Over the next month I will be adding some wonderful, coincidence, stories from amazing authors. To start this exciting season, I will start with one of my coincidence stories that happened many years ago, The Piper. I hope you enjoy.
The Piper
Please take
care of yourself and each other and I hope the sun is shining on your face and
in your heart.
Pauline
Today, I am delighted to have, Richard Tearle visiting PBHQ. Richard’s debut novel, short stories, was published earlier this year and his second, published in December 2020. Richard is going to share what inspired him to write. So, please help yourself to a glass of bubbly, settle down on a comfortable seat and meet my lovely guest.
First of all, thank you Pauline for inviting me onto your Blog.
I had been reviewing Historical Fiction for Helen Hollick's
Blog, Discovering Diamonds and at the end of our first year, she invited me,
along with the other reviewers, to submit a short story on the subject of
Diamonds. I was thrilled that it was accepted given the calibre of many of the
reviewers. The following year, the subject changed to 'Stories inspired by a
song' and this has stayed constant since then.
The whole process and the feedback was a tremendous boost for me as I had never written seriously before this. I didn't think too much on it apart from realising that I had caught the writing bug. But a meeting between Helen and her friend, Barbara Gaskell Denvil ended up with Barbara's daughter offering to publish my stories in a book. I was totally caught on the hop as I only had written a few other than those already published.
I went through the agonies that I think every new author suffers – the editing, proof reading, rewrites etc. – and the book eventually came out in May 2020.
By now I was writing many more stories and also had one accepted for an anthology of stories about Richard III, Right Trusty and Well Beloved, and this was published around the same time. It's one thing to have your book delivered directly to you Kindle, but quite another to have an actual Paperback version in your hands!
I don't write in any particular genre (apart from the fact that they are short stories), though historical fiction is largely my favourite reading material. Inspiration comes from a number of sources: one story tells the legend of the Rollright Stones in Oxfordshire whilst another is about my favourite football team, Tottenham Hotspur. I believe in diversity!
I try to create an atmosphere when I am writing but more importantly, I try and choose my locations and include things like street names, shops or pubs. I want people who know the area to recognise it.
Short stories often end with a hook: a single sentence can sometimes make the entire story become clearer or can explain what has been hinted at. First lines are also important. Something short and snappy that grabs the reader’s attention and makes them want to read on or something that immediately sets the time and place.
My second anthology, Melody Mayhem: 2nd Movement was published in December 2020 (so the entire year wasn't a complete wash-out!) and has more stories, dealing with ghosts, immortality and, yes, another football story.
In the meantime, I have been working on a novella called The North Finchley Writers' Group. In Melody Mayhem, I included a story about such a group and used some of the characters and the situation to expand it. Other writers may well recognise some of the discussions and situations that my characters encounter as well as the personal relationships they go through. They will not, however, recognise any of the individuals because I was extra careful with the names and characterisations! Readers who know the area will definitely recognise it; I grew up there and it is dear to my heart. This is due to be published at sometime during the opening months of 2021.
What can I say about myself that might be interesting? I
grew up in the late 1950s and 60s and my love of music reflects that. Most of
my working life has been in offices, firstly on the fringes of the music
industry and later I spent the last 18 years before retirement as a very Civil
Servant.
I am divorced and have 4 children – one boy and three girls
– and they have provided me with four wonderful grandchildren. Oddly enough, in
the same ratio. Though I love to travel it has been limited to the United
Kingdom and I have totally fallen in love with Scotland where one of my
daughters lives. I currently live in the historic city of Lichfield with a cat
called Dickens.
Links
viewbook.at/MelodyMayhem
Melody Mayhem: 2nd Movement
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08PXD24SX/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1607505392&sr=8-2
Previously unpublished short stories appear on my own
Blog on the first Sunday of every month:
https://scrapsandscribblings.blogspot.com/p/stories.html
https://discoveringdiamonds.blogspot.com/
Today, I have a wonderful guest, who over the coming months has become a good friend. Keith Bradley, yet to be published, writes fast action, edge of your seat, thrillers for the screen. When not writing about psychological killers, Keith also turns his hand to writing short stories that are guaranteed to put a smile on your face. So, please, sit back and enjoy, The Haircut by Keith Bradley.
‘Well you can forget about going to Blackpool with your
brother if you don’t have a haircut,’ my mum said to me, after we’d been
arguing about it for ages.
