writing technique

Babysitting Grandpa: a short story

/ Caron Allan

This week I thought I’d publish a short story from a few years ago. I hope you like it.

The game was over. Marc watched as Lou put the old lead soldiers back in the box, each one slotting neatly into a cushioned slot, neat as a row of—well, soldiers on parade, duh! Even in the box they seemed to stand to attention.

After three hours, it was finally over. The game had been played in earnest. But for Marc, his unwelcome victory brought no ceasefire, no end to hostilities. It was merely the provocation Lou had needed to shout “Best of Three!” and now Marc was doomed to relive the torment at least once more. Possibly twice, if the unthinkable happened and he was stupid enough to lose the next game. A one-all draw was unthinkable.

Lou’s joy was evident in the gleeful chuckling as he took each soldier from the field of battle and carefully put it away into its own little green felt lined slot. His false teeth flopped about inside his slack jaws. Marc’s stomach lurched at the sight. Old people were so creepy.

His heart seemed to have fallen to his boots. Just when there was a chance of him living some kind of normal life, of going out and seeing something of this town on a Saturday night like other teenagers, hoping against hope to actually live, his soul was snatched away to babysit his weird grandpa because his mum had to work and there was no one else to watch the old bloke. Lou’s slippered feet slapped the lino as he did his victory dance. Just his luck if the old git fell and broke a hip and Marc had to spend all night in the hospital.

“You’re such a loser.” Marc said.

Lou just laughed. “Let’s get some dinner, Son. Then it’s Round Two!”

Marc put on his coat and went to the chip shop. His friends were just coming out as he went in.

“You coming down town later?” one of them called.

“No, I’ve got to stay in. Mum’s on a late shift so I’ve got to look after my grandpa.”

They nudged each other and laughed. “What a loser!” One of them said and they all laughed again. Marc sighed and turned for home.

Grandpa was waiting for him, plates out, ketchup, salt and vinegar on the table. “Thanks, Son,” he said. “Not every kid your age would stay in on a Saturday night and keep his old grandpa company. I know it’s not cool, man.’

Marc rolled his eyes. If only grandpa didn’t keep trying to use modern slang, life would be easier.

“It’s all right,” Marc told him. He didn’t mind all that much, he realised. It was cold out. And his friends were all freaks and idiots anyway. He ate his chips. “How old are you, Grandpa?”

“96. Why?”

Marc shrugged. “Just wondered. Why do you like playing soldiers so much?”

“Ah well, you see, my dad, he was there.”

“There?”

“Yes, there. When I was old enough to be aware of him, he seemed like a frail sickly bloke, but it was the war made him like that. When he died, I found all his medals and his photos with his comrades and that. I was surprised to see how young he looked, quite good-looking really, not that I take after him. And he looked—I don’t know, strong, I suppose. Healthy. He was laughing at the camera, just a normal young bloke. And in the wedding photo of him and me mum, well, they both looked so—alive, so happy. It made me wonder. So I spent all my life finding out about the first world war, what happened and why. I started to see him as the hero he really was. He stopped being some useless old bloke.”

Marc thought for a moment. He balled up his chip wrapper. “You were in the war too, weren’t you?”

“Yes, Son. I was in the war. The second world war. The one they said could never happen.”

“Tell me about it,” Marc said. ‘Then maybe we could have another game.’

***

 

Routine – the nemesis of creativity?

/ Caron Allan

I recently read somewhere that routine hinders the creative process. To really be creative, I read, we need to let go of organisation, routine and any kind of rigid preconceptions or framework, and allow ourselves freedom to explore in any direction and form that appeals to us.

I couldn’t disagree more strongly. If you think that routine is a hindrance and obstacle to being truly creative, I’d like to invite you to reconsider.

I suggest that it is routine that brings freedom and that freedom is often to be found within boundaries, not outside of them. Because parameters do one great thing for us, yes, even us creative types. They give us a sense of security. And if you feel secure, you can relax and have the freedom to be creative.

All art is created within boundaries. Or a framework of conventions, if you prefer to call it that. Mozart created wonderful music. Yes, undeniably, he was incredibly creative and had a flair for genius. But… Musical composition is, in many ways, one of the most rigidly ‘controlled’ art forms in that very deeply-held conventions dictate the agreed (not necessarily explicitly agreed) common elements that must be adhered to, in order to create any form of music. Sonatas have a specific set of rules, if you like. All sonatas have common elements that make them what they are. Similarly, concertos, arias, opuses and symphonies all have elements which dictate how they are created and underpin the very stylistic identity of a given piece of music.

