I’ve been really stumped for ideas to come up with for a blog post or a newsletter lately. Mainly because I’m using all my creative energy and inspiration for the final edit/polish I’m currently doing on A Wreath of Lilies (out 8th December, lest we forget – all too soon for my comfort right now).
And these are the things I’ve realised about my story so far:
- There are too many people with a surname beginning with P
- There are too many people with a first name beginning with S
- As always with my books there are just – too many people. Soooo many people…
- Things happen in the story that have already happened.
- Things happen before they happened?????? How does that even????????????????? Yes I don’t know either.
- One chap’s wife changed name halfway through the book. My sympathies go out to the family in question.
- One dead body was dead so often in so many places, she/he must have been a triplet… Maybe even a quintuplet. (Note to self, a story about quintuplets would be awesome, if rather complicated.)
- I’ve got more criminals than crimes.
- I’ve got more police officers than criminals.
- Did I mention I have too many characters?
- My main protagonists have accidentally reversed their ages by a year. I wish I could do that IRL.
- I found my characters using jargon and slang that wasn’t around in that era.
- The police are using technology that wasn’t around in that era.
- If they all stopped drinking tea and gazing at one another, the crime(s) would get solved three days earlier.
- Pretty sure it will end up being okay though. Keeping everything crossed.
Quick sneaky peek:
Closer to hand, Dee was startled out of her thoughts by a man suddenly saying, ‘Ah, we meet again!’
Turning, she saw Clive Barton’s smiling face and she responded with a friendly, ‘Mr Barton, how nice to see you again. I’m here with Miss Marriott,’ gesturing as she spoke.
He nodded, looked disappointed, and murmured, ‘Excuse me, ladies.’ He went off and she saw him settle himself in a seat near the back of the room.
‘He’s too old for you,’ Miss Marriott said in a stage-whisper, taking Dee by surprise. Why was everyone so interested in her love-life? Although in Mrs Padham’s case, perhaps she had become so bitterly opposed to anyone having a love-life after she herself had been abandoned. Dee wondered vaguely why Mrs Padham’s husband Henry had left her. Perhaps she had nagged him the way she nagged her guests.
‘My goodness, I should think so,’ she said vehemently to Miss Marriott’s remark. ‘Not that I’m looking anyway.’
‘Taken, are you?’ Miss Marriott’s eyes bore into her, on the alert for any kind of response. Dee thought she may as well admit it.
‘I see.’ Miss Marriott’s smile was triumphant.
It seemed likely, certain even, that there would be further questions later. But now, with the room packed and a number of people standing at the sides and at the back, the woman at the front stood neatly to attention at the table and rapped on the wooden surface with a teaspoon from the cup and saucer in front of her.
‘They get tea, I notice,’ Miss Marriott whispered resentfully. Dee simply nodded.
‘Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to this open meeting to discuss the proposal to move the graves from the existing burial site to a new position at the north end of the village. I am Cynthia Miles-Hudson, head of planning at Northeast Essex council. On my right, is the Honourable…’
‘There’s nothing honourable about Fast Eddie Windward!’ someone yelled from the back. ‘He’s as crooked as they come!’