Author, editor, attempter of this thing called life. Social anxiety warrior. Re-Connections, a collection of short stories, published with Ocelot Press, 15/10/2025.
It seems I missed Theme Reveal day, so I’ll reveal my theme today.
Here it is:
Edit: To explain: (almost) every day in April I will post another story starting with the letter A and ending with Z. Other bloggers will have chosen different themes or may post without having a specific theme. You can find all the blogs taking part in the challenge here. You can also join in, if you want and have the time. I don’t have time, but I’m doing it anyway.
I nearly forgot: today is my blog birthday.
Seven years ago today, I posted this:
Speech is silver, silence is…
…not golden. Just a fake gold that soon dulls. Like the necklace I bought in Cyprus. They told me it was gold. I knew they were lying, but I bought it anyway. I felt I had to buy something because they gave me tea….
I’ve been keeping silent for most of my life. It’s time to talk.
So tune in again, keep in touch and don’t suffer in silence.
And I’ve been talking ever since. Thank you for listening!
Last summer, as part of a long trip to the UK, I was in the northern city of York, because my publisher, Crooked Cat, organised an event for its authors there.
I hadn’t been to York before and didn’t know much about it, other than the fact that its history is long. I was also vaguely aware that Jews had lived there and misfortune had befallen them at some point… unsurprisingly.
So I started reading. Jews were first brought to England from the continent by William the Conqueror in 1066. Many of them settled in York because, at the time, it was the second most important city after London, with a thriving textile industry. And, as in so many places in those times, Jews weren’t allowed to own land or work in a profession. So they did the one thing they were allowed to do, because Christians weren’t allowed to do it. They lent money.
Many people needed to borrow money, so the Jews did well from money lending. This was good for the King, because he could levy huge taxes on the Jews. But the people who owed money to the Jews were not so happy, especially as the Jews seemed to be more prosperous than them. Moreover, in church, and particularly around Easter time, they were taught to hate Jews.
These are the main events that led to the massacre of 16th March, 1190. On that day, the Jews who were still alive took refuge in Clifford’s Tower, which was then a wooden structure. But a mob surrounded the tower and then set fire to it, and the Jews decided on a mass suicide. Except for a few who left the tower and offered to convert in the hope that they’d be saved. But they, too, met their deaths on that day.
It is said that, because of that event, there is a “cherem” or boycott of York. That Jews aren’t allowed to set foot in York. That if they pass York on the train, they mustn’t eat or drink as they pass through and they mustn’t turn to look at the city. Yet there were Jews living in York for the next hundred years until they were expelled altogether from England in 1290.
In more recent times, small numbers of Jews have lived in York, some of them having arrived on the Kindertransport. There was a synagogue that closed down, but very recently prayers have started to be held again in York.
So what about the cherem? Most researchers say that in reality there never was a cherem. But it seems to me that even if only a few Jews boycott York, it’s still a boycott, albeit an insignificant one.
I have a reason for mentioning all this now. Last night, I attended a very absorbing talk on this topic organised by HOB Rehovot. Barry Levinson told a rapt audience consisting mostly of immigrants from the UK about the events leading up to the massacre and the massacre itself. He also showed us the short film he made on the topic. You can watch the film here.
During the talk and in the general discussion that followed it, I couldn’t help thinking how history repeats itself. The more I listen to the news from the UK and around the world, the more scary that thought becomes.
My guest today is Nick. He’s been released from the pages of The Forgotten Promise by Kate Ryder. Nick is sharing his letter to Maddie.
Ashton Chase Barn
6 March
Dear Maddie,
I have to write this letter. Though I have a skip full of mail that demands answers and my day sheet is crammed with a mass of urgent chores and obligations that I have no hope of fulfilling, I have to write this letter. I have a very stern and hard-working conscience which is giving me no peace at the moment. This letter may quieten its angry clamouring.
It is to be a plea for my defence, a token of gratitude and hope for future friendship.
First, my defence. I am not one of life’s great planners. I do not chart courses or control events. It cannot be said on my epitaph that he knew what he wanted and went out and got it. Whilst my successful friends bore across life’s oceans in pursuit of lofty goals, I bob in their wake, drifting on the tide of circumstance, admiring the scenery that chance presents. Through such aimless navigation I arrive in situations by accident. I know enchanted creeks and peaceful backwaters that the captains of their own destiny will never see. But there are perils that await the drifter, rocky shoals and whirlpools that responsible people steer clear of.