Now I’m tempted to take a long detour at this point and show that this is exactly the same as the genre conventions in writing, that genres have their own conventions and that you can subvert or uphold these as you desire, but I won’t, as I’ve already waffled quite a bit, and I want to keep this blog-post fairly to-the-point.

Obviously we can all have an off-day. But you know when you are recharging and when you are simply wasting time or letting things slide.

Sometimes, I’ll admit, I do just go with the flow, letting words pour onto the page. There’s nothing actually wrong with that, but it doesn’t make for good reading, it rarely fits neatly into a novel, and I am a novelist, so that is what I need to write. Unfocussed, meandering writing, sometimes called ‘automatic writing’, is great fun, very cathartic and can help you to improve your writing overall. But for everyday ‘work’ writing, you need focus, not indulgence.

Within a framework, we have the freedom to be creative. Routine can be just such a framework. I’m actually not a very organised person with regard to my writing. But I have discovered that an established routine is my friend when it comes to cracking on with my WIP and meeting deadlines.

Why?

If you are organised, you can relax and focus on the job in hand. You make the most of your time, you crack on, (hopefully/usually) and have something concrete to show for it, so productivity is improved and you feel good about what you’ve achieved. Which makes it more likely you’ll do it again tomorrow. In addition, good output leads to increased experience, increased confidence and also positivity, and as many writers know, these are commodities that can be hard to come by.

Planned routine is anticipated, your subconscious inner writer is actually hard at work long before you sit down at your desk. You know what is expected, and what your intentions are. You’re prepared, in the zone. This means you ‘hit the ground running’ and are ready to go immediately with no need for warming up or getting yourself in the mood.

As I’ve said already, routine, planned writing leads to increased output and measurable results. You see the word count piling up and you see that you are moving towards your deadline or goal. This gives you the impetus you need to write through the tough sections of your book, those tricky little scenes and the mid-book blues, even through the ‘I don’t want to do this anymore’ sulks.

For me, one of the main advantages to this type of organised approach to work is that I remain ‘current’ with my WIP. I literally don’t lose the plot. By that I mean I don’t lose track of characters and plot strands and the atmosphere of the book the way I do when I’m here and there and all over the place writing whatever takes my fancy. The resulting draft is more seamless, the scenes transition more smoothly, and small details are less likely to be overlooked. I’m totally immersed in my story.

They say it takes six weeks to develop a new routine: three weeks to break old habits, and another three to establish new ones. Give yourself six weeks, starting today. Who knows, by the time we reach the New Year, you may be firmly in the Routine is my Friend camp.

***

A deleted scene from A Meeting With Murder: Miss Gascoigne Mysteries Book 1

/ Caron Allan / 2 Comments

This week, I’m away so I thought I’d do a quick and easy (for me haha!) post: It’s a deleted scene from A Meeting With Murder: Miss Gascoigne Mysteries Book 1 which is one year old!!!!!!!

In this scene my heroine and amateur detective Dee Gascoigne is trying to teach a few words of French to a rather well-to-do lady, Meredith Prescott so that she can greet her guests in their own language. Meredith, however has horrible attitudes to people from other nations and doesn’t really see why she should bother…

‘If you like, I could teach you a few basic phrases. It’s actually quite easy to learn just a few words to welcome your visitors. Then you could feel that you’d at least tried to meet them halfway. You know, get things off to a good start.’

‘Oh I don’t know…’Meredith said, wrinkling her nose. ‘I mean, really… It seems an awful faff to go through for a bunch of foreigners.’

Dee said nothing. Whether her feelings were there in her expression or Meredith really was interested, she didn’t know. But after a moment, Meredith said,

‘Oh go on, then, if it really is that easy, I suppose a few words in French can’t hurt.’

‘What? Now?’ Dee queried.

‘Yes, why not. It’s pleasant enough sitting here, and we’ve got to talk about something, haven’t we? Go on, try me.’

‘All right.’ Dee thought for a second, then decided to start with the absolute basics.

‘Let’s start with an easy one. Bonjour. It literally means ‘good day’ but can be used at any time during the day to greet someone. Just think of it as a way of saying hello. So let’s try it. Bonjour.’ She beamed encouragingly at Meredith.