John, our kid, is going to take me and my best friend Colin,
in his new company car, to Blackpool for my birthday. He gets a new company car
every August and this time it’s a red, mark 4 Ford Cortina. I wish he still
lived at home. Before he got married I spent loads of time with him. My mum was
always telling me to stop mithering him. I’d say: ‘Where are you going our
kid?’ ‘Can I come?’ ‘What time will you be back?’ He’d say: ‘I’m going to see a
man about a dog’, ‘When you’re older’ and ‘Ask no questions, get told no lies.’
It was ace when John lived at home. He would have talked my mum out of making
me go for a haircut.
‘Why do I need a haircut before I go to Blackpool?’
‘Because I say so.’
‘So, I’ve got to do everything you say because you say so?’
‘I’m your mother.’
‘So, if you told me to put my head in the oven, I’d have to
put my head in the oven would I then?’
I’d got her here, because when I say I’m doing something
because our kid does it she always says to me, ‘so you’d put your head in the
oven if your brother told you to, would you?’
‘I haven’t got time for your lip, Kevin. Why can’t you just
do as you’re told for once?’
She was starting to get annoyed, but she never really loses
her temper, not really.
‘I don’t even need a haircut.’
‘Don’t need a haircut! What do you mean don’t need a haircut?
Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Don’t need a haircut. Your fringe is
nearly over your eyes and the sides are over your ears.’
‘No, they’re not.’
‘Kevin stop acting the goat. You need a haircut.’
‘Can I go with dad then?’
‘What’s wrong with Cindy? She always gives your hair a lovely
cut.’
‘Nothing. But you said
I could go to dad’s barber when I was older.’
‘What will I tell Cindy?’
‘Tell her I’ve gone to dad’s barber’
‘I can’t say that! She’ll be offended.’
‘Tell her I’m ill then.’
‘And what if she sees you in the street then? What do I say
to her then, then? Hey?’
‘So, does that mean I’ve got to go to Cindy’s with you for
ever?’
Click HERE
to read more of The Haircut.
About Keith
Keith Bradley left school at 16 and worked as a waiter,
carpet cleaner, office clerk and systems analyst. In 1995 his passion for horse
racing led him to become a jockeys’ agent. He was hugely successful and
represented amongst others Tom Queally, the rider of Frankel and Seb Sanders,
the 2007 champion.
In 2011 he became a mature student
and obtained a first-class degree in French, Media and translation and then a
masters degree on the renown creative write course at the University of East
Anglia. His translation of Marilyn 1962 by Sébastien Cauchon was used to produce the script for the
Hollywood miniseries, currently in production, of the same name. As a writer,
he is tired of seeing the working class portrayed in a negative light and
writes humorous short stories and scripts based on his childhood in Whalley
Range. He has also recently written a full-length police procedural script with
mainly female leads set in Milton Keynes and a situation com set in a betting
shop
He has lived chronologically in
Manchester, Nottingham, Newmarket, Milton Keynes, Clermont Ferrand and
currently lives in Norwich with his partner Wendy and Ollie the wonder dog.
Where possible, we can help our independent shops and cafes. One such, small independent café, is the Butterfly in Norwich, Norfolk. Based close to the River Wensum and opposite, the historical, Dragon’s Hall, the Butterfly is well known for its aromatic, fresh ground coffee and sizzling bacon. Owner, Steve Kittle, knows that to survive this lockdown, he must offer as much on his menu for takeaway.
If you would like to smell the coffee, the sizzling bacon then click on the links below to get your taste buds salivating!
It doesn’t matter how many books you have written, seeing a
review of one of your books never ceases to bring a huge smile. The review
below was added on Amazon 2nd November for The Wendy House.
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 2 November 2020
Nicola’s father has just died and she has something urgent
to tell her mother Barbara. She is drinking too much and who is the man in the
wheelchair she shows such disdain for?
The narrative of the past is woven into the present as we come to understand just what happened to Nicola as a child. The tension is skilfully built and the way her abuser grooms her when babysitting her is realistic and authentic. Nicola trusts him, why wouldn’t she? He is a kind and generous friend of the family.
What follows is a heartbreaking account of that betrayal and the effects on Nicola who is determined to protect her younger sister Becky at all costs.
Nicola’s bad choice of relationships is explored and her mistaking sex for real love after her early abusive relationship is very well done.
But what drives the suspense throughout the whole book is the conflict between mother and daughter: her mother seeing her as a rebellious and promiscuous daughter when we as the reader are privy to the truth. We want so much for the mother to know what the daughter has been subjected to but the shame, secrecy and blackmail have destroyed Nicola’s trust and confidence.
