Showing posts with label news. Show all posts
Showing posts with label news. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 06, 2024

March - all change in the Cookman household

 Well here we are in March, and the renovation of the tatty extension has begun. The downstairs of the house looks like a bombsite, but I comfort myself that all will be well when it's finished. And I won't have to go up and down the stairs at least half a dozen times a day, nor risk life and limb climbing into the shower-over-the-bath. Too much information? OK.

The other big - no, HUGE - new is that finally, after five years, my son Leo has received his visa to go and live with his wife in the States. I admire him and the lovely Carrie enormously for their steadfast love and determination.

This is them just after their wedding in 2019, with Leo's first book. He leaves on the 18th of the month.

So, after several years, I shall once more be alone in my little house. I leave you all to imagine how I'm going to feel...

On the work front, I'm still waiting for the edits to come through on Murder at The Crooked Horse, also waiting to see if the publishers want another Libby Sarjeant.

Meanwhile, I have had an idea for a new series, and then depressed myself by looking at the plethora of books and series in my genre - far more than there were when Libby first appeared. I shall bide my time.

And finally, the Edwardian trilogy, The Alexandrians, is currently undergoing a rejuvenation, and all three will soon be up on Amazon. Here are the lovely covers, designed by the talented Jeevani Charika: jeevani charika, who also writes terrific books and helps idiot writers like me with tech stuff.



I'll post the links when they're all finished.

There we are then. Slightly better header for the blog - which I finally did by myself - and all the news from Cookman Corner. See you next month - or whenever I have more earth shattering events to report.

Bye for now.

Thursday, February 01, 2024

February - books and buildings

 Well, we got rid of January. And the big news at Cookman Corner is that Libby Sarjeant number 26 is finished and has been sent to the publishers. It will no doubt come winging back shortly with umpteen pages of corrections and suggestions, but meanwhile, the heat is off. I have provisionally given it the title "Murder at The Crooked Horse" and I'm going to stick to my guns abut that.

In other news, I have the rights to my three Edwardian mysteries returned, as my publishers weren't doing anything with them. I have asked a couple of independent publishers if they'd like them, but apparently, "Edwardian" doesn't play well with "Cosy" crime readers. So far, everyone I've spoken to says they'd love to see more in this genre, so current thinking is I shall self publish. Which is a hell of a lot of work. Do let me know what you think.

And on to buildings. I am finally going to have a downstairs loo installed. This will also entail complete refurbishment of my rather tatty extension, project managed and largely executed by Miles Cookman. I wanted to insert a link to his Other Job here, but there isn't one, and Miles Cookman, musician, isn't really appropriate. He is, however, highly competent in the execution of small buildings. No, not pulling them down. Putting them up. Available for all your building/landscaping requirements in the Whitstable area. 

This also means the office and utility room will have to be cleared out. This has not been done in almost 25 years, so you can imagine what a horrendous job this will be. However, once it's all done life will be an awful lot easier and the production of further books assured.

Also this month I am doing An Event. Faversham Literary Festival asked me to join in and bring a friend, so this is the result: lesley-cookman-and-linda-regan

And finally, because it's February and people have a tendency to get romantic around the 14th, I shall remind you that once upon a time someone called Rosina Lesley wrote these two books. (She wrote more, but they are languishing in the bottom drawer of the computer.)

A Will To Love  Running Away

I'm actually thinking of asking for the rights to these, too. I really don't like these covers.

Anyway, that's all for now. There will be a much nicer header for this blog soon. When I can persuade one of the talented Cookman Family to make it for me...

See you in March.

Sunday, December 31, 2023

Happy New Year from Cookman Corner

 Well, that's it, then - another year over. Or rather, another astronomical cycle finished. I'm still not sure why it is assumed that things will miraculously change because the earth is beginning another perambulation. The  conservatives will still be money obsessed racists, landlords (some them) will still fleece their tenants, people will still turn to petty crime because they need money for food. And the various sections of society will continue to berate and blame the others.

I have recently experienced this on social media, where a fellow author I have known for some time (actually in Real Life, when we still did that) accused "your generation" of all the ills the Tory government had bestowed on us. It was incredibly and offensively personal and I was thoroughly shocked. I think by now my beliefs are fairly well known by my friends and followers, and I resent being tarred with the same brush as those who actually did vote the bastards into power. I know a lot people of my own advanced age, and none of us did, but of course, as my children tell me, social media - and real life friendship groups, come to that - are echo chambers. But this sort of mass blame strikes me as very similar to a racist attitude. And probably comes from those who assert, in a shocked voice "I'm not racist!" Yes, you know a couple of them, don't you?

And I'm still suffering from the inability of the publishing industry to stuff Mr Osman into the correct box - the one the rest of us traditional crime writers are in. As another fellow author said to me recently, "You've been doing exactly what he does for years." (He actually added "And Better" but I'd better not say that.) So as far as I'm concerned, this "New Year" is going to be nothing to write home about, just more, and probably worse, of the same.

I hope anyone reading this will feel more cheerful about things than I do, and if you're celebrating tonight, have a good one. If anyone is going to see those of my offspring who will be performing to "see the New Year in", you will have a good one, I can guarantee. And at some point in the next couple of months, this blog will undergo a transformation into a family report - you've guessed it - called Cookman Corner. Shameless promotion for all of us, of course. So see you then -OK?




