Oh, dear. Can anything else go wrong?

 I wasn't going to say much about my current situation, but waking up to such devastating news this morning I am moved to Reveal All. Please note, this is not a pleas for sympathy, simply a statement of fact. Recently, I received a third cancer diagnosis and Last week I began a fairly unpleasant cycle of chemo. Much worse than the last lot I had three years ago. So it is affecting my ability to do my job, and I now feel much worse than I did before I started it. My youngest son is now marooned in the land of the damned - but at least he's with his lovely wife - and the eldest son is currently filling the position of carer, which is unfortunately far more onerous than we originally thought. Daughter one is providing taxi service and support, and daughter the younger comes down from London when she can. Brightest spot so far is that the new cat has settled in, and although she will never replace my beloved Gloria and Godiva, she's doing a pretty good job.

And added to the shit show we have woken up to across the pond, our own politics and politicians are about as much use as the traditional chocolate teapot. (Apologies for the cliché) Horizon scandal, anyone? Honestly, makes you wonder what the point is, doesn't it?

Anyway, on a brighter note (ha bloody ha) I have almost finished Libby 27, called by me Murder and The Magician's Nephew. If my head will work properly, publishers will have it this week and it will come out next April. Meanwhile, Murder and The Crooked Horse bursts into the world tomorrow, and I am indebted to Paul Parker for reminding me that I hadn't written a blog for ages!

I have a great desire this morning to emulate a certain Fotherington Thomas. I feel it is the only way set the world to rights. "Hello, birds, hello sky..."

Book Clubs, Pubs, Podcasts and Entertainment

 I have a problem with Book Clubs. I saw a post on a Facebook group this morning, complaining that the writer "had to" read a monster of a book for her next book club meeting and she was struggling to read the current book of her choice before she had to cope with the book club choice. Now that doesn't seem like a pleasurable use of one's spare time to me. In the past - a long time ago when I did such things - I gave talks to book clubs. Sometimes it was because one of my books had been their "choice of the month", and it was fairly obvious on every occasion that there was a good percentage of the members who hadn't cared for it. That's fine - not everyone likes my version of the traditional murder mystery, or "Cosy with Edge" as a fellow writer puts it. But I could never get my head round the idea of being forced to read a certain book whether you liked it or not. I was never much into Booker Prize winners or media puffed "must reads" either. Reading is surely a form of pleasurable entertainment. I don't want to be forced to read something, in the same way that I don't read very sad or very violent books. 

But maybe the book club is simply a way for people to get together, to combat loneliness. After all, like it or not, there is a rather particular demographic associated with book clubs, and many of those people are lonely. There are other ways to combat loneliness, of course. People join all sorts of clubs according to their particular pursuits and hobbies, as I did when I joined my local theatre. Yes, an actual theatre, not a theatre club, or a group of players, but a theatre. It's still going, but sadly, I've more-or-less outgrown my usefulness as a writer, actor and director. And, as time goes by, I no longer have a group of friends with whom I meet up for a drink at the local. And that brings me to another point...

Pubs. Pubs are under particular threat in our current climate. It all started when supermarkets began selling alcohol - back in the dark ages, I know - and suddenly people could drink at home, possibly watching that new-fangled television thing. And gradually, over the years the idea of popping down the local for a drink, being sure you would meet, if not friends, acquaintances has become almost a niche pursuit. And then there was the pandemic. And pubs - and all forms of hospitality - suffered an almost fatal blow. And now, the government are trying to impose further price rises when most of our pubs are still struggling to get back on their feet. Most have diversified, hence the rise of the gastro-pub, and almost all pubs, as far as I know host quizzes and music nights. But still pubs are closing at an alarming rate. Incidentally, I wrote a book about it...Murder by Christmas.

So that's another area that is frequently closed to the - er - more mature single woman. I say "woman" deliberately, as the more mature single man still seems able, if so inclined, to pop in for a drink. Women of my generation have still not quite adapted.

Entertainment, too, has suffered at the hands of governments and the pandemic. I don't intend to go into the intricacies of the entertainment business as it tends to be complex and could be boring... But people don't go to events so much any more. Even the all powerful music festivals have suffered over the last few years. And theatres aren't as full. Nor are cinemas. And yes - we now have the big box in the corner showing us everything we could possibly want. So - we sit and watch it, with a glass of wine, or beer or a nice scotch and soda. So there we are. No need to go out.

