Is there anybody out there?
Of course there is!
Billions of internet users are out there. Just beyond those rocks.
What I’m wondering is, who else, besides me, reads writers’ blogs?
To be more exact who reads my blog?
I’d love to know more about my readers. Do you like my daily life gossip? Do you wish I’d stick to book news? Do you look at my reviews page? Do you want to send your own photo of you with my book to my ‘rogues gallery of readers’? If I sent out a quarterly newsletter, i could ask such things every now and then and find out.
A CALL TO ACTION!
If you do read this, could you, just this once, write a comment in the reply box below? just ‘READ IT’ will do.
( Or, if you just hate to write comments a quick explanation of why this is such a chore for you.)
-one that gives readers a heads up to when I have special offers on Amazon, spills the latest news and that has a giveaway every issue. I’d like an email list for this but I think the best way to do this is to have a button on my home page that states
‘SIGN HERE for quarterlynewsletter’
That will give you blog readers a choice. You can sign up or not and I won’t use info you’ve given just because you want to reply to my blog. What do you think of that option?
I love getting photos like this sent to me. isn’t that a fabulous reading corner? Thank you to that reader! More of these would be most welcome
A reply on Facebook this week made me sit up and think. “Chrissie Bradshaw never ever feel like you have to justify your life, you bloody earned it and why not, I say? x”
Thank you to that Romantic Novelist FB friend who made me question a few things like –
Why do I feel apologetic for being part of a generation that had free uni education ?
Why apologise for my luck in getting onto the housing ladder in my twenties?
Why am I quiet about building up a good pension when others have to work for longer?
Why am I reticent about taking a few holidays every year and spending three winter months abroad to get on with my writing?
Why do I feel I’m partly to blame for being part of the Brexit generation that is spoiling our country’s future?
I know I have had some lucky breaks but hang on!
When I went to uni, I didn’t travel abroad or take a gap year. My uni digs were basic and we didn’t even have TV. I worked every holiday to pay off an overdraft.
My starter home was furnished with family cast offs and the mortgage meant we didn’t take a holiday. I worked and brought up my daughter and holidays were few.
I’ve earned the free time I have now and I still work. To misquote Bette Davis, “Writing is not for cissies!”
As for Brexit, we can only blame a few senseless politicians who stood behind David Cameron and plotted such a daft referendum that has divided and damaged the country I have thoughtful intelligent friends on both sides of Brexit and nobody could have envisaged such a political muck up
As from today, I’m going to try my hardest to stop the apologies -especially that one where I say I’m JUST a women’s fiction writer.
Does anyone else feel like they’re always about to say sorry?
The funny thing is, many people who should be apologising about uni grants, housing, pensions and Brexit wouldn’t dream of saying sorry.
Sometimes, I wish I had a crystal ball so I could see what lies ahead. I could be prepared for the wonderful day when I get my exciting multi book deal with a publisher by having a couple of novels at the ready.
It would be such a relief and joy to know that a personal dream is eventually going to happen wouldn’t it?
Or would it?
When I was accepted into college, it took away the need to achieve high ‘A’ levels and I did a bit of coasting because my place was a sure thing.
What if the crystal ball showed no deal? I’ll never stop writing but would I lose confidence and stop trying so hard to improve?
Perhaps we should all heed the words of the author Vera Nazarian who said,
‘Not knowing is the greatest life motivator. So enjoy, endure, survive each moment as it comes to you in its proper sequence, a surprise.’
My latest novel, ‘The Barn of Buried Dreams’, opens with a surprise for Erin, the main character. She is faced with changes she couldn’t foresee. Erin returns home to care for her sick mother leaving her fiancé and London theatre life for a while.
Here is a taster.
Erin had never understood how anyone could be totally surprised by their pregnancy.
She stared at the stick in her hand in utter disbelief. Two stark lines…the test couldn’t be clearer. How had this happened? Well, she knew how, of course she did, but what were the odds? Wow.
Bloody wow. She bit her knuckle and checked the tiny screen again. Wasn’t she supposed to be doing a happy dance? Maybe. When she got over the shock. It was such bad timing. This was meant to happen in the future, very far into some fuzzy future, when it would be a thrilling moment with Damien doing the test with her. They had a wedding to plan and their careers to establish before this bit of the story.
Erin felt guilty immediately. How could she feel that way? She had created a new life with the man she loved and here she was thinking it was inconvenient. She hoped the tiny being that was beginning to grow inside her couldn’t hear her thoughts.