I won’t add any spoilers but this is an important subject which the author hasn’t shied away from but has written with great sensitivity and authenticity.
The Wendy House has receive two distinctive awards.
An echo from World War II
Both my parents were avid readers.
They enjoyed good fiction and history, and dinner conversations were often
about what they had read or were reading. My father also read math and physics
books as though they were novels. He had shelves of them which was unusual for
a real estate broker.
As an American officer, Dad was in
the UK from February 1942 until March 1943. He was trained in radar with the
British Army, and on his return the US had time at Wright-Patterson Field and later
at Fort Brady, Michigan, where the radar stations were protecting the Sault
Locks from a possible German raid from Norway over the pole.
Those locks carried a huge
percentage of American iron ore and steel, and a strike would have crippled
production and extended the war by several years.
It was at Fort Brady that he met my
mother who was a WAC aircraft plotting officer and the WAC company commander.
Less than a year after they met, my father was sent to the Philippines where he
trained radar operators and set up radar stations on islands shortly after the
Marines had re-captured them. Often, he’d arrive before bodies were buried.
This took him around the Philippines, to New Guinea, and to Pratas Island,
China.
While my mother never knew exactly
where he was or what he was doing, she followed the South Pacific news closely.
As a teenager in the 1960s, WWII
was before the beginning of time. As a result, I had no idea how fresh in my
parents’ minds it was. They talked about it, but mostly about friends they’d
made; acts of kindness they’d experienced, and how even then, the history was
becoming distorted or forgotten.
For example, on the fiftieth
anniversary of D-Day, one of the UK tabloid newspapers ran a “sensational
feature” about how many American soldiers had been killed during a pre-invasion
exercise and were buried in Devon. The story was billed as one that had been
supressed and was only now coming to light. The reality was that it had been
fully published in several of the official histories in the late 1940s and
early 50s. I was first aware of it when my mother told it to me on the way home
from seeing The Longest Day in 1962, and I heard is several times
afterwards.
My mother’s interest in history
continued until the end of her life. One day when she was 102, she was at a
committee meeting for an organisation she was still active in. (She was also
still in a book club that had given her a Kindle for her 100th
birthday. She loved it because she could enlarge the type.) At this meeting,
one of her friends said:
“Janice, I’m reading a fascinating
book about a plane crash in New Guinea during WWII. Only two soldiers and a WAC
survived and had to find their way down
the mountain avoiding the Japanese and natives. You were a WAC, so I thought
you might be interested.”
My mother replied, “Yes. That would
have been Margaret
Hastings. I was her commanding officer.”
Lost
in Shangri-La (2012) is by Mitchell Zuckoff
Michael Reidy, www.pmichaelreidy.com
Outdoor Loos in the Middle of the Night
Hugs
Pauline
Top
selling author, Suzy Turner, is celebrating Halloween with a brand new, spooky
read. So dust off your cobwebs and
tumble into a Willow Tree Farm before you disappear….. aaaaaargh!
Little
Shop of Borrows by Suzy Turner
After
spending a year perfecting his knitting skills in the Peruvian mountains, Taren
Winn-Jones returns to England to transform his late Nanna’s house
into a yarn shop. But when he discovers it has quite literally vanished, he
doesn’t know what to do. Luckily for him, he has just befriended
a strange young woman heading to the mysterious hamlet of Willow Tree Farm…
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55815688-little-shop-of-borrows
Youtube
Trailer: https://youtu.be/Se-o0Wu1U-s
Amazon:
Little Shop of Borrows - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08LSFY2TD
Willow
Tree Farm - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08L43BJM4
Author
Bio
Having
lived in Portugal since childhood, Suzy, who is originally from Yorkshire in
England, loves to travel. She finds inspiration wherever she goes. Old decrepit
buildings, graveyards, cathedrals and castles are just a few of the things that
can be found within the worlds of her urban fantasy books, and her contemporary
women’s fiction novels are filled with fun friendships, ordinary
people in extraordinary circumstances and quirky characters you’d want as
friends.
Suzy
lives in the Algarve with her husband, three cats and a dog, where she
meditates and does yoga every morning and then hangs out with her imaginary
witches all day long.
For
more books and updates, visit:
The
Annapurna range at dawn
I’ve reached
the age where drinking too much tea before bedtime guarantees having to get up
in the middle of the night. Perhaps this reminded me of a holiday a couple of
decades ago where the loos were mostly holes in the ground in a hut, and the
night temperatures below freezing.
Horrific, you
think? A bit cold, certainly, but I could not be sorry at all.