Saturday, September 23, 2023

Crime writers - trials and tribulations, misnomers and oxymorons

 This week my doctor, trying to find out why I wasn't feeling quite the thing, discovered that my previously normal blood pressure had suddenly gone through the roof. The only other time this had happened wasn't when I was pregnant - four times, you may recall - but when, at the behest of my publisher of the time, I was attempting to write an erotic romance. I told her I couldn't do it, I didn't do romance at all, let alone the erotic stuff, but she was sure I could to enhance her successful erotic imprint. I started getting migraines. Bad ones. And guess what? High blood pressure. I didn't write the book.

This time, doctor and I concluded that the mix of medication I'm on didn't help and I was particularly stressed. More medication promised. Well, I'm not trying to write an erotic romance this time, but I am trying to write Libby Sarjeant Mystery number 26, to which I have previously referred in this blog. So far it has had two completely different incarnations and a third combining the two, and is proving the most difficult I've ever done. So - a lot of stress, especially as the damn thing's due to be delivered in December. 

And then, this morning I read a post on the BBC Culture website talking about - and to - Richard Osman and Cosy crime. I refuse to put the link here, as I am incensed. According to this journalist, Osman has "revived" the genre, which, according to him, had been virtually moribund since Agatha Christie. This shows an appalling lack of research, and I cannot do better then to quote two opinions from readers, one of whom is a journalist himself. 

Suzanne Barton said: I like what some of the people he talks about are saying about ‘cosy’ being a misnomer but he should definitely have spoken to some of the more experienced writers, rather than just the ‘celebrities’. The genre is not experiencing a ‘comeback’, it has always been there. There was a ‘golden age’ but Ngaio Marsh wrote up until the 70’s and was succeeded by the likes of Ruth Rendell, Colin Dexter, PD James and yourself so crime writing has been around constantly since the 1920’s and even before (Wilkie Collins, GK Chesterton)

In my opinion yours are some of the best of the current detective novels! I hope that people will read this sort of article but perhaps use it as a springboard to investigate what else is out there and realise that there are lots of hardworking, experienced writers who write brilliant novels, mostly far more developed and character driven than the celebrities turned writer!

And Nick Campbell wrote: I’m just amazed that journalists can be so blind to the phenomenon of celebrity writers. Truly this is so patronising toward both authors and readers. And half his article is just regurgitating another journalist’s article from the Torygraph. Lazy nonsense. It’s funny because the celebrity thing has done the rounds in children’s books for years without being properly examined and here we are again. And it’s not about the quality of those specific books, it’s just the laziness and banality when it comes to their being covered by journalists (and I include the BBC).

I don't think I can add anything better, do you? Thank you, Suzanne and Nick, for giving me permission to quote you.

Next - reviews. Now, I've had some lovely reviews, on and off Amazon, for the latest epic, many of which praise me (she said modestly) for my inclusion of current issues plaguing society of today. But one, although saying that she/he likes my books and has all of them, criticises me for the same thing, emphasising the fact that they are - and should remain - "cosy". The review finishes: 'In the next book, please Ms Cookman, no more messages?'

That floored me. The message referred to is, indirectly, the motive for the murder, and murder is not "Cosy". Every murder has a motive, and they are all all deeply unpleasant, whether personal or society-wide. They are certainly not "Cosy". The epithet has a lot to answer for. I started writing my books before the word migrated here from the USA - I just wrote "murder mysteries". A genre which, according to at least two well respected agents at the time, one of whom became a friend much later on, was in complete decline. It wasn't. I was already reading books written in the 80s and 90s, some of whose authors are mentioned by Suzanne, above, and now, of course, there are thousands - and that isn't an exaggeration. This is why reviews and ratings on Amazon are so important, even if we deplore the fact. It all adds to the visibility of the books, which, hopefully means people buy them and I can eat for another few months. Slight deviation from the main theme, here, sorry.

In conclusion, I just wish the term "Cosy" could be banned. Not just as a description of murder mysteries, where it is a complete oxymoron, but from the language. Yes, it is bloody "twee", but our books aren't. Even Osman himself said that in an interview I heard on my favourite radio station - not BBC, incidentally. And Osman hasn't "revived" the genre, it was alive and well before he dived in, with his original seven figure advance. If anything, he has overshadowed us, the rest of those hard working authors who write for a living and for the love of the books.


Sunday, July 16, 2023

Looking back - and looking forward


 This is a blog post I wrote back in June 2020 - when we were in the thick of the the pandemic. As there were no comments recorded, I thought it would be safe to re-post it, if only to see how many people have seen and enjoyed those recommendations I made! Also, if there's anybody out there who doesn't know, book 24 in the Libby Sarjeant series is up for pre-order  mybook.to/cLH4FTS here, and you will see a nice Canva banner at the top of the blog, made for me by Toby at Headline. Now - off we go. Three years ago, I wrote this:

I am going to make a recommendation. I write, and enjoy reading, lighter detective fiction. As I have documented elsewhere, my love of this genre came from being allowed to run riot amid my parents' books, many of which I still have. These included Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe series (and occasionally a Tecumseh Fox), John Dickson Carr/Carter Dickson - Gideon Fell and Sir Henry Merrivale - and Ngaio Marsh's Roderick Alleyn series. I re-read them all, and the Alleyn books from start to finish at least once every two years. On the way, there were other writers; Gladys Mitchell and Patricia Wentworth, to name two.