Meredith was immediately sulkier than a whole class of fourteen-year-olds. Yet it had been her idea, after all. Dee could feel her smile freezing on her lips as Meredith said, with no effort to copy the accent or tone at all, ‘Bon jaw.’

‘Not bad for a first attempt,’ Dee lied. ‘Not bad at all. Let’s try it again. Watch my lips as I say it and try to copy the sound. The J is a softer j than we usually use in English. Think of the sound of the second g in garage, or the g in the word menage, also a French word. More of a Bonjour. Bonjour.’ She emphasised the J in the word.

‘Bon jaw,’ Meredith repeated, exactly the same as before.

‘Nearly.’ Dee made an effort to sound bright and encouraging. It was too ridiculous that Meredith already looked cross and bored.

‘I thought that was perfectly fine,’ Meredith snapped. ‘What else?’

Dee decided that most French people would probably decipher ‘bon jaw’ so she said, ‘At the end of the day, as a greeting or as a way to say goodbye to your guests, one would say ‘bon soir’. Bon soir.’

‘Bon saw,’ Meredith immediately responded.

Through gritted teeth, Dee said, ‘Not bad. Let’s have another go. Think of how you say the word Soirée, another French word. Bon soir. Soir. Bon. Soir. Bon soir.’

‘Bon saw,’ said Meredith without any effort, and yawned.

It was all Dee could do not to roll her eyes. ‘Excellent,’ she lied, thinking, who am I kidding, she’ll never use anything I teach her anyway. She’d rather die than learn something useful. She decided to make one last sally before giving up entirely.
‘Now, you’ll probably want to introduce yourself. So you might say, ‘Je suis Mademoiselle Prescott’, that is to say, I am Miss Prescott. Or you could say, ‘Je m’appelle M’selle Meredith Prescott’, which means…’

‘Oh stop, stop, stop!’ Meredith was holding up a hand, then she pressed it to her temple, frowning as though her head was aching with the effort. ‘This is all going far too quickly. You must remember that I’m a complete beginner.’

‘Yes, of course, Meredith, but if you’ll just…’

‘No! I will not be badgered in this way. It’s all too much. You’ve got to go slowly. I thought you knew how to teach?’

Dee apologised.

‘Anyway,’ Meredith added, ‘As I’ve said before, these foreigners really ought to learn to speak proper English before they come to our country. It’s bad enough just having them here, and all the extra work that makes.’

Dee sighed. Clearly the lessons were at an end.

Don’t forget – book 2 in this series, A Wreath of Lilies is available now to pre-order (eBook only, sorry) and is released on November 10th in eBook, Paperback, Large Print Paperback and Hardback editions.

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Fairy tales: Not for the faint-hearted!

/ Caron Allan

I remember as a kid I was a voracious reader. By the time I was 6 or 7 I was reading from a big book of fairy tales.

I remember standing in the kitchen of our flat in Tunbridge Wells and reading to the man who had come to repair our gas boiler. I can’t remember his face, but I remember the blue overalls – not a ‘uniform’ I had been aware of up to that point in my life. I adored this guy, he was friendly and patient and kind, and he told me about his dog. He dated my mum for a long while and I hoped they’d get married so we could be a family and live happily ever after. Sadly that didn’t happen and we moved away, which broke my baby-heart.

But he always used to say how much he enjoyed me reading the stories to him. Sometimes he had to stop his work to help me with the tricky words that were extra long or that I hadn’t seen before.

A while ago, I thought, let’s have a read of those old stories. I was in for a bit of a shock.

They are gruesome, aren’t they? And brutal! I can’t believe anyone ever thought they were suitable for a small child to read. (Not mentioning any names, but I’m looking at you over there in the corner, Brothers Grimm!) Were they cautionary tales to frighten children into good behaviour or what? yes, I know kids go through that gore-is-good phase but honestly!

People got chucked into barrels which were nailed shut and they were thrown into the sea. They got fed to wolves either deliberately or accidentally. Dropped into cauldrons of boiling water. Thrown down wells. Made to climb ridiculously high beanstalks. People’s bones were ground to make someone’s bread. Or people were locked into cages by witches and made to stick a finger through the bars so she could decide if they were fat enough to eat. Turned into swans. Turned into frogs. Turned into pretty much anything as a matter of fact.