And this is what often contributes to the problem of loneliness. And we compensate by listening to the radio for a familiar voice and company. And more and more, we listen to Podcasts.  So, I've decided that I shall contribute to this growing market. No, I'm not going to do a True Crime podcast, or even interview other crime writers. What I'm going to do is creat a sort of Radio Playhouse. My son Leo created a drama comedy podcast - if you want to listen it's here: The Dump - and at the time I hoped there would be more, so I thought I might ask various actors I know to help me. First, my two daughters and the other son, all of whom have trodden the boards in their time. Leo is now rather out of reach living in America, but no doubt I'll drag him in eventually. But there are other more mature actors who no longer climb stairs to get to the stage, nor are they able to move quite as freely as was their wont. So this is my next project. In between deadlines, of course. And I hope it will also bring me people with whom I can socialise. And even go down the pub with. Just like I used to.

Me, my parents and my almost brother, Bernard

 

This was written seven years ago, but I feel it bears repeating. Not about writing, although it has informed my attitude to life, and Libby Sarjeant's. See what you think.

With all the media attention on the fiftieth anniversary of the Sexual Offences Act, I am moved to write my own post about the subject, or, as my parents would have said, put in my two-pennorth. And speaking of my parents, I was an only child. We lived in a large flat in London, in a divided Victorian house. On the ground floor beneath us was another single child family. Bernard was older than I was, but we got on probably better than a brother and sister would have done, even when he took me to the zoo and lost me. 

As we both grew up it became obvious that Bernard was gay, although I had no idea what that was at the time. However, I was very well aware of it by the time his current boyfriend, a Sicilian, told me. My parents must have been aware of it, too – we were like one big family – but there was never a hint of disapproval. In fact, there was an occasion when a neighbour who had been trying to persuade my father to join the Masons (and failing) came to him with the story that Bernard had been arrested for cottaging. He was full of moral outrage and certain my father would join in his condemnation and, incidentally, keep me out of harm’s way. My father gave him the telling off of his life and never spoke to him again. Believe it or not, this was AFTER the Act, but the arrests and entrapment were actually increasing. My dad must have been even more remarkable than I thought.

By the time I met my husband-to-be, the Act had been in force for a few years, but acceptance was a long way off. A friend who was first trombone in the orchestra at the Coliseum used to get me tickets and got me two for a new production of Verdi’s Masked Ball. He told us to meet him in the interval and he’d take us for a drink. Brian had never met him before, but happily followed him to a little door at the side of the theatre, and upstairs to a drinking club. Within seconds, he realised it was a GAY drinking club. I’ve never seen anyone so uncomfortable in my life, especially when someone tried to chat him up. You can imagine his reaction to Bernard. 

But over the next couple of years I “educated” him, and Bernard was one of the ushers at our wedding. He had always been part of my parents’ wide circle of friends, and was a born entertainer.But one of the things I was stunned by was the fact that even into the seventies both drugs and electrical therapy were being employed to “cure” gay men. I knew it happened earlier, and even today in the States there are doctors who profess to be able to do it, but here in the seventies? 

I was born to incredibly tolerant and open minded parents. My early jobs, model, air stewardess, nightclub DJ, brought me into contact with a wide variety of people, and being gay seemed normal to me and always has. But I still see intolerance and discomfort around the LGBT community and it appals me. It saddens me that we have to HAVE a separate community – why not just people? We’ve got a long way to go.

Below: a picture of my terrific Dad. Ever wondered where we all got the

performing gene from? (As well as Brian, the kids' dad, of course!)

Life Imitates Libby

 Over the past few years I have written about the plight of the homeless in this country many times in the Libby Sarjeant books, and one in particular, Murder In Autumn, dealt with the problem of the holiday lets industry. For industry is what it is. I was not allowed to name any particular organisation, and I shall not do so here, but I focussed in that book on the individuals and families forced to leave their homes by landlords turning their properties into holiday lets. This is a problem in my home town, and the figures from a recently undertaken poll revealed that holiday lets were numbered in the hundreds while properties for long term rent were in single figures. This is scandalous. This has now, over the last few months had an impact on my own family. Two of my adult children have been told to leave their homes - one in London, one here in Whitstable. My daughter in London has, after a nail-biting search, found somewhere to live, but my son, who has lived in his home and been a model tenant for 11 years, has not. We desperately need legislation to stop this wholesale wrecking of people's lives - they're trying to do it in Brighton - I just hope it will spread to the rest of the country. Meanwhile, if anyone knows of a flat/hovel/beach hut in Whitstable that ISN'T a holiday let and will be available from October, we would be very glad to hear about it. (And see how careful I've been to name no names!)

Libby Sarjeant Rides Again!