I was already a professional writer (features, PR, theatre) when I went back to school to do a Master's Degree in Creative Writing, a fairly new discipline at the time, and one I was already teaching at local authority level. Sadly, it didn't improve my knowledge of literature, which I had hoped, but it did introduce me to the woman who became my publisher. Again, well documented. We more-or-less started off together. As my final dissertation I submitted 20,000 words of a detective story which had first been conceived for the long departed World One Day Novel Cup. I had never seriously considered authorship as a career, although I had dabbled freely in the murky waters of Romance. Like many others, I had thought I could write a Mills and Boon romance, or Category Romance, as I learned to call them. Easy, I thought. Wrong!!! I came to realise how very, very clever these women, and the occasional man, were. I remained content to be friends with many of them, friendships I have maintained to this day. More of that later.

Meanwhile, as Hazel Cushion went on to become a fully fledged publisher, she asked me if there was any more of my dissertation, and if so, could she have it. And, could it be a series. Well, by this stage in my life I had expanded my reading habits and discovered, among other things, many writers writing in the same genre I had loved as a child. So there was a market for it, although received wisdom from the industry was, between much sucking of teeth, that there wasn't. We all know how that turned out.

And that market also extended to Television, exemplified by the hugely popular Midsomer Murders. I had read the original books - only seven of them - and even met Caroline Graham, the author, when we were both tutors on a Writers' Holiday. There have been other series in a similar vein, although none as long lasting. Father Brown might be heading the same way, but Rosemary and Thyme didn't last long. Shakespeare and Hathaway is a little more jokey/pastiche, but quite enjoyable if you suspend serious criticism. The Coroner didn't last long, either, although it should have done.

But I've found a new one! I suspect a lot of my readers discovered it before I did, but I'm terribly glad I did. It's been airing on UKTV Drama since 2017, and now I have all my streaming ducks in a row, I have been - I believe the term is "Binging" (!) - on it since the beginning of the series. It is a New Zealand small town detective series called The Brokenwood Mysteries, and has some very familiar elements. Lead detectives, of course, and recurring characters, often rather quirky ones. And very odd murder methods - remind you of anything? Anyway, that's my first recommendation.

My second refers to something more personal. You remember I mentioned retained friendships? Well, some of us go away "on retreat" each year, which I have written about before. Not this year, of course. Anyway, a few of them decided to release an anthology of shorts as a 2020 beach read. And to my surprise, they asked me to join them. Surprise, because they are all romance writers, and all have been, or still are, Mills and Boon authors. I really struggled with this, and failed miserably on the romance front, but I was edited by one of them, a particular friend, who brought me into line. 

What I didn't know then, of course, was that a lot of my struggles were due to. illness - now happily resolved. So to finish this mainly nostalgic ramble, here's the link to that lovely little book. https://mybook.to/5bWZc 


So there you are! Happy watching and reading.

Sunday, June 11, 2023

News from Cookman Corner

 First of all, let me apologise for the lack of newsletters since March, or if you are only a reader of the blog, since last October! This is partially explained by the absence in the family home of younger daughter Phillipa, who has gone to live in London and abandoned me and my newsletters. She has, however, sent me a narrated (by her) video of how to do it, so I'm saved. Secondly, due to my own desire to have two books out this year, I had to write another book in three months. I did it, so this year readers will be delighted by Murder in Autumn published on September 7th, and Murder By Christmas, funnily enough, in December. At least, I hope they'll be delighted.


After the vicissitudes of the past three years, life has been slowly returning to normal - or what passes here at Cookman Corner for normal. One of the things I've done over the past few months - when not writing - is to read several of my own books. This is not for the sheer joy of reading them, it's to remind myself of what has happened in the lives of Libby Sarjeant and her friends, and of some of the characters who have passed through Steeple Martin and Nethergate. Otherwise, I find myself giving the same name to a villain in one book and a new best friend in another.


And now, while having a week or so to re-group, I'm thinking about the one after next, which should appear in summer 2024, with a working title of Murder in Midsummer. Of course, the publishers may think that title too close to something else we're all familiar with, but we'll see!


See you next time,

Lesley

Sunday, October 02, 2022

Let's get up to date!

Hello folks! Sorry it's been so long since I wrote, but there's been a fair amount of stuff going on here at Cookman Towers. After the publication of Murder After Midnight and the operation last September, I gradually improved in health and carried on writing Libby 23, Murder By Mistake, which I delivered on time in April. There has been somewhat of a wait to find out if I had another contract, but yes, I have. Three more books, the first one to be delivered by next May. However, fate was not done with me yet, and in August I was diagnosed with breast cancer. So, almost a year to the day after the previous op, I had another one!

The children - all now middle aged, or nearly, have been terrific. Phillipa and Louise have been taxi-ing me everywhere and Leo has shouldered the "Man of the House" burden willingly, while Miles has stepped in whenever asked. Philly and Leo are still resident here due to all sorts of circumstances, but for this, I'm very grateful. For instance: last year Leo came home with a new kitchen bin as a present - which I LOVE - and today he presented me with a knife block, and knives, obviously. This is because the entire famiy complain that I haven't got any decent knives. Admittdly, some of mine are inherited from the parents... Perhaps I wouldn't have liked them so much if they had been Christmas or birthday presents, though.