But the characters of the stories try to do what they think is good: they turn sick people around in their beds to trick the devil, they try to get good fortune from fish, but still they get turned into roses and chandeliers, or have to run for their lives. And there are the musical animals or tiny people who can make shoes… but even so…

I mean, that’s dark, isn’t it?  Mwah ha ha!

***

Oh-so-social-media!

/ Caron Allan

Guess what? I’ve been doing stuff on social media!

I know as an Indie author, I’m supposed to do stuff on social media, but I’m not one to do what I’m supposed to do, so this will come as a surprise to many of you. Besides which, there’s my age to factor in – two weeks to go to my 63rd birthday – and as we all know, us oldies are still getting used to The Face Book.

But I’ve been trying to improve and so here’s a few things I’ve done this week, mainly on mastodon social (I’m there as @caronallan – pop in and say Hi!)

I’ve discovered the pleasure of online writing groups. On mastodon, there are two I enjoy – writerscoffeeclub and wordweavers. In addition to those, a lovely author lady (@elizabethguilt ) suggested a daily 100 word flash fiction, she calls it a drabble – this is new to me, though I used to regularly write 500 word flash fictions and also haiku – 17 syllable poems in a 5-7-5 format.

These groups plan a daily task or question for those who want to play along, and there are some interesting things on the list that came out at the start of the month. For example, Oct 3 for the Word Weavers was ‘How do you convey a character’s emotion in your work’.

This was my reply (there’s a word limit, much bigger than Twitter’s but still, it confines you.)

10/3
Conveying characters’ emotions.

Because I write 1930s cozy mysteries, I sometimes like to keep things a little understated. I think less is more in terms of emotional impact sometimes.

Though this is true of my ‘contemporary’ murder Friendship Can Be Murder series, which are written as 1st POV diary entries (yes, I now know no one likes that, but 11-12 years ago, I didn’t realise) So Criss Cross, when her hubs is murdered, MC simply records:
‘Thomas is dead. And I am alone.’

And because I wanted to share more about my Dottie books, as part of my reply, I added this image, which is an extract taken from The Mantle of God: Dottie Manderson mysteries book 2.

Coming back to the Drabble – the task was to share a 100-word limit story. I found this quite tricky, because I tend to think in terms of long fiction, so I’m not sure I’ve really followed the spirit of the idea. On Oct 1st, I uploaded this:

And then on Oct 2nd, I couldn’t stop myself from continuing on from there instead of writing a whole new 100 word story…

But I have to say, it was highly enjoyable and I feel really proud of myself to have written two new (teeny) pieces of work this week, made some new friends and talked about my books a little.

Mabel would be so proud.

***

 

 

 

So what has Agatha Christie done for us?

/ Caron Allan

Agatha Christie is arguably one of the most well-loved authors of all time. And her books are still being published in new formats, turned into plays and TV series and mini-series, and of course films on the big screen, a hundred years after she first began her writing career. Her books regularly top the online bestseller lists and there have been spin-offs, recreations and fan fiction. You can even buy her ‘secret notebooks’, biographies and merchandise.

Between 1920 and 1973-ish she wrote 66 detective novels under her (first) married name, Agatha Christie, 6 non-detective novels as Mary Westmacott, and 14 short story collections. In addition a number of her works have been adapted for the stage, or were written as plays that have now been novelised.

But far from setting out to be a great author, she only started writing at all due to a bet with her sister, and a certain amount of boredom. Yet she has created some of the best and worst (sorry, but Parker Pyne and Mr Quin????) detectives in the genre, and some of the most devious and controversial plots to ever trick, misdirect and enthrall the reading public. If we sometimes today find her plots predictable or jaded, that is because we can easily forget that she and a handful of other trailblazers have, through their work, made us as readers more sophisticated and at the same time, have aroused expectations to fit the genre. If we can place the books in their original era, then they become even more fresh, more unusual and very, very clever.

So if you’ve been living on the moon, and haven’t read anything by Christie before, or if you’ve only lately come to detective fiction via some other nefarious genre, what are the five books you should read by Agatha Christie?

Well obviously you’ve got to read the first Poirot book, not that sequence is an issue with Christie as it is with many authors. But it’s always interesting to a) read an author’s first book, and b) read the first book to feature a well-known detective. So you absolutely must begin with The Mysterious Affair At Styles, published in 1920 and featuring Hercule Poirot. I would say he is the world’s foremost fictional detective (though fans of Sherlock Holmes would no doubt disagree). This is a phenomenal debut, and an intriguing mystery.