Her life hadn’t been her own this year and now it looked like it wouldn’t be ever again. She’d spent years working hard to get where she was but now her stage career was drifting away like an unattended beachball, bright and enticing but moving further and further out of her reach. Would it come back to her on another tide or crash on the rocks?
‘Erin, our programme will be starting soon.’
‘Just coming, Mum.’ She placed the confirmation of her future on the bathroom window sillhurried downstairs to make a pot of tea before Happy Valley started.
Mum was soon engrossed in the episode, making comments about the murder case and cursing human traffickers. ‘Sergeant Cawood won’t let them get away with this trafficking scam, will she, Erin?’
Erin tried to keep up but her mind churned away at her own inner drama. When would she tell Damien? She’d have to tell him first, even before she told her mother. What would they do about a wedding? Rush into a small ceremony before or wait until after? They would both just have to get used to the idea of parenthood. There was never a perfect time to have a baby but she was twenty-seven and they had talked about starting a family, one day, so they’d just have to put their wedding plans on hold and become a family sooner than they thought.
‘Erin?’ the credits were rolling and her mother was studying her closely.
‘Yes, Mum. What is it?’
Liz Douglaseaned forward in her chair, her pale face showing how easily she tired. ‘You haven’t followed that episode at all and your mind seems far away. Is everything OK?’
‘Everything’s fine.’ Erin managed a smile.
‘Are you sure?’ Mum could be a mind reader at times.
‘I was just thinking about Damien coming at the weekend and wondering how to keep him entertained. You know how quiet he thinks it is around here.’
‘A night at the Bridge Inn isn’t his idea of fun is it? How about the Red Lion at Alnmouth? That’s livelier.’
She caught Mum’s wicked smile and laughed. ‘Yeah, he’ll have to make do with that, or watch TV. He’s just here for a couple of nights anyway.’
Erin helped her mother up from the chair and across to the single bed that was set up in the corner of the living room. It was good to see her regaining her sense of humour and watch her getting stronger every day. In a month or so, she might be back to normal. Bloody hell, she hoped so. Poor Mum, she was really working at her recovery from a stroke but she was nowhere near to being independent again.
Erin was anxious to get back to London, the sooner she could get back to work, the better. Her agent couldn’t put her forward for auditions when she was tied up here and she missed Damien. Mum came first, though and, until she had made a good recovery, Erin would stay here. Remembering the baby cells that were multiplying minute by minute, she drew in a sharp breath. She would be limited in getting any roles once this baby started to show.
‘What’s startled you, Erin? You look like you’ve seen that Tommy Lee from Happy Valley.’ Mum looked at her curiously as she slipped off her dressing gown and sat on the bed.
Erin shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. I’ve just remembered something I need to do tomorrow.’ The phone rang, freeing Erin from any further questions as she crossed over to pick up the call.
‘Hi it’s me. Is Mum still up?’ It was Heather, Erin’s sister.
‘Yes, she’s right here… Mum, here’s Heather, for you.’ She passed the phone over and took the chance to escape further questioning by slipping into the kitchen to prepare a night time tray with water, a flask of tea, a plate with two shortbreads and her mother’s tablets. Heather would be chatting to Mum about Happy Valleyfor a while; they both loved a crime series.
Bracken barked at the door to go outside. Erin smiled as he sat smartly with his head cocked to one side waiting for her to let him out into the back garden. As she stood in the open doorway and watched the silhouette of the Welsh terrier snuffling in the bushes at the far end of the garden, Erin thought about what Heather would say when she heard her baby news. She was longing to tell her. Heather was already eight months along with her second and would be full of advice, but it was only fair to tell Damien first.
A few more days until he arrived on Friday and, after she had talked to him, she would break the news to Mum and Heather then her friend, Darcy. She just couldn’t imagine Darcy’s response. They had both shared dreams of stage careers and of finding love, but they had never talked babies.
Lying in bed that night, Erin counted backwards to work out just how many weeks pregnant she was. She’d already done this a dozen times since taking the test and the answer didn’t change. She’d run out of pills soon after dashing home to look after Mum in November and hadn’t been too concerned because Damien had a busy filming schedule and was going to see his parents in Kent for Christmas. He wouldn’t be visiting for a while so there was no rush to renew her prescription when their only contact, video call or text, was a hundred per cent conception proof.