 Well, now, here's a thing. Yesterday, after receiving the knife block from Leo, I had to call on his expertise when the spinning wheel of doom appeared while I was trying to do something in Word. Eventually, the whole laptop went into meltdown and I was gloomily contemplating the possible purchase of a new - well, refurbished - MacBook. However, after setting up my zoom meeting on my phone - who knew? - Leo confiscated said laptop, updated the operating system, which it had refused to let me do, cleared out all my hoarded junk and gave it back. I'm having to learn a lot of new things, as I navigate all the refreshed sites, but suddenly, I can do things I couldn't do before. There are unseen advantages in the dreadful state of the country forcing adult offspring to go home to mother. I can now carry on with the day job.

Anyway, I am now looking forward to the publication of Libby 23 in December and trying to write Libby 24. Also, there may be other changes - work wise - on the way, such as a new newsletter instead of this one - if I can make it work. So, until the next time -!



Sunday, January 23, 2022

A couple of Sunday rants

I posted this on Facebook today when sharing a piece in The Observer. Yes, it's political, and I try not to do political on my blog/newsletter, but just at the moment I am so incensed with everything going on around us, it is almost all I can think about. So here goes:

 I know, I know. I keep posting pieces from The Guardian and The Observer - well, I'm loyal. I used to work for The Observer and my father worked for The Guardian. But they have columnists like Jack Monroe, who highlight the issues of which we should all be aware. This is shocking. And all too frequently, the empty shelves are blamed on the damaged supply chain (lorry drivers) and Brexit. And, of course, that is so often true. (Oh, yes it is.) But not always. I'm bloody lucky - without an income apart from my state pension (go on, try living on that) I write novels which have kept the wolf from the door for the last sixteen years. So I've got to keep on doing that, whether I like it or not, or I shall be in the same position as the elderly gentleman who ate his toothpaste for dinner - something quoted here by Jack. And being a novelist is actually quite hard work and very precarious - it is NOT, as so many people think, a sinecure. OK - I'll shut up now. Sunday rant over - nothing to see here...

And in reply to a comment: 

Yes - that Jack! The original Boot Strap Cook! I've got a couple of her books as well as following her on Twitter and her blog. It really makes you wonder about the cretins supposedly in charge of us all - how have they NOT seen the food banks? The homeless? Because apparently, they haven't. Oh - and where, oh where are the charity depots to which I can give clothing for refugees and the homeless? Plenty of charity shops who will SELL my unwanted clothes, but none who will give them to people who actually NEED them. Actually, we do know some lovely people who will do just that, but they are private individuals, and of course, it appears that everything worthwhile IS down to private individuals these days. Sorry, Arabella. That led into my second Sunday rant... with plenty of capital letters.



Friday, December 31, 2021

And that was the year, that was.

 Crappy old year, 2021. Coronavirus carried on restricting life for the general population - except for those in government, of course. We all said, last Christmas, "Oh, wait till next year! We'll make up for it!" And lo and behold - we couldn't.

Personally, I have had health issues and give way to no one in my admiration for the staff of the NHS. All my children have succumbed to Covid within the last month or so, but have kept me safe and continued to look after me. Christmas was even stranger than it was last year for everyone we know - all our local friends and family tested positive at some point, and ended up in isolation - my son Leo spent the whole period in his room upstairs, poor soul.

So, as someone on the radio said this morning - I shan't be welcoming the new year in, exactly, but making sure the old one is gone. With a bitof luck, I shall get back to work and the long delayed Libby 23 will see the light of day,

See you on the other side.



Saturday, September 04, 2021

An explanation and acknowledgements

 Morning, friends and relations. I wrote a post in June entitled Complaining about Covid and Agitating about Age and decided it was too moany for words. I'd had a few health problems since last September and my indefatigable GP was continuing to poke about to find out if there was an underlying cause. However, in that time, Libby 21, Murder on the Edge, had been published, and Libby 22 had been written - pandemics have little effect - physically - on the working life of the novelist. And, a week or so ago, Libby 22, Murder After Midnight, was published.



 

The upshot of all of the GP's testing finally emerged. You've guessed it. So tomorrow, September 5th I go into King's College Hospital for an operation to remove my pancreas and spleen. Not the most convenient hospital for East Kent, especially as neither of my sons drive. (I know; odd, isn't it?) Both girls do, so I shall have my one visitor a day, I expect. I've told them not to bother, after all, I was in hospital for a week last September - almost to the day - and allowed no visitors at all. I survived.

We don't know what after care will be needed, chemo or radio therapy, but that, luckily, will be administered locally. I'm allowed to take my laptop as well as my Kindle and recently acquired iPhone (which I have trouble with), so I can keep up with the world, hopefully. I would like to pay tribute here to the incredible care and joined up thinking of the NHS, when it is beset by all the myriad problems of the pandemic - and the government.

And while I'm at it, my wonderful family. Leo has been forced into the role of primary carer, ably assisted by the other three, the girls in particular having acted as taxi drivers for all hospital and doctor visits, and there have been many. And friends, of course. The support of my writer friends with whom I Zoom almost every day has kept me relatively sane. Thank you Sophie Weston, Joanna Maitland, Louise Allen, Sarah Mallory, Liz Fielding and Janet Gover.

Oh - and thank heavens for technology! See you on the other side.


Saturday, January 09, 2021

New Year post news

 Well, here's the second blog.

Family and I managed to do Christmas - Lou, the grandchildren and her partner stayed in their house with her partner's father, I stayed in my house with the other three, Miles, Phillips and Leo. We had all the traditional food, and did New Year's Eve, too, with Haggis and bashed Neeps.