Christie famously disliked Poirot, and her dislike is clear in the rather comical, uncharitable description of him as he makes his first appearance in chapter two, meeting by accident the narrator of the story, his famous side-kick Hastings. Right from the outset, we note that Hastings always treats Poirot with a mixture of pity and affection. We are told: Poirot was an extraordinary-looking little man. He was hardly more than five feet four inches, but carried himself with great dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff and military. We are also told of his love of neatness bordering on obsession and, again as always, Hastings is at pains to point out that Poirot’s glories are behind him and he is past his prime. In fact, he’s past his prime for the next, what, thirty, forty years?

So Poirot is not in any shape or form the figure of a hero – he’s short, stout, he limps, he’s fussy and overly particular, and he’s older in years than a classic swash-buckling, overcoming-all-obstacles big-screen hero of that era or even our own. And he has personality flaws in the form of vanity and self-importance, and often, a deep lack of self-belief that I think most of us could identify with today.

But his strengths – oh they are good – he is an acute observer of humanity, he notices EVERYTHING, he understands human psychology, and his success lies in his deep thought processes and his use of logic to work out the details of a crime, that and a reliance on the everyday bigotry that overlooks the intelligence or usefulness of a foreigner on the part of many he comes into contact with.

So that’s Styles.

You also HAVE to read two other classic Poirot’s: Death on the Nile and Murder on the Orient Express. These have become such genre classics almost independent of their creator, and the TV series and various film versions have definitely assisted with that. These books have masterful plots featuring an ensemble cast, and represent neat variations on the country house theme by being a ship and a train. The exotic locations just add to the pleasure.

Miss Marple is one of Christie’s other detectives, and is almost as well known and beloved as Poirot. She is a single old lady who knits and gossips. She solves mysteries by the simple expedient of listening, asking questions and again, like Poirot, knowing a great deal about human behaviour. This is largely the result of her life experience, and the fact that she lives in a small community where everyone knows everyone. Like Poirot, she is often overlooked as a threat to the plans of baddies and evildoers. The best Marple book to start with, in my opinion, is again the book that introduces us to the character, a volume of short stories first published in 1933, The Thirteen Problems (or in the US this is called The Tuesday Club Murders). In this book, each of a group of friends tells of an unsolved murder they know about, and various solutions are put forward by the rest of the group, until in the end, Miss Marple, between counting stitches or casting on a new ball of wool, puts forward the truth, which is then acted upon and checked by someone who is a high-up legal chap. By the end of the book, the others now turn immediately to Miss Marple, knowing she will tell them the only true solution.

Two more famous Marple books, which are in a way companion pieces, are A Caribbean Mystery and Nemesis and are also excellent, showing her personality in her strength of purpose and determination to see justice done.

Okay, I know I said five books, and there they are (not really five but it’s not easy to choose between some of them…). And I can’t resist adding a bonus one: the extraordinary Death Comes As The End. It was published in 1945, and is a traditional-style murder mystery, but it is set in ancient Egypt, and the background was gleaned by Christie from her archaeological exploits with husband number two, Sir Max Mallowan. It’s a great story, full of fascinating detail, and it inspired me as a teenager to learn more about history of all eras.

And of course, you’ve got to read The Murder at the Vicarage, Lord Edgware Dies, my personal favourite, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, and my ‘other’ personal favourite, Evil Under the Sun.

I hope that, having read all the above books, you might feel an impulse to go back and read the rest of her works. They are well worth the effort, and I am sure you will agree, not only are they entertaining and enjoyable, you will also feel that you have come to know the woman behind not just these works but the modern cosy mystery genre as a whole. Without Agatha Christie, I believe there would be no Midsomer Murders, no Vera, Shetland, no Line of Duty,  or Inspector Morse.

***

Telling myself it’s all okay and that I can do this…

/ Caron Allan

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:

  1. There are too many people with a surname beginning with P
  2. There are too many people with a first name beginning with S
  3. As always with my books there are just – too many people. Soooo many people…
  4. Things happen in the story that have already happened.
  5. Things happen before they happened?????? How does that even????????????????? Yes I don’t know either.
  6. One chap’s wife changed name halfway through the book. My sympathies go out to the family in question.
  7. 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.)
  8. I’ve got more criminals than crimes.
  9. I’ve got more police officers than criminals.
  10. Did I mention I have too many characters?
  11. My main protagonists have accidentally reversed their ages by a year. I wish I could do that IRL.
  12. I found my characters using jargon and slang that wasn’t around in that era.
  13. The police are using technology that wasn’t around in that era.
  14. If they all stopped drinking tea and gazing at one another, the crime(s) would get solved three days earlier.
  15. 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.