Damien had missed her over Christmas and arrived at the door of Magpie’s Rest to surprise her on New Year’s Eve with presents and champagne. She hadn’t expected this extra surprise… she really hadn’t. Just one careless night? Hell, she must be eight weeks pregnant.
She glanced at the time, waiting for Damien to call. Last night, he said if he didn’t get in touch by midnight, it meant he was delayed at the promotion event he had to attend. There was a minute or two to go but she was tired. She decided to ring him.
‘Hi Damien are you still tied up with work?’
‘Erin! Hi babe. Yeah, can’t get away, I’m afraid.’
‘Never mind. It’s not long until the weekend and we can catch up then.’
‘Weekend? Oh…the weekend. Listen, I need to talk to you about that. Look, I can’t chat now, babe, but I’ll call in the morning.’
He wasn’t coming. She knew it. She could tell by the tone in his voice.
Erin doesn’t have a crystal ball but she is predicting that Damien will let her down. What does her future hold?
The Barn of Buried Dreams is available on Amazon as an ebook or paperback and a free read, if you subscribe to Kindle Unlimited.
I spent January on sticks after a hip replacement and worked hard to regain my fitness. Oh the joy of walking, playing golf and being active without suffering hip and back pain.
I hobbled around during my holiday last December. Yes, I really struggled during our trip to Egypt but this December would be different! We were returning to Egypt and I dreamed of strolling along the beach, using the pool and exploring without the onset of a nagging pain and need to sit down for a while.
Day 1 – I slipped getting out of the pool and fractured a bone in my pelvis. Back on crutches for the holiday and for the next eight weeks.
Yes, it’s a disappointment. No. It’s not the end of the world. I’m ending the year like I started it but I’m here. It will pass and my arms are very toned!
After the book launch
Last month, after launching my book, I sat back and watched the number of books sold grow and the number of reviews increase. I should add slowly because it was great fun but a bit slower than I would want. I knew the reason why – I needed to promote further afield than my blog, my Facebook page, instagram and twitter.
I had to venture out into other people’s social media
My books are not in shops and readers have to go onto Amazon to find them so the only way I can promote ‘The Barn of Buried Dreams’ is by raising awareness that it is out there by using my social media platforms. To attract readers who aren’t already friends, I must venture forth and use other people’s media space by asking them to allow me to blog or asking them to review my book.
This is scary stuff!
It is scary because a blogger can say ‘No, I don’t want you on my site and I don’t want to read your book, either!’ This, for me, is a time when you call in an expert to ask for willing volunteers, create a buzz about your book and to arrange your tour so it goes without a hitch.
My book tour co-ordinator was worth her weight in gold. She sorted out 25 bloggers over 5 days who would give me an advertising platform. Some wanted read and review a printed book, some were happy with an ebook. Some wanted an exclusive interview, others were happy with an extract form the book or a blog from me. However, they all go their blog content via my tour guide and they could join a freebie competition too.
My tour was given this headline. You will see on the banner that this successful tour was run by the excellent, Rachel Gilbey
The bloggers accepted me onto their space and I enjoyed giving interviews, writing a post or revealing an extract from my new book.
I’d like to thank Rachel Gilbey and the bloggers on this poster for their hospitality and thank them for their thoughtful reviews about my writing. If you wander over ‘My Books’ The page shows some of their comments.
My giveaway, which was drawn by rafflecopter, is ready for send off and the lucky winner is Andrea Upton. Her goodies are shown below.
Richard Rodgers, South Pacific
I’ve written two novels ‘ A Jarful of Moondreams’ is out now, ‘The Barn of Buried Dreams’ is released in October and I’m part way through my third. Can you see they have a thread running through them? That thread is part of the tapestry of our lives.
You see, my novels are about the struggle and determination that we need to follow our dreams.
We have cherished dreams from childhood and yet more get added when we discover what it is that we yearn to do with our lives. We are great dreamers but we have to turn into doers too!
My childhood dream was to own a dog like Lassie or Rin Tin Tin. I was also an avid reader and thought that Dodie Smith had the best job in the world. Maybe, some day, I could be a writer with a houseful of pets?
When I eventually got my first pup, in my mid-twenties, she was named after a character in my favourite Dodie Smith novel. I know what you may be thinking, but no, she wasn’t called Pongo or Perdita! Cassie’s name came from ‘I Capture the Castle’. She was my wonder dog.
It took a lot longer to call myself a writer and I’m still working on the ‘successful’ part of the writing dream.