Now, the decorations are down, and I am endeavouring to write Libby 22. Our friend Lee has re-done my website - which my publisher says is elegant - and I have received the Dreaded Email telling me I am Extremely Clinically Vulnerable. Doesn't make a lot of difference, as I've been staying indoors since last March. I have alo bought rather a lot of joggers, and Lou bought me the lovliest warm jacket for Christmas. Phillipa bought me a DustBuster, and Leo bought me the Rupert Annual. Miles bought me the Victoria Wood biography. A mixed bag.

That's it, then. Happy days - and I hope everyone has the best New Year they can possibly have.


Friday, December 11, 2020

A Rather Unsettling Year news


Everybody's had it tough this year. I know of at least one family in my own small circle who are all in hospital as I write. Many people are far worse off than we are. I, at least have been able to work, although my children haven't - mostly. I rail ineffectually against the government for its mismanagement, but at least I'm in my own home and we have enough to eat. I really  ought to count my blessings ever day, but it's difficult, sometimes. So here's our story of 2020.

On the 4th October, it was exactly a year since my younger daughter received her breast cancer diagnosis. We reflected on the year so far and wondered what would happen next.

Phillipa couldn't work from that point on, as she was no longer able to go off on cruises. She was able to do a few gigs, but not enough to keep her, so lost the flat she was going to move in to. So she stayed with me. Her treatment was shared between out local hospitals, anyway, so it was all for the best. Her sister performed all the chauffeuring (is that a word?) duties and her brother and I looked after her at home. After her operation (successful) her radiography started - every day except Christmas Day and Boxing Day, until the end of January. Talking to her occasional duo partner, they decided to see if their cruise line needed anyone - and they did! For exactly a month - February. And when they got back - what happened?

Suddenly, all my children were out of work. All gigs stopped and only the odd one has cropped up. Meanwhile, over last winter, my publisher sold out to one of the Big Boys, just as I was having a book released. I worried. Oh, boy, how I worried. This is my day job, and now, not only I, but two of my offspring were relying on it, and Big Boys are not quite as forbearing as independent publishers. So there we were, over winter, with one daughter in the grip of something rather nasty and me terrified I was going to lose my job.

However, a few good things have happened. First, Phillipa recovered beautifully. Then, I got my agent, who sorted out the publishers, with whom I have got on like a house on fire ever since. The three older children all managed online gigs of sorts, while the youngest, Leo, had his first book published. Not a good time for that, of course. All events (signings, etc) were cancelled. My grandchildren have both started new schools during the last couple of weeks. And in October the 21st in the Libby Sarjeant series was released.

And both younger children have recorded albums. Phillipa's is of songs wot her dad wrote, and the first single released actually reached number one in the Country Chart. Leo's is of self penned songs and is already out. So we've all kept busy despite the pandemic.

Finally, I Got Ill. Actually spent a week in hospital. Diabetes related and I am still recovering. but thanks to the NHS I am still here. Like most other people who have recourse to their services, I am stunned and grateful to them. I had a rather nasty relapse (poor Leo suffered the brunt of that) but finally was released into the community with a whole battery of new medication.

And now my granddaughter is self isolating because someone in her class has become infected. Like many families, we will be separated for Christmas. The boys and I will be in my house, Lou and her family in hers, and goodness knows where Phillipa will be.  Lou has managed a couple of live streamed, socially distanced concerts. Miles has given us a few living room concerts and I've been hiding.

This blog is now part of my new website, and I started it back in October. Then came the nasty relapse and everything went on hold. I had hoped to make it a cheery, hopeful post, but with the world as it is - rising Covid numbers and Blasted Brexit on the horizon, all under a government who don't appear to know how to govern a classroom, let alone a country, that was a vain hope. So we keep on keeping on. I'm trying to write Libby 22, and not succeeding very well, but I will keep going.

Have as Happy a Christmas as you can, people, and here's hoping 2021 turns out better than 2020.


Tuesday, August 25, 2020

Thoughts at the end of August 2020 - I am NOT Cosy.

It is Tuesday August 25th, and I don't know where the month went. The weather has suddenly turned autumnal, as a consequence of which I feel considerably better. After almost six months of being told what to do, shielding, isolating and playing the "old lady", the worm has turned. I AM going to drive again, despite what my (non-driving) son says and despite my rackety old car. I don't go far, after all, chiropodist, hairdresser, doctor and I might even venture to attempt Tesco!

Meanwhile, I have been watching Foyle's War. Not quite bingeing (now discovered there's an "e" in the middle) but watching them over a few weeks consecutively. I'm now well into the Cold War in 1947 and I'm constantly surprised at how accurate it is. Last night, saw a specially made documentary "The Making Of Foyle's War", which encompassed the War Office expert, the properties and art department and various other experts, which explained a lot. Over the years the odd episode has given me material for my own books, one of which I was describing to my daughter this morning. "That doesn't sound very 'Cosy', Mum," she said. My reply? Guess.

I have been fighting a One-Woman War against the term "Cosy", coined in the States, for years. I'm sorry, but I don't consider homophobic murder and attacks, people smuggling, modern slavery, child abuse  and paedophilia very cosy, all of which I have written about. Other writers in roughly the same genre have also written about similar subjects. We are described as following in the wake of Agatha Christie, who would have been horrified to be descibed as Cosy.