‘Sort of.’

‘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!’

A Wreath of Lilies eBook version pre-order

 

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Researching a historical mystery novel

/ Caron Allan

Because more than half of my books are set in the 1930s, I constantly find myself – even eight books in – looking stuff up. It might be easy to find stuff like ‘good poisons to kill someone with’ (My search history would def land me in a lot of trouble if anything ever happened to my nearest and dearest), but sometimes it’s deeper, more complicated stuff (ie questions such as ‘when did the UK first get direct dialling telephone systems?’ or ‘how much did a postcard and a stamp cost in 1934?’) I need answers to.

Quite often what I need to know are small obscure things that Mr Google or Mr Wikipedia can help with but if it’s a recurring issue, I need to have the answer closer to hand. And it’s important to me that the settings I create for my books are fairly accurate, because I want my readers to become immersed in the story, so I have acquired a number of books over the last few years to help me develop an authentic 1930s-feeling world for Dottie Manderson.

Plus, I just love all the pictures… (not the gory ones in the forensic books, but the pretty dresses etc)

Here are a few of the books I use regularly which have now become indispensable. I did take a few interior pics then realise – duh, idiot, copyright issues! So sadly I’m just showing you the covers. I’m taking it as read that you’d know I have a dictionary and a thesaurus by my side at all times so I didn’t bother to take photos of them.

As I write crime fiction, albeit a gentle, 1930s or 1960s brand, I need to know a bit about the icky side of a crime. so the two books below are my go-to for that sort of stuff. Though I have to bear in mind that for the 1930s – and even the 1960s – some of this stuff wouldn’t be relevant as it’s very much only ‘coming soon’ (1980s/90s and later).

I love the image of the fly on the pages in this book, btw!

This is one of my favourite books – it even tells you symptoms, reaction times, all sorts! Please note the sticky page markers!

I also need to know a bit about houses, social conventions, mod cons and everyday life in the past, so I have loved these books too:

I also find it helpful sometimes to read true crime and related non-fiction:

This was a brilliant birthday present from one of my children. A fascinating read.

Slightly more modern, a bit more gritty and just as fascinating

But if you know me, or have visited this blog before, you’ll know my real love is costume, and also social history. Here are a few of my absolute favourite books:

This book is a wonderful overview of general phases of costume change and development. John Peacock’s books are wonderful!

These books in John Peacocks other series have so much more detail and information – I highly recommend them for authors. and for a wonderful half hour’s reading over a cuppa any time you want to relax.

This is another wonderful series of book with mainly images relating to a specific era, to give an insight into British popular culture of the time. I love them.

And lastly – but most fabulous of all, and not really my era, but such beautiful photos, I wish I could put them on here to wow you:

So now you know what I do when I’m gathering ideas, checking facts and maundering over a first draft idea. Or just – you know – reading for fun.

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And now it’s over to you…

/ Caron Allan / 2 Comments

As you know, I write genre fiction – that is to say it fits neatlyish into a specific genre type of book – I write mysteries. My books are not, by any stretch of the imagination, literary, nor are they ‘general’ what ever that is. Some writers are quite apologetic and embarrassed that they don’t write something high-brow. Not me. I believe that genre fiction has huge benefits and there’s no need to feel that I ‘only’ write mysteries: ‘Oh it’s only a mystery’ or ‘I really only like romances, I’m afraid.’

You see, I believe that books are lifesavers. Books are companionship for the lonely, entertainment for those who are bored. It doesn’t matter if you can’t hear, or if you can’t walk, if you’re old or young, you can enjoy a book. And if you can’t see, you can listen to audiobooks. Books can be a comfort and a much-needed means of escape from what is sometimes an anxious, or difficult world. We all need a break – and a book is perfect for that.

I had cancer a few years back, and whilst I had tests, surgery, appointments, sat in busy, soulless waiting rooms, and anxiously waited for a prognosis, I read books. It was a relief to get out of myself and my thoughts and into a world where the only bad things that happened would be solved by a detective and the villain locked up. Bliss! A few hours free of my own troubles was just what the doctor ordered. I realised as never before just how wonderful it was to get lost in a good book. I was so grateful to the authors who offered me that respite.