I was on a trek
in Nepal, heading for the Annapurna Sanctuary, and we were staying in tea
houses. The weather was usually fine during the mornings, but as we trekked
through the day the clouds invariably gathered, and when we finally stopped for
the night we were usually in a cloud, and often had little idea what the
surrounding scenery was like. There wasn’t much to do in the evenings, so after
drinking numerous cups of lemon tea or ginger tea (NOT the yak butter tea!) we
retired by about eight.
And, naturally,
all that tea had worked its way through the internal plumbing by two or three
in the morning. Cue wriggling out of sleeping bag, already clad in longjohns,
socks and thermal tops, adding the down jacket and making my way to the outside
loo.
We were lucky
enough to be there while the moon was almost full most nights. The clouds had
cleared, and after doing the business I would stand taking in the moonlit
scenery—high, snow-clad peaks and deep, shadowed valleys—until my toes froze
and I had to go back to bed.
The best night
was when we reached the Sanctuary itself – a bowl in the mountains at 4000 m
altitude, surrounded by the peaks of the Annapurna range about 3000 m above us.
During the day, when we’d arrived, there’d been the frequent sound of rocks
falling somewhere in the basin. In the middle of the night, with the snow lit
by moonlight, it was silent. The cold had frozen the rocks in place. It was a
magical five minutes I will remember for ever.
So, not all
outside loos are a bad thing…
Find out
more about Jayne at
https://www.jaynedavisromance.co.uk/
Hugs
Pauline
Most of my friends and followers know that here on our thirteen-acre North Devon home, we have horses. Two showjumpers, Lexie and Saffie and two of Saffie’s offspring to bring on as competition horses – two-year-old Franc and five-month filly, Phoenix. My daughter (now in her thirties) has ridden since she was three, not counting the few times I had her sitting up in front of me when I was riding and she was only a couple of months old. I started riding when I was four.
My sister was
six years my elder and, in those days, ten-year-olds would happily take
themselves off (unsupervised) for the day during weekends and school holidays.
Big Sister, however, often got lumbered with Little Sister (me) so I would occasionally
be in tow when she went to Soper’s Farm, a riding school that was about a ten-minute
walk from our house. It had been a working farm for several centuries, but by
the 1950s times were a-changing and in the early sixties it was sold and became
a housing estate. Mr Soper had his horses and ponies and took eager people out
for rides in the Forest, and relied on eager youngsters to help with the tasks
of mucking out, grooming, tack cleaning and such – presumably in return for a
free ride.
I guess I didn’t go every week with
Big Sister as I have very few memories of actually being there, but I do have
one that is very vivid.
My first ride.
I was to ride Noddy, a
brown-and-white cob pony. Someone lifted
me into the saddle, my little feet were tucked through the loop of the stirrup
leathers because they could not be shortened enough for me to reach the
stirrups themselves, and I was shown how to hold the reins correctly between my
fingers.
Off we set, out onto the main road
(which, then, did not have much traffic). I think my sister walked along beside
us, but the pony was led by Old Mr Soper himself. To me, that glorious ride
went on for miles, but in fact, we only went about ¾ of a mile – although that
is a mile-and-a-half there and back, even so, about a half-hour ride.
What sticks in my mind, apart from
the glorious ride, is that Mr Soper was so pleased with how well I had
done, we stopped at the sweet shop next to the pub and he bought me a bar of
chocolate as a reward. Of course, it’s very likely that he popped into the pub
for a pint – which is why that short little ride took much longer than a mere
half-hour!
Absolutely none of that would
happen today would it?
© Hele Hollick
Website: www.helenhollick.net
Newsletter
Subscription: http://tinyletter.com/HelenHollick
Main Blog: www.ofhistoryandkings.blogspot.com
Amazon
Author Page
(Universal Link) http://viewauthor.at/HelenHollick
Twitter: @HelenHollick
Discovering
Diamonds Historical
Fiction Review Blog (submissions welcome) : https://discoveringdiamonds.blogspot.co.uk/
If you missed other great anecdotes, you can catch up by clicking the links...
Hugs
Pauline
What ever happened
to kindness? I was brought up to be kind and to consider others and never
forget there are many worse off than you! Sadly, these last few months, such an act as
been forgotten by many.