When I started my career as a novelist I was already a writer, in that I wrote stuff for money. I called myself a writing whore. I adored many of the Golden Age writers, although not Christie so much, and read many modern crime novels. Yes, funnily enough, that was what they were. Crime novelists. Then, a few books in, I discovered - via Waterstones, no Amazon, then - that I was "Cozy". Yes, to compound matters, spelt with a "Z".

I even founded a Facebook Group called Traditional Mystery Writers UK, which attracted a few fellow novelists, but has never really thrived. But now I'm determined to fight against this rather derogatory and disparaging sobriquet. I am NOT COSY. Neither am I a doddery old lady. I can (mostly) look after myself - oh, and I'm still earning my own living. I am extremely grateful to my offspring for being there for me during the Covid 19 lockdown, for fetching and carrying and generally doing the things I can't, but we've all got to stand on our own two (wobbly) feet sometime. So off we go into the rest of 2020 with determination.

Friday, June 19, 2020

Mysteries-U-Like news

I am going to make a recommendation. I write, and enjoy reading, lighter detective fiction. As I have documented elsewhere, my love of this genre came from being allowed to run riot amid my parents' books, many of which I still have. These included Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe series (and occasionally a Tecumseh Fox), John Dickson Carr/Carter Dickson - Gideon Fell and Sir Henry Merrivale - and Ngaio Marsh's Roderick Alleyn series. I re-read them all, and the Alleyn books from start to finish at least once every two years. On the way, there were other writers; Gladys Mitchell and Patricia Wentworth, to name two.

I was already a professional writer (features, PR, theatre) when I went back to school to do a Master's Degree in Creative Writing, a fairly new discipline at the time, and one I was already teaching at local authority level. Sadly, it didn't improve my knowledge of literature, which I had hoped, but it did introduce me to the woman who became my publisher. Again, well documented. We more-or-less started off together. As my final dissertation I submitted 20,000 words of a detective story which had first been conceived for the long departed World One Day Novel Cup. I had never seriously considered authorship as a career, although I had dabbled freely in the murky waters of Romance. Like many others, I had thought I could write a Mills and Boon romance, or Category Romance, as I learned to call them. Easy, I thought. Wrong!!! I came to realise how very, very clever these women, and the occasional man, were. I remained content to be friends with many of them, friendships I have maintained to this day. More of that later.

Meanwhile, as Hazel Cushion went on to become a fully fledged publisher, she asked me if there was any more of my dissertation, and if so, could she have it. And, could it be a series. Well, by this stage in my life I had expanded my reading habits and discovered, among other things, many writers writing in the same genre I had loved as a child. So there was a market for it, although received wisdom from the industry was, between much sucking of teeth, that there wasn't. We all know how that turned out.

And that market also extended to Television, exemplified by the hugely popular Midsomer Murders. I had read the original books - only seven of them - and even met Caroline Graham, the author, when we were both tutors on a Writers' Holiday. There have been other series in a similar vein, although none as long lasting. Father Brown might be heading the same way, but Rosemary and Thyme didn't last long. Shakespeare and Hathaway is a little more jokey/pastiche, but quite enjoyable if you suspend serious criticism. The Coroner didn't last long, either, although it should have done.

But I've found a new one! I suspect a lot of my readers discovered it before I did, but I'm terribly glad I did. It's been airing on UKTV Drama since 2017, and now I have all my streaming ducks in a row, I have been - I believe the term is "Binging" (!) - on it since the beginning of the series. It is a New Zealand small town detective series called The Brokenwood Mysteries, and has some very familiar elements. Lead detectives, of course, and recurring characters, often rather quirky ones. And very odd murder methods - remind you of anything? Anyway, that's my first recommendation.

My second refers to something more personal. You remember I mentioned retained friendships? Well, some of us go away "on retreat" each year, which I have written about before. Not this year, of course. Anyway, a few of them decided to release an anthology of shorts as a 2020 beach read. And to my surprise, they asked me to join them. Surprise, because they are all romance writers, and all have been, or still are, Mills and Boon authors. I really struggled with this, and failed miserably on the romance front, but I was edited by one of them, a particular friend, who brought me into line. And the result is up for pre-order. You can find it on amazon, and this is what it looks like:

So there you are! Happy watching and reading. 

Sunday, May 17, 2020

More thoughts on lockdown

I posted this today on my Facebook work page, and then decided I would post it here, too.

Lockdown has changed us all, even those of us who could be said to be living the same way we always do. One of the things that has happened to me is my younger daughter, currently living with me, was appalled that I was still paying separately for my landline, broadband and Sky connection. She immediately set about finding me a better solution, which she did, while she and younger son, also living with me, extolled the virtues of streaming services. I had looked at Netflix and been frightened to death. I couldn't see anything I liked and I just liked the fact that the Radio Times told me what there was to watch tonight in a nice, safe way. But I've had to change. The Sky signal stopped, and I needed an ordinary aerial to watch my nice safe TV. And my aerial appears to be broken. So, until an aerial man can come out, I'm more or less stuck with streaming. So I've found my own streaming service, Acorn, and those programmes I do like watching - even on Netflix. I am slowly coming into the 21st century. I have realised how much my life is governed by radio and television instead of my social life. I no longer do anything outside of home and work, which is depressing. I am lucky enough to have a garden, so I can go outside, but as I am a certain age with underlying health problems, the offspring are keeping me under house arrest. So, I'm watching streaming services and I've joined Zoom meetings and quizzes. I'm beginning to feel quite up to date. But when we're allowed out again, I'm going to take up every invitation I receive; I shall make the effort to go and see the plays and exhibitions that appeal to me, even if it's a bit of an effort. Because I shall remember what it was like when we couldn't do any of those things.