I was lucky, and I am now free of cancer and healthy, but my love and respect for books and their authors will never die.

So a little while ago, I asked my mailing list subscribers some questions about what they love. Here are a few of the most popular responses I had:

Q1. I asked, What is the best thing about finding a new book you love?

You said:

  • Finding a new book can be tough, and it’s important to find relatable characters, an engrossing plot and a style that appeals.
  • Many people said they were drawn by the cover – which is exactly what they are designed to do – to lure you in!
  • For some, finding a new book or series is like meeting a new friend.
  • When readers find a new book or series, they love to tell their friends and family about it!
  • Readers like the idea that the book will be theirs to read again and again, and to refer to, a book that adds to their knowledge or understanding (mainly reference books)
  • People love the sense of starting out on a journey, of ‘meeting’ new people and having adventures along the way. A kind of vicarious holiday.

Q2. Do you always read the same genre, or do you like a lot of different types of book?

You were largely split over this, with many people saying they read anything and everything, and others stating that they only ever read the same kind of books. I’m largely that way myself. I do enjoy the odd history book and classics, and poetry, but almost always I turn to crime, figuratively, of course!

Q3. When do you read?

Again, responses were quite split between those who read during the day, usually with lunch or a coffee or cup of tea, and those who read almost entirely at night before going to sleep. Some people read during commuter journeys on trains and buses. Now that I’m at home during the day, I tend to read with coffee or lunch. When I was working in the big wide world, I used to read on the bus or when I had a lunch break. It’s so nice not to have to sit on a bus for hours on end anymore.

Q4. Actual book or eReader?

The odds were almost overwhelmingly stacked in favour of ‘actual’ paper, hold-in-your-hand-and-sniff-the-pages books. Most people who read on eReaders said they did so mainly for the convenience. I must admit I’m the same. My trusty eReader goes with me when I travel or am away from home, but when I’m at home and reading in comfort, it’s always a ‘real’ book. The great thing about eReaders of course, is your nearest and dearest have no idea just how many eBooks you’ve bought – that little secret is between you and your gadget. One person pointed out that the advantage of reading at night on an eReader is that you don’t need to have a light on in the room, so you don’t disturb your partner. A great point!

Q5. What are your other favourite past-times?

Wow we have a lot of pastimes! Here are just a few:

Writing! Reading, obviously. Walking the dog, taking pics of your cats, gardening, flower-arranging, cooking, various arts and crafts including model-making, embroidery, card-making, painting in oils, painting in acrylics, crochet, knitting, drawing, sewing, photography. Then we had the DIYers, the mad exercise buffs, the tennis-players, the golfers, the swimmers, the dancers, the joggers, the cyclists. You like playing board games and card games, going to the pub, spending time with family and friends, eating out, sport, sport and more sport. You love travel. You love learning new things at evening classes. Some of you like to help others in the community, or volunteer in charity shops or care homes. You play musical instruments, you babysit your grandkids, and all kinds of other amazing stuff. You guys are seriously impressive! No wonder you sometimes need to sit down with a book and just chill.

And lastly…

Q6. What are your favourite TV shows, if you watch TV?

Again, a huge range of results here: people gave general responses such as drama, crime, reality shows, documentaries, comedy etc. but we also got some very specific shows mentioned: Peaky Blinders, Line of Duty, Gogglebox, Brooklyn 99, Poirot, Family Guy, Outlander, Once Upon A Time, Bridgerton (I know why you like that!), The Bay, QI, Mock The Week (RIP – and yes I did sign the petition…), Would I Lie To You, I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here, The Great British Bake Off, Strictly Come Dancing, Made In Chelsea, Any Star Trek, Star Wars, or Marvel thing, Famalam (not for those who don’t like very, VERY naughty words… but truly hilarious), Unforgotten, any football, all cricket and rugby, True Crime documentaries, and so many more…

I hope you find this as fascinating as I did. Some of the responses were so similar to my own, I feel we could easily be best buds.