I think following our dreams gives us a zest for living and achieving them is icing on the cake. Hold on to the icing on the cake comparison because it will reappear!
Last month, we travelled to France and spent a week with Pauline and Allan. Pauline loves to grow her own fruit and veg, she loves to cook and sewing gives her real pleasure. How can she possibly be related to me?
Pauline and Allan moved to St. Estephé in France last year and now she is growing strawberries to make jam, picking cherries to make cherry brandy and brushing up on her French. She has a sewing room for making her patchworks. Allan has a workshop in the barn to refurbish furniture and a ride on lawn mower to tame their acres of land.
They have both worked hard throughout their lives, faced tragedies and experienced set backs but they have never given up on their joy of living. Doesn’t it take courage to sell up in England and start life in a new community to follow your dreams? They took the plunge, and I have never seen this pair looking happier.
Another exciting trip was to support my youngest sister who is working to make her business dream come true.
Urban Cakehouse -unique, contemporary, unconventional cakes -started up in her kitchen and she is getting it up and running while working and running a household including three teens, a husband and a dog.
Lisa has a PhD and works within the NHS but has always loved to be creative. Her dreams of being an artist have veered more towards cake and this is where the icing on the cake comes into play. I was so proud to be at her ‘Cake meets Canvas’ exhibition at the Fly tower in Sheffield.
Dreaming is easy but putting a dream into action is damned hard work. Both Pauline and Lisa have to put in the hours and make sacrifices to do what they love while considering their families. It does not always go smoothly and it is risky to follow a dream but they think it is worth it and so do I.
I don’t dig the soil, sew the cushions or bake the cakes; their dreams are my nightmare!
I just lounge back on the cushions, eat the cake and listen to the chatter and use it at times to draft the stories of women struggling through day to day challenges and doing their best to make their own cherished dreams come true.
If you’re a doer – take time to dream and if you’re a dreamer – take time to do
‘The years spin by and now the girl is twenty, though her dreams have lost some grandeur coming true. There’ll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty before the last revolving year is through.’
Let me tell you, Spanish villas in Murcia are freezing cold! The heat flies right out of the windows and walls and seeps through the cold tiles and that lovely cool house of summer is an ice box in March.
You may think I was lucky, to spend five weeks in Spain while I was recuperating from my hip operation, but was I? We had lots of sunny days but I discovered that missing the cold February and March weather in the UK had a price.
That price was a lovely, cosy, warm house with unlimited writing time!
I can’t write outdoors in the sunshine. Laptop says ‘no’ with a black screen and I get distracted. Yes, I’ve tried a contraption that shields the screen from the sun but it flaps about in a breeze and I forgot to pack it this trip. I can ‘ dream up’ characters and stories while I’m lying back on a sun lounger though, so all is not lost!
If I’d been at home and hiding indoors from the Beast from the East, my thermostat would be keeping me at a steady warm temperature and I would be cosy whilst looking at fat snowflakes falling outside.
In Casa Margarita, on a sunny day, I watched my husband reading in the sun as I was wearing socks jumper and blanket to try to type a few hundred words. Cold is not conducive to writing. I was so glad to finish and get out into some warmth!
Will I go again? Oh yes. We had a wood burning stove to huddle around at night. We had to sit over it, mind you, or the walls stole the heat and a trip to the kitchen or bathroom was chilly. It meant we cuddled up together too.
Next time, I’ll be prepared. Instead of buying new bikinis, I’ll be buying one of those silly but warm ‘onesies’, packing my old Ugg boots and taking a hot water bottle for when I’m writing. You can’t keep a determined writer down!
My hip operation went ahead In January but it hasn’t stopped me from getting out and about .
With this trusty customised NHS stick and my new cross body book bag – a delightful Christmas present- I’ve been able to take a short walk for a pub lunch or a coffee. More calories going in than out with that arrangement that little voice in my head nags. I know! I had better be careful or I’ll pile a few more winter pounds on and stress my new hip.
My RAS – reticular activating system- has come into play because I’ve been seeing and empathising with fellow stick users at every turn.
I think the RAS part of our brain is astounding. My simple understanding is that it takes whatever we focus on and creates a filter for it. It then sifts through all the data it receives and presents only the pieces that are important to us at any time.