In the same way that I don’t control my life, I cannot control my feelings. I cannot be blamed for admiring attractive scenery. That a client happens to be both charming and beautiful should simply sweeten the working day. Where I am guilty is in not heeding the signs that something was happening within. I should have corrected things and started paddling away at the start when I found myself thinking of you too often and too fondly. That I didn’t take evasive action was due to a naïve belief in some Enid Blyton Utopia where everyone exists as “jolly good chums” – a world uncomplicated by the tangle of feelings, relationships, sexuality, envy and jealousy. The outcome is painful. And now I am dangerously close to being in love, if not already.
This is where the gratitude comes in. For the enchantment that your company has brought to my life. It is a nice feeling knowing there is someone around that you really like. Dorchester, Walditch and the Blacksmith’s Arms are places that have grown a new attraction for me – that I might glimpse you. I enjoyed dusting off my peacock feathers (though I hope it wasn’t too obvious). I did not make a play for you, rather I fell for you. Thank you for briefly and unwittingly making me very happy.
A grey dawn now fills the barn where I am writing this. It heralds a full day. I have used up all the paper trying to write this and there is no more left, and I have not said anything that I really wanted to say.
Maddie, I wish you the greatest fortune in your life. May the gods smile upon you and bless you with happiness – and may your friendship be mine.
Love, Nick.
The Forgotten Promise is set in rural Dorset. It is not only a present day romance between Maddie and Nick, but also an intriguing ghost story, replete with twists and turns, which takes the reader on a journey back to the dark and dangerous days of the English Civil War through the characters of Mary and Nat. It is also a story of self-discovery, lost loves and second chances, and of a love that resonates through the ages…
Maddie believes her strong connection with Nick is more than simple, mutual attraction and, over time, recognises that the spirit of her 17th century husband, Nat, lives on through him. Nick is unable to temper his feelings for Maddie and finds himself looking for any excuse to be around her but, being a loyal partner, is very aware of his responsibilities to his long-term girlfriend, Sarah. However, following an incident when he has allowed his strong feelings for Maddie to get the better of him, he writes the letter to her. Heart-broken, Maddie knows she has lost him for a second time.
The Forgotten Promise was shortlisted in Choc Lit UK’s “Search for a Star” competition.
The novel is available in both paperback and Kindle format on Amazon UK and Amazon US.
Kate Ryder has worked in a number of industries, including publishing. Mainly employed in editorial, she has worked as a proof-reader/copy editor and, most recently, as chief writer for a national newspaper.
Kate believes that variety is definitely the ‘spice of life’ and in 2001 she moved to Cornwall to restore a 200-year-old cottage. During renovations a time capsule was discovered, left by a previous owner, prompting Kate to think about past occupants and the lives and dramas that had been played out within her home.
With an interest in things ‘alternative’, in 2005 Kate set up a complementary health business for people and animals (http://www.equihealth.co.uk ) and – in between ‘proper’ jobs – has been active at shows and markets up and down the country.
Wanting to escape the restrictions of newspaper speak, Kate joined a creative writers group with the intention of writing short stories, some of which have since been published. However, following a chance conversation with a fellow country market trader the seeds were sown for The Forgotten Promise and a particular exercise during a writers’ workshop turned out to be a little longer than intended; hence this debut novel.
She is currently working on her second novel.
Kate lives in Cornwall with her husband and a collection of animals
She is scheduled to do a book signing during Tavistock Arts Festival 2016 on Saturday, April 23rd.
I have to admit, I’ve never heard of this meaning of “Easter eggs” before, but it’s a great term for an interesting topic. I’ll let Rumer Haven explain.
1. Chapter One alone is pretty loaded with ’em. I’m ridiculously nostalgic for my childhood and past pop culture, so I drew from that to initially ground Margot in the ordinary world she lives in during the present before she enters a rather extraordinary one of the past.
2. In Chapter Two, while Margot is still at her childhood home, she finds an old grade school journal akin to one I kept in sixth grade. Reading through some of the entries reminds her of a classmate who lived off a dirt road that I based on my actual school bus route. Though now paved over, this road has forever creeped out locals and become an urban legend, as depicted in the eponymous film Munger Road. I was shocked when the movie came out after I’d already incorporated this reference into my first draft–just goes to show the mark that road makes on locals!
About What the Clocks Know:
Finding a ghost isn’t what Margot had in mind when she went ‘soul searching’, but somehow her future may depend on Charlotte’s past.
Woven between 21st-century and Victorian London, What the Clocks Know is a haunting story of love and identity. A paranormal women’s fiction, this title is available as of March 18, 2016 from Crooked Cat Publishing.