 Morning, chaps. Just to let you know that the revised contract is in and confirmed, and Murder and The Crooked Horse will be out in October (I think) and two more (woohoo!) next year - April and October. Have had discussion with the Main Man at Headline, and we have been thinking about the difficulty of hooking people into a series that has been going (he reminded me) mearly 20 years. Wow. So all ideas for promo would be gratefully received, and anything you can do on my behalf would be even MORE gratefully received! We are also discussing something else, about which I shall inform you in due course. If it comes off. And no - not more Alexandrians - at least, not yet! I should have put this in a blog post or newsletter, I suppose, so I might do that, and apologies if you have to read it twice! And once again, thank you all so much for being such a terrific support. (I shall wear it always. Sorry, Late husband joke.) Cheers!

Singers, Songs and Family

 You can tell my eyes are better, can't you? Here I am again, with more news from Cookman Corner, whether you want it or not.

Yesterday the Eldest Child, Louise, took me with her to her gig. This was a slightly unusual one, as it was part lecture, entitled "Ladies of Swing", at the Jazz Centre UK, in front of an audience of very serious jazz nerds - er - fanatics. You may or may not know, that Lou is a professional singer whose area of choice and expertise is the Big Band and Swing eras.  Louise Cookman Here she is doing her thing in front of the Ronnie Scott's Big Band.

This was a much more restrained affair, with Lou singing songs recorded by the band singers of the late 30s and early forties, with only her mates, Colin and Sam, respectively on piano and bass, as accompaniment. And I'd almost forgotten what an absolutely beautiful voice she has. And she can do restrained. She doesn't often do restrained.

On the way there, I was treated to Lou Warming up. She has various exercises recorded on her phone which she can play through the sound system in the car. This was a revelation to me, as I know very little about her as a singing coach, and I assume (I haven't asked) she uses these in her lessons. I know her sister Phillipa, also a professional singer and teacher, uses something similar because I've heard her on zoom lessons with pupils, but I've never enquired further into her arcane practices, either. Phiily trained at the Royal Academy of Music  - so there's a pretty good voice there, too!

This is Philly in the singer/guitarist mode on tour with The Sound of Springsteen. She has a website for her teaching called The Singing Guitarist - take a look!

You'll have read about second eldest child Miles in last week's post, and his expertise in creating a downstairs shower room and loo - and flash new office. This is him in his real job with the Miles Cookman Band

Lou and I went to see him in a rare solo gig this week, and, of course, he was terrific.

The other family related item this week was youngest child Leo's fifth wedding anniversary with his lovely wife Carrie, and the first they have been able to spend together. To celebrate, he released a song in her honour, and he would love you to listen.  When I get To See You The words say it all - well, they would, wouldn't they?

As a little family adjunct to all this, Lou's gig yesterday was attended by my cousin Penny and her husband John, which was lovely, as we haven't seen one another for a very long time. Of course we went for a drink afterwards, and plans were made for a further meeting with even more members of the family. All in all, a pretty nice day. And today, some of us are celebrating the late Old Man by having lunch in a pub. Very appropriate.

The Saga of Libby and Lesley

 Well, Hello! Did you wonder where I was? NO? Oh, all right... I'll tell you anyway.

While waiting several weeks for my edits on Libby Sarjeant Book 27, aka Murder and The Crooked Horse, I had re-published my famous (!) Alexandrians trilogy. The Alexandrians Lovely covers are courtesy of the talented Rhoda Baxter.

 

Just after I'd managed this, with a lot of help from friends, I developed a severe eye infection. I won't go into details, but suffice it to say I lost the sight in my good eye (the other one's already - er - crap) and spent a good deal of time going backwards and forwards, courtesy of daughters Lousie and Phillipa, to the Urgent Eye Treatment Centre at the William Harvey hospital in Ashford, who were brilliant. Anyway, four days after this happened, the edits and the offer of a new contract came in. Timing, eh?

Meanwhile, son Miles had been creating a new shower room and loo downstairs in my little house and was about to move on to the refurbishment of the office. This entailed me sorting through every bit of paper that had accumulated over the 25 years I have lived here. I'm surprised I could actually move in the place! As you can imagine, with compromised eyesight, this was no easy task. I had also had to ask my publishers to wait for both the edits and signature on the contract.

However, there is a happy ending. By last weekend, my eyesight was just about up to the task of the edits, which I completed in a record three days - I may have missed a few things... - and Miles had got the office almost finished. So am now sitting at my new desk, at my beloved old Big Mac, just about ready to finalise Murder and The Crooked Horse and to make a start on Libby Sarjeant Book 27! Yes - publishers Headline have seen fir to ask for two more Libby books, which will take us up to 28 full length stories and 3 novellas. She's been very patient, but oh, how I've missed her. Yes, I know, I'm a sad old bat who lives through my imaginary characters.