Tuesday, April 07, 2020

Writer in Lockdown - thoughts on Covid 19

Well, I suppose it's not that different from normal for those of us who survive on our writing income. I spend most days in the office working, or pretending to, stop at about 4 pm for a cuppa and a read on the sofa, cook dinner for between 6.30 and 7 and then watch television until bed. BUT. If I want to I can go shopping - supermarket, high street shops, big shops in Canterbury or farm shops. And if someone rings me up and says "fancy a drink?" I can say yes, put on a bit of a face and nip down the pub. Well - hobble, if truth be told, but the intention's there. And I can "Go Up West" to the theatre - as the girls and I did the day before the whole thing kicked off. We went to see City of Angels, which was wonderful - and, as I've got used to, someone one of them knew was in the production, this time in the orchestra.

Anyway, those are all things that I, and most people, took for granted. And suddenly we couldn't do any of it. Lou and I had a plan mapped out for productions we were going to see over the coming months. Phillipa, having just got back from a month entertaining rich people on a cruise ship, was about to go on tour. Lou had concerts planned. Miles had gigs planned for the whole year. Leo's book comes out this month, without the events it was going to have, and his American wife Carrie was due here at the end of the month. We are all, as a family, self employed, and the kids are now completely without income. Lou's partner is also a pro musician, so no hope there, then. In my household I am the sole earner. See last post on Fiscal Matters.

The consolation is that people are beginning to read more, and ebooks are essential. Book shops are closed - our local independent is now closed for good - and the warehouses are struggling, so ebooks are a lifeline. I will carry on saying I'm lucky, because I am. I have been offered, and accepted, a three book contract with Headline, my new publishers, although I haven't signed on the dotted line yet. All their employees are working from home, so things are taking longer than usual. This is due to my agent Kate Nash, someone I have known for years, but with whom I've only just formed this highly beneficial working relationship.

Meanwhile, I'm desperately trying to work on the short I'm writing for inclusion in a sort of anthology with five other writer friends. It's proving desperately hard - but whether that's the effects of the virus or just of laziness, I'm not sure...

Keep safe, everyone.

Friday, February 28, 2020

Some reflections on fiscal matters...


The Guardian piece Louise posted on my Facebook Timeline, The Guardian, might appear, at first 
glance, to suggest that we're all rich. You know - the classic rich, white, middle class majority. 
Oh, whoops! Did I say majority? Well, them, anyway. And believe me, as the writer says in her 
piece, there are entitled, middle class hobbyists out there, supported in a variety of ways 
including working husbands, but also many, many writers who have other jobs. The only reason I'm 
able to do this job is because I was lucky enough to have no mortgage to pay, as my late husband's 
aunt had paid it off when she died. But the reason I HAVE to do this job is because I have no 
other income. 

Late DH and I were never brilliant with money. We did some smashing jobs, but none of them 
actually paid well. Our children have followed faithfully in our footsteps. And frankly, I consider
myself bloody lucky. Most of the time I can support myself and even any boomeranging 
offspring that appear for the odd fortnight.

Just occasionally, this all gets a bit on top of me. Such as learning that my new publisher won't 
be paying me until July. Now I know received wisdom states that it is terribly non-U to discuss 
money, but sorry, folks, sometimes you have to. I need people to know why I can't do things 
sometimes. Like go on holiday. Or to conferences. Or even to speaking gigs, which the 
organisers always tell me will "raise my profile" and that I shall be able to sell some books! Well, 
the amount of books I'd probably sell would maybe pay for a cup of tea and a bun, and rarely do
these bookings offer to pay, even the fairly well known book festivals. Yes, it's wrong, and at the 
beginning of my career as an author (not as a writer - that's different) I'd willingly go dashing off
to various parts of the country without even getting expenses. But now? I would rather keep 
what I have to pay for essentials and the moderate comforts of home.

For instance, today my PLR has come in. This is Public Lending Right, which we get once a year
for all the borrowings of our books made over the last twelve months. It has saved my life more
than once, and today I immediately paid for my recent delivery of coal, my car tax for a year and
booked an MOT for next week. Oh - and my granddaughter's birthday present. Very self indulgent, 
all of them. But this why I write books - because I can actually afford to buy coal, keep my car on 
the road (just) and buy my grandchildren birthday presents. I can manage to pay for the landline, 
keep my mobile topped up, pay my Sky subscription and my gas and electricity bills and my council
tax. I can even indulge my small vices - not to excess, but a bottle of Scotch a week? - and until fairly
recently, buy a few new clothes. (Warning - don't lose a lot of weight unless you're rich. Your wallet
will not love you.)

So there you are. The real life of a writer. I'm not moaning - as I said, I consider myself very lucky. If 
I have to work, at least I'm lucky enough to do this. But this is also why I, and a lot of my fellow 
authors, worry like mad with every new book. Will they like it, the publishers? Will I ever get another 
contract? Will I be able to eat next year?

Frankly, it's a bloody silly way to earn a living...

Thursday, January 16, 2020

Happy New Year (a bit late)


Well, here we are in Mid-January and I'm trying to get to grips with Life, The Universe and Everything.