“A unique tale of the paranormal – as beautiful as it is haunting.”
~ Shani Struthers, author of Jessamine and the Psychic Surveys series
Author Bio:
Learn more about Rumer at:
Website – http://www.rumerhaven.com
Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/rumerhaven
Twitter – @RumerHaven
Thank you for coming, Rumer, and for revealing all those Easter eggs.
As for the novel, What the Clocks Know, I can attest to its excellence because I helped with the final editing, so am privileged to have read it.
Despite not having packed my case,
I spent the morning at Esther’s place,
Where, guided by our experienced mentor,
We budding writers, who number four,
Ate, drank, talked and laughed,
Our misunderstandings often quite daft.
Our driver, Ilan, carted luggage and all,
And talked all the way to the terminal,
Where we boarded our El Al 747,
Stomachs full of sushi heaven,
And sat in seats our boarding cards did show
Only to be told we’d got the wrong row!
Eleven hours later we travellers three
Arrived in a thoroughly modern city.
Soon clutching train cards, money and SIMs,
On the Metro we dragged our weary limbs
To our hotel suite with a view that was lacking,
Though we found the inside to be quite cracking.
Son promptly lay down and soon was out,
But the two of us needed to get out and about.
Along one long street we exercised our paws,
Amazed to see so many jewellery stores.
At the end we reached the view we did seek:
Over water to the island and Victoria Peak.
Next day we walked on an island called Lamma
In temperatures that felt almost like summer.
Lamma for us means why, oh why
Do we climb up and up and up so high,
Only to get to the top and descend
Once again to reach the end?
Every day, without fail,
We walked along another trail
Dragon’s Back and Maclehose
And Hong Kong are some of those.
The amazing views from Victoria Peak
And Lantau Island are unique.
Each evening we ate with a new ambience:
From Italy, Indonesia, Sri Lanka and France.
The hotel breakfasts, laid out as buffet,
Gave us plenty of choice every day.
The food on the plane, on the other hand,
Was aeroplane food, okay but bland.
On the last day, we visited Kowloon Park
Before we really had to embark
On a journey that took us all the way back
To the place where our cases we could unpack.
Not London, Paris, Madrid or Rome,
But Jerusalem — home sweet home.
Today’s visitor is one of a kind. He’s called Dougal and he’s decided to write one of those letters to his younger self.
Dear little one,
You hated the thought of leaving the shores of Kent, the land of honey, Sky TV, siblings and mother’s milk for the unknown crime-ridden Metropolis, brim full to bursting with rules, vicious dogs and air pollution.
Have I loved and protected you, the puppy in me? Kept alive your aspirations, quelled your fears and led you sensibly down the passage of time, helping to curb your excesses, fulfil your dreams and discover your role in life? How to be a man’s best friend: helping him through the trials of life, be it flu, sad times or a self-induced hangover.
How have you fared? Has keeping a diary helped?
This particular date is forever etched in my memory.
16th May (A quote from your diary at 5 months old)
Stonkingly good day! Terrified an entire nursery school and left muddy paws on the most elegantly-suited woman in the park. Once home I ate two brown socks, the tacks off the telephone wires, hacked through the skirting board, burst two footballs, was half-way through eating one of them and it wasn’t even lunchtime.
By 5 pm I’d eaten my lead, dug three large holes in the garden, chased next-door’s cat and chewed the leg off a chair. I’d call that, success.
Well, the good news is: you’ve stopped eating socks. A relief to the vet, your boss and dog minder, who had the pleasure of extracting a sock or three from out of your nether region…I need not continue, you get the picture? The details are too foul to go into. Maybe this is the moment to tell you more about you.
When you swapped Sky TV for the radio, you became less informed on Wildlife Programmes, but gained a greater knowledge about politics. And the big question now, is IN or OUT. Which for you, as a French speaker and Francophile, Paris and Brittany (Cité Europe is not on your wish list nor one of the 100 places you want to visit before you die) means you’re in. One of the very few to have actually made up their mind.
You didn’t die under the knife when your testicles were removed (the vet’s fault) nor did you gain the high notes of a counter tenor, but mercifully retained a deep baritone bark.
As you are aware, you survived a cliff-hanging incident (your fault) on the Thames. (Another diary entry, at 9 months of age.)
14th Oct
We were meeting Hannah in Barnes, not for the Boat Race – that we missed months ago. It was a blisteringly hot day and the tow path was heaving with families making the most of the weather. Next month London will be battening down the hatches, jumping into thermals and vegetating for the winter – a human habit caught from squirrels.