I do my shopping between two leading shops, one being Morrisons. Every time I go into Morrisons I purchase a few items for the Food Bank, these items are packets or tins due to not knowing how soon the food is offered to those in need. A couple of weeks ago, I purchased a few items from my shopping list, two of these were packets of breakfast cereal, whilst taking these from the shelf I took a further two larger packets for the Food Bank. Arriving at the check-out, I placed my items on the conveyer, leaving the Food Banks ones until last. As each item was scanned I placed it in my shopping bag. The last two items yet to be scanned, I waited for them to come down, they didn’t! I was told, I could not have the other cereals as it was seen as panic buying. Taken aback, I explained that they were for the Food Bank. I was told sorry but you can’t have them as it is company policy! I asked the cashier to escort me to the Food Bank which was a few yards away so she could they were not for me. This was denied and my items taken from me. I asked for a supervisor, the person quickly came and I once again explained my purchases, adding the offer to accompany me to the basket where the Food Bank was. Once again, I was told no as it was company policy! Without my Food Bank goodies, I left the store feeling very angry.
Thank you for stopping by and I hope the sun is shining on your face and in your heart and there is a little kindness in your life.
Hugs
Pauline
An anecdote from my role as manager of a care home for adults with learning disabilities
‘What are you looking at?’
‘Mind your own business.’ Jim
twisted away from the window to face Maisie. ‘It’s man’s work.’ He turned back
to the window, tugged the long curtain over his back and sidled closer to
Johnnie. Maisie huffed and walked away.
I looked
past the garden to the road. Barriers had been erected and a team of men were
wielding shovels, heaving soil from the ground. More roadworks. Gas this time or water?
Jim and Johnnie were riveted by taut
muscles, fluorescent jackets and the ever increasing pile of soil.
‘Go and watch if you like. Don’t get
in the workmen’s way though,’ I told them.
‘Nah, you’re alright.’ Johnnie held
one hand over his left eye and rocked back and forth. He did this when he was
excited. The curtain tangled around him and he nearly banged his head on the
window.
‘Shall I open the curtains so you
can see? I could bring tea and you could sit and watch the workmen.’
‘Yeah, please.’ Jim never said no to
a cup of tea. He turned to me and grinned, displaying empty gums.
‘Where are your teeth, Jim?’ I asked.
A lifetime of epilepsy and behavioural drugs were to thank for his empty mouth
but his smile was all the more engaging for it and I found myself grinning back.
The long-stay hospital he was detained in for years probably didn’t provide
much dental care either. He tapped the bulging top pocket of the thick-checked shirt
he insisted on wearing, whatever the weather.
‘You
might need to put them in if you want a biscuit with your tea.’
‘I’ll dip ‘em.’ He said and turned
his attention back to the workmen.
I could see him eyeing up the
wheelbarrow. Jim had a passion for wheelbarrows. The other day there were three
on the lawn. I made him take them all back. Jim’s own one was never enough.
‘Don’t even think about taking that
wheelbarrow, Jim.’ I said. He chuckled.
The refreshments were consumed in
record time, Jim and Johnnie’s eyes barely leaving the entertainment outside.
Workmen wiped foreheads on shoulders and stripped off shirts exposing their
glistening skin to the heat of the sun.
‘Would you like your dinners saved so you can
stay here?’
Jim
and Johnnie both smiled. Everyone else filed into the dining room for meat pie
and mashed potatoes. Maybe we should plant potatoes if they were so keen on digging.
The
workmen looked longingly at the pub opposite then each other. Downing tools
they pulled on their shirts, fixed barriers around the hole and pile of soil
then ambled across the road to quench their thirsts with cold lager.
‘That
looks dangerous,’ Jim said.
‘Yeah,’
agreed Johnnie.
‘It’s
fine,’ I said. ‘They’ve put barriers around it. No-one will fall in. Come and
eat your lunch.’
Half
an hour later I looked again. I saw the workmen return from the pub and watched
as they stared at the scene inside the barriers. One rubbed his jaw - another
scratched the back of his head. They glanced at each other then back at the
ground before turning to look behind them and ahead up the road. I wondered
what was wrong. I studied the spot where they’d been working then realised the
pile of soil had gone. There was no wheelbarrow either.
In
the hall I saw no sign of Jim or Johnnie. I stepped outside and spotted them several
feet from the unhappy workmen. Getting nearer I could see that what was once a
deep hole was now a neatly flattened rectangle of fresh soil. I walked over to
Jim.
‘What’s
happened?’
‘It
was dangerous,’ said Johnnie.
‘So
we filled it in.’ said Jim.
They turned away
and glanced at each other with satisfied smiles before walking back home.
The End
You can find Kerena's other stories HERE
If you missed other great anecdotes, you can catch up by clicking the links...
Hugs
Pauline