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And I think we all know why Jane Austen adaptations are so popular these days…

Sneak peek from Midnight, the Stars, and You: Dottie Manderson mysteries book 8

/ Caron Allan / 1 Comment

Book 8 of the Dottie Manderson mysteries: hitting virtual shelves near you in December 2023

This week, I thought I’d share another sneaky scene from the new Dottie book that I am currently working on. I’ve already posted one scene on here a couple of months back, and so to prove that I am actually working, I thought I’d share another. ;D

So here it is…

Sir Nigel always ensured that Lady Matilda Cosgrove – one of his oldest and dearest friends – had the Ormulu Room whenever she came to stay. In fact, he rather counted on it, because otherwise he’d have to invite fewer guests or get them to share their rooms. Very few of the other guests would feel comfortable surrounded by so much ornate, gilded wood coupled with a rather dark marble. Lady Matilda liked the room. As far as Sir Nigel could tell, she was the only person in existence who did like the room.

It was a quarter to seven on a Saturday evening in June when Lady Matilda sat at the vast gold and dark brown dressing-table and allowed her maid to dress her hair in what they both deemed to be the most becoming fashion for a lady in her late sixties. They were deep in conversation about which gown Lady Matilda had worn to a certain affair in the Spring of 1881, when there came a tap on the door.

Salt, Lady Matilda’s maid, set down her comb and perfume bottle and turned to the door to state, ‘Come,’ with as much dignity as her ladyship herself.

The door opened. A timid little red-headed maid stood on the threshold looking extremely nervous.

‘Well?’ demanded Salt. She was a fierce protector of her ladyship’s privacy.

‘Begging your pardon, my lady,’ the young woman began, ‘but Sir Nigel’s compliments and would it suit your ladyship to place your jewellery into Sir Nigel’s safe for the evening? There’s been two break-ins on this square in the last week, and Sir Nigel doesn’t want to run any risks with your ladyship’s valuables. In fact, I’m to go to all the ladies – and the gentlemen – and take their valuables down to his lordship’s safe.’

She accompanied this information with a kind of bobbing curtsey, all the while nervously wringing her hands. Lady Matilda thought she was rather a sweet little thing.

‘And what is your name, my dear?’ demanded her ladyship.

‘Eliza, ma’am. Eliza Smallwood. I’m new in this establishment.’

‘Well, Eliza Smallwood, I should be most obliged if you would take my jewellery case to Sir Nigel at once and thank him for his good sense and kind thoughts. Salt, give the child the case. But make sure ot keep out what I need for this evening, obviously, won’t you.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Salt extracted several glittering items of great value. Once Lady Matilda had nodded her approval, the case was locked up again, the tiny black key slipped into Salt’s pocket, and the case was handed to the young maid.

She gave another little bob and clutching the jewellery case to her as if her life depended on keeping it safe, she said, ‘Thank you, your ladyship. I’ll take these to Sir Nigel directly. Good evening.’

The door closed behind her, and Salt and Lady Matilda resumed their discussion relating to the precise colour and fabric of the gown worn on the evening of the Royal Gala over forty years earlier.

It was not long before the bell rang for dinner, and Lady Matilda descended the grand staircase to meet the other guests for a pre-dinner aperitif.

Sir Nigel greeted her with a beaming smile, taking both her hands in his and kissing first her left cheek then her right in his usual warm manner that Lady Matilda found delightfully Continental.

She lost no time in thanking him again for his invitation to stay for the weekend whilst George was overseas on his usual ambassadorial duties. As always, she offered her compliments on the charming Ormulu Bedroom, which had, she said, a rich glamour that one didn’t see everywhere. She asked after his health, heard with patience of his sciatica and stiff knees – she was herself a martyr to her knees, and promised to let him have Salt’s remedy for the relief of the discomfort – then she remarked,

‘It was so thoughtful of you to send up that sweet little girl to fetch my jewellery. I shall feel so much happier knowing my grandmother’s diamonds are safely locked away. These robberies are such a worry.’

He stared at her for a second or two too long, and she immediately divined that something was amiss. But before she could quiz him about it, the door was flung open and Salt ran in, tears streaming down her face, causing everyone to turn and stare, drinks halted halfway to their mouths.

She wailed, ‘Oh my dear lady, I’ve just found out. There isn’t any such maid as that Eliza girl in the house. And she’s gone off with all your valuables!’

And indeed she had. She had practically run down the back stairs with the jewellery case in her arms, knowing she had only a minute or two to make her escape. The side door was still ajar, and unseen by anyone, she slipped outside, pulling off her cap and apron and throwing them onto the grass, then she hopped into the waiting car at the end of the drive.

It sped off before anyone in the house had even realised there had been a robbery.

***