A walking aid is vital for me right now and I’m seeing all those who are similar to me and how they manage. All of this filtering happens without me noticing, of course. My RAS programs itself without me actively doing anything
When you’re pregnant, you notice other baby bumps and babies in buggies. When you want a new car, you notice how many of a certain model are on the road. When was the last time you noticed that your reticular activating system had come into play and started pointing something out to you?
I’m sure it can help or hinder your New Year resolutions too because it filters the world to reflect your beliefs. If you think you are going to write rubbish, you probably will. If you believe you’re working well then you most likely will have a successful day. Your RAS helps you to see what you want to see and in doing so, influences your actions.
It has been suggested that you can train your RAS by taking your subconscious thoughts and marrying them to your conscious thoughts and “setting your intent.” If you focus hard on your goals, your RAS will alert you to the people and opportunities that help you achieve them. This certainly takes the mystery out of ‘the law of attraction’ idea. Focus on important things and they will come to you because the RAS on your own brain seeks them out.
The brain is amazing but so is the rest of the body’s ability to heal. Four hours after my hip op, I was walking with sticks and next day I was tested on walking up and down stairs before going home . My leg was working with a whole new ball and socket in it and it wasn’t too painful at all .
The most fascinating healing is the skin’s ability to heal itself and my scar improves every day. So….here I am in week three enjoying a writer’s and reader’s meet up in a pub in town . I’m glad I joined North East Authors and Readers.
I am excited about my current novel and, at the same time, worried that someone else will think of my wonderful idea. It’s both pleasure and angst being a writer and that’s why it’s so nice when a group of us meet up and understand all the fun but all of the insecurities too.
I have to say I’m grateful to our wonderful NHS and its staff and I hope it’s something we never lose. I’m blessed to be pain free and I feel for all those who haven’t got a solution to their pain.
I’m excited to be preparing for our trip to warmer climes where I will work on my novel, recuperate and discard those sticks. Next month’s blog will come from Mazzaron in Murcia
Isn’t it strange how fiction can intermingle with our lives? I wonder if you have ever followed in the footsteps of a character you like?
I have a great love of Egyptian history and decided that one of my characters in ‘A Jarful of Moondreams’ should make a trip there.
I had visited most of the places I mentioned in the novel but I’d never been to Makadi Bay. That was chosen after Internet research for a beach location.
My husband booked a December Nile cruise and Red Sea holiday for us and I thought the resort name seemed familiar but it wasn’t until we were travelling there that it dawned on me; I was following in Teri’s Moons footsteps and going to Makadi Bay!
In ‘A Jarful of Moondreams’ Teri Moon decides to take an extended trip to Egypt and leave Alex, her teenage dughter, with her older daughter, Cleo, in the hope that they will stop sparring and start to like each other a little. The novel is mainly about Teri’s girls but her holiday adventures are a subplot.
Teri meets Greg, an archaeologist, on the plane out to Cairo and they visit the pyramids and Cairo museum together before Teri continues alone on her travels to Mount Sinai.
Teri decided to take a beach break at Hurghada before the trip to Luxor and all its wonders. She was going to meet up with Greg again to explore Luxor and the Valley of the Kings. She checked into a luxury hotel, enjoying the air conditioning and the chance to skype her girls. She had been delighted at how they both seemed to be comfortable in one another’s company. Even Pharos, her cat, seemed to be settled; perhaps her plan was working.
Greg had surprised her. He’d asked if she’d mind him joining her on the beach and arrived at Makadi Bay a couple of days ago. They’d had fun and relaxed and were very easy in each other’s company. But now Teri felt rather confused. They’d held hands walking along the beach last night and she knew they were getting fond of one another. Maybe too fond?
He’d told her he was forty, that was nine years her junior. Was it such a gap? That was the main thing stopping her from succumbing to a holiday romance. That, and the fact that Greg was the first man she’d looked at in that way since Mac. It must be the spell of Egypt.
Greg’s shadow stood in the way of the sun. He dropped an ice-cold lolly on her midriff.
‘Greg!’ she shrieked. He sat on the end of her lounger. Tall, tanned, long hair ruffled by the sea, who could resist him? He was thoughtful and caring too.
‘Teri, you’ve lain there long enough. When you finish that ice lolly, we should go for a dip, then a siesta.’
‘What do you mean, a siesta?’ Teri sat up.
‘A short sleep in the cool air-conditioned rooms that we’ve got. What did you think I meant?’
She was lost for words. He’d placed the beach ball firmly on her patch of sand.
Excerpt From: Bradshaw, Chrissie. “A Jarful of Moondreams.”