My new publishers, Headline, are busily trying to resolve all the issues that bubbled up during the takeover...., and if anyone didn't receive their order of Murder Repeated this is the correct link. Murder Repeated. There are still a few unresolved problems, but Toby Jones, who is Editorial Director and my personal contact, is bending over backwards to be helpful. I have started the next book, with a delivery date of April, but I have no idea if the original publishing date of June will be adhered to. I have my doubts!

So, meanwhile, I have been in the process of setting up a Patreon Account. This will entitle those who sign up (for a small fee in US Dollars, I'm afraid) to some exclusive material. Regular readers, my Libby's Loonies, have all given me ideas for this, and my tech savvy children (that's the three younger ones - eldest's worse than I am) have been bullying me into doing all sorts - Podcasts, live interviews with other authors, you name it, they reckon I'm equal to it.

However, I've thought and worried about it for a week now, and woke up clear eyed and bushy tailed this morning, realising that what my regular readers wanted was More Libby To Read. That's what they ask for - when's the next book out. Only this morning, one of them sent me a message saying she'd just finished Murder Repeated and it was like sitting down with old friends, and when was the next one?

Also, we discuss all sorts on the Libby's Loonies group, which you can join if you're on Facebook (the link will take you there) as long as you answer the question, and that's all free, so why would you pay for it? What no one gets (it's my living, after all!) is free reading material. So - how about a little short story or chapter from an exclusive novella, say? That seems more sensible to me, and is the sort of thing I would sign up for. I don't really do Podcasts and stuff, although daughter Philly has introduced me to a great Stephen Fry one in the car.

So, when I've got to grips with all the details, I shall post the link and you can all become Patrons! (Only joking - not obligatory.) Meanwhile, I've still got the next book to write (no title yet) and my tax bill to pay. Cheers!

Sunday, December 08, 2019

Fairly Fed up December

Well, folks - this is - theoretically - out! Murder Repeated. There have been many issues - books not arriving at distributors, bookshops, amazon and other outlets, let alone customers who were expecting them on Thursday 5th. According to amazon, delivery is still taking longer than average, and currently there are only 2 copies in stock. I have had virtually no promotion, and have resorted this morning (Sunday) to rushing round trying to drum up a little blog tour; a fairly hopeless task, I feel, this close to Christmas.

I also discovered that Headline have raised the Kindle price to £5.99. This is unacceptable to me. I desperately need an agent, but all of those to whom I've applied have failed, so far, to reply. I wish now I'd stuck to my guns and refused to go to Headline at the time of the takeover. There is another publisher to whom I would far rather have gone, but I don't know the legal position, and the various stratagems employed in wrangles of this kind. I have repeatedly complained to my editor at Headline, who has, again, repeatedly assured me that all issues have been addressed.

I'm telling you, dear readers, all this because I'm seriously considering giving up the whole thing. I'm not fishing for compliments here - I know full well that Libby Sarjeant fans will not want Libby to disappear, but right at the moment I genuinely don't feel like writing another word.

***EDITED*** Well, the copies have arrived at Amazon - just hope everyone receives theirs! I shall carry on with the agent-hunt, and the promo-slog - and, of course, Libby is safe. She lives to fight another day.

Anyway, I wish you all the merriest Christmas you can possible have, and thank you all for your support - I shall wear it always 😊.

Friday, October 04, 2019

Betjeman's Banana Blush

This is a self indulgent post. While I am holiday in Turkey every year, I listen to my iTunes collection in my room, due to lack of internet. Among quite a large selection of old comedy - I'm Sorry I'll read That Again, I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue, Alan Davies, Stilgoe and Skellern - I have two albums by John Betjeman, with music by Jim Parker.

My husband and I were introduced to the first album, Betjeman's Banana Blush, by a schoolfriend of the old man's, Colin Eades, who, appropriately, lived in the heart of Metroland, as we did ourselves. I loved it so much I bought it, and later, the follow up, Betjeman's Britain. I didn't know much about Betjeman or his poetry at the time, but he soon became my favourite poet. One I particularly loved was Business Girls, which describes with the utmost poignancy the solitary residences of these ladies in Camden Town, backing on to the railway cuttings: At the back precarious bathrooms Jutting out from upper floors; and ends with: Rest you there, poor unbelov'd ones, Lap your loneliness in heat. All too soon the tiny breakfast, Trolley-bus and windy street.

Then there's the famous Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel, an event which, in my youthful ignorance, I knew nothing at the time. I was fascinated. And Lenten Thoughts of a High Anglican: Isn't she lovely, the Mistress? With her wide-apart grey-green eyes? I could go on; each poem brilliantly nostalgic, often humorous and always with the underlying sadness. Even Hunter Trials, from a young girl's point of view, competing at a local event, and ending with: Oh, wasn’t it naughty of Smudges? Oh, Mummy, I’m sick with disgust. She threw me in front of the Judges, And my silly old collarbone’s bust. That resonated - the same thing happened to me on a pony called Charade at the Clapham Common Gymkhana. Not quite the same as a posh "county" event, but never mind.

All of these enhanced by the wonderful music of Jim Parker, of whom I had also never heard. You might not have done, either, but I bet you know the atmospheric theremin theme for Midsomer Murders.
Told you it was a self indulgent post. Ever since Colin introduced me to the album I have loved both Betjeman and Parker, so to him, wherever he may be, thank you. I don't suppose this will set any of you off on the same path, but if it does, good. And when I get home I'm going to watch Metroland again. I shall also re-read Laurie Lee, suggested by Peter, a friend out here in Turkey, which will no doubt set me off on another trail of nostalgic discovery.

Happy listening!