with. But yes, Harry was right. Life was good. Apart from one black cloud forever lurking below the horizon, gripping on at its edge, always threatening to spoil things – Alex.

Like that annoying little tune still duelling with the other inside her head, Alex wouldn’t go away. Her thoughts returning to him at inopportune moments, always skulking there in the back of her mind, waiting to pounce.

Why won’t he let go of me and let us all get on with our lives?

With every ring of the telephone, each persistent knock on the door, she dreaded it would be him. Each day living in trepidation that he would turn up at the house. It could surely only be a matter of time before he found out where she was, and he would be here, thumping on the door, demanding she come home with him at once.

There had been no remorse in leaving Alex. No pangs of guilt or tinges of sorrow, only relief when she closed the door on the West London house for the last time. But there were tears. Tears of regret that she hadn’t had the courage to do it sooner. When Harry had rushed to her that day she’d arrived at Hill House and pulled her into his arms before she was even fully out of the car, she knew she had done the right thing. Harry would always take care of her. Keep her safe. Love her.

But she feared the repercussions. Revenge was the sort of thing Alex was capable of. He’d pick a fight with Harry, come in with arms flaying, blaming everyone but himself.

This looming threat worried her, not that she had spoken of these fears to Harry. He had his own past to deal with. Her physical wounds and bruises had healed; his were still sore. Emotional scars that would be with him for eternity, so why make him suffer any more than he already had by worrying over the baggage of her past.

If only he would talk about Lorna and little Sam and Elly more, speak about the accident instead of clamming up every time she tentatively broached the subject. They were a part of him she wanted to share yet she knew so little about them. She needed to understand, to know that part she hadn’t yet been able to reach….