So that's where we are at the moment. I wish I could show you a picture of the new cover, but it hasn't appeared yet. I can tell you that Book 27, which I have given the working title of Murder and the Magician's Nephew, is due to be delivered by the end of October, so I have to get my writing muscles primed. Good job it isn't my back, which is killing me - all that heaving boxes and piles of paper around, not to mention the bending, isn't good for a woman of my advanced age. Oh, and if anyone wants a fairly cheerful musician who can create shower rooms and offices, I'll give you his number.

Bye for now,

Lesley

Thoughts on Libby Sarjeant and the "Cosy" genre

 

Well, folks, it’s almost the end of March, and I am awaiting the edits on Murder at The Crooked Horse, due to reach your shelves/Kindle/laptop someyime in June. No cover or release date as yet, but we live in hope.

While awaiting the edits and wondering if my publishers will want another Libby book – it’s all right, I think they do – I thought up an idea for a new series and re-published my three Alexandrians. This necessitated researching the so-called “cosy” genre on Amazon and all its myriad sub-genres, and I made myself thoroughly depressed. There are thousands! Every day when I set off on my quest new ones appeared. It’s quite astonishing.

Libby Sarjeant first came into being in the last World One Day Novel Cup in 1997. I was a finalist, with a brief version of what eventually became Murder in Steeple Martin eight years later. Around the same time, the agent Carole Blake, who subsequently became a good friend, introduced me to the books of Ann Granger and told me I should try writing something along the same lines. There were other writing in a similar genre, Hazel Holt, Mollie Hardwicke, M C Beaton, Natasha Cooper and Simon Brett, to name a distinguished few. Yet others were writing what are now referred to as police procedurals, but were in the same traditional vein. This was the company I joined when Hazel Cushion asked me to write a full length version of the Libby story and the series was born. 

I soon became aware of the flourishing market in the United Stated, where they invented the term “Cozy”. Hazel and I even looked at trying to break into that market, and redesign my covers to fit in with its definitely “cosy” style. However, Libby was building up quite a following, and after a few years was actually topping Amazon charts., so we just carried on doing things the way we had. And then the market in this country began to expand. Some of it was due to the rise of self publishing, and some of it due to publishers recognising the growing trend. There began to be definite tropes (incidentally, another word I hate, along with cosy) – female inheriting house/cafe/bookshop in quirky country village or cute seaside town, female divorcee relocating to same, femal retiree relocating to same – get the picture? And yes, Libby Sarjeant fitted in there. She had relocated after a divorce to a pleasant village, and vary soon, her co-protagonist, Fran, inherited a cottage in a cute seaside town. But now there were hundreds of them.

One wonders why, when Richard Osman wrote his first Thursday Murder Club novel, he and everyone else thought he was doing something so different. No – he was simply reinventing the wheel. It was celebrity culture that made the book the runaway hit that it was. I had hoped it might give those of us who had been doing it for years a boost, but all it did in fact, was to provide fertile ground for the proliferation of look-alikes.

Now, all this might sound like sour grapes, and to an extent, it is. Of curse it is. But Libby Sarjeant is still out there, bless her, and still providing my daily bread, but for how long will she be able to hold her own? She frequently steps outside the confort of the cosy straitjacket and confronts rather nastier crimes and social injustices – in fact, a recent Amazon review asked her to stop doing it – so her particular brand of nosiness might become unacceptable. And what of the new series?

The idea came to me when I realised how prevlent had become the sun, sea and sand location for mysteries, particularly on television. A Writer’s Summer School, I thought, where the tutor solves mysteries. Ah, said one of my clever writer friends, but what about the local police involvement? You’d have to find out all about that. Oh, right. Well, then, set it in this country, at a holiday destination. No, someone else pointed out. It’s been done. And so it went on. Every time I thought up a new twist, it was already out there. So, despondent, I put Anastasia Fox on the back burner. 

And so we return to Libby. She currently has a publisher and a very loyal band of readers, but in today’s compeitive, not to say cut-throat, market, where her ratings on Amazon fall far below many of her competitors, how long will she survive? Promotion and marketing are key, and many of the newer independent publishers do this extremely well, whereas only if you are a “top” author with a more established house do you get posters on railway stations and ads in national media. I now belong to one of these traditional publishers, having been sold, along with all the other Accent Press authors, without consultation. None of us are “top” authors.

My profession, along with that of most other ‘Creatives”, is a precarious one. Those of us who actually mange to make our living doing what we (mostly) love, are extremely lucky. Many of us have to have second jobs – “proper” jobs, as some would call them. All my four children do – the girls both teach singing as well as doing it, my eldest son does small building jobs (currently my downstairs shower room) and my youngest works in media tech. As I said, I’m one of the lucky ones. And Libby Sarjeant and I thank our readers from the bottom of our hearts. We’ll carry on, regardless.

Libby Sarjeant Mysteries

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.

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.

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?

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.

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  https://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.

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

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 -!

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.

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.

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.