We sped along the path, river to one side, trees and back gardens on the other, dodging bikes, pushchairs and runners. They did, I didn’t.
‘Dougal, mind the baby. Oh, sorry, so sorry! Dougal!’ I was high as a kite, charging through the dried leaves, my tail going like the clappers, as I sniffed dogs, chased cats and greeted every toddler going. Then, from the other side of the wall came the sounds of oars dipping in and out of the water, male voices, cries and laughter. The river was brimming with fun. I had to join in. With one Olympian leap, I was over.
Bonkers Dougal! Never underestimate the consequences of your actions. The water was only twelve metres below. Did I shimmy down the walls? No way. I dropped, one furry bundle of panic in free fall, my life vanishing behind me, the Thames looming ever closer, when a ledge, barely large enough to house a seagull, interrupted my descent. By some miracle I was able to grip. Thank the Lord I’d never had my nails cut.
Here, writing a diary helped you retain your sanity.
Now, what about me, the older you? I keep in shape and young at heart by chasing non-existent foxes in the garden, jumping higher than a kangaroo when catching balls and treats. And I love, really adore nicking ice-creams out of babies’ prams. But as for my obsessions with balls and health, I’d prefer to leave them for another time.
So, back to you, young Dougal! What of your dreams of starring in a West End Show, of travelling the world on Virgin Atlantic, or cocking your leg without falling over? Did any of them ever come true?
Some of them, yes.
Always remember life is fun and you, my puppy, are well, truly alive and living in me.
From the almost grown-up Dougal xxx
The letter was headed:
A letter from my basket.
Written from the older, wised up but never wise or streetwise, Dougal to his younger self.
Dougal is the star of the novel Dougal’s Diary by Sarah Stevenson, published by Crooked Cat.
About SarahJoining the Bristol School of Dancing aged seven, Sarah spent most of her childhood dancing in prisons, theatres, old people’s homes and the Grand Palais in Paris. Later she trained as an actress, working with Mike Leigh and other distinguished directors. When the children arrived, she trained as a chef, and when they’d finally flown the nest, catered in Europe, Britain and the States, giving private dinner parties. Sarah still works as a cook and writes.
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Has he chosen his owner well and landed on his paws? Dougal the Labradoodle puppy, a complete hypochondriac and Boris Johnson’s No 1 fan, arrives in Greenwich with great expectations.
He longs to travel the world on Virgin Atlantic, dine at royal banquets and either become a superstar and party the night away or work as a doorman at the Savoy.
Behaviour classes were never on his wish-list, neither were cliff-hanging experiences on the Thames, booze cruises to Calais or obsessions for eating socks.
Can he survive life with a chaotic owner and her eccentric friends? Can he deal with his jealousy when a foster puppy comes to stay? And as for his dreams, will they ever come true?
I haven’t quite “landed” following the twelve-and-a-half-hour flight back from Hong Kong and I have a visitor. He’s a boy called Luke. He sounds quite sensible really. And brave.
Dear Mum and Dad
Sorry about the incident at school. I was stupid and have no real excuse. Sometimes I do things without thinking.
I know I’ve been a bit strange and distant recently, but I find it hard to tell you exactly what’s going on. In fact, there are some things you just would not believe – I hardly believe them myself.
You wanted me to be friends with Guy didn’t you? At first I kept thinking, why him? He’s so… weird. I know he has ‘special needs’ or whatever they’re called, but everyone else at school laughs at him. He gets bullied, but I promised to look out for him. And I did. I am.
I was right about him being weird. He is. He has this incredible ability to attract animals – wild animals that he handles without them hurting him or being scared. Birds, mammals, reptiles, insects, you name it. He seems to have special powers, like some kind of ‘Nature Boy’.
So we’ve become friends, which is kind of good because it’s what you wanted me to do. But it’s bad too, because now my mates at school think I’m a weirdo as well. They make stupid comments about us being ‘gayboys’. Just jealous I suppose.
Guy has shown me awesome things I never knew existed. He talks about the ancient magic of the natural world. When he talks like this he sounds like an old man, or some kind of wise guru. I told you he was weird. He uses words like ‘Gaia’ and ‘numen’, which I don’t fully understand.
He seems a bit obsessed with environmental issues. I think he’s one of those hippy tree-hugger types. He keeps going on about how we’re killing planet Earth with stuff like pollution, deforestation and over-fishing the oceans. If the planet’s dying then it needs some large-scale changes – and quickly.
The other day Guy said he wanted me to help him look for his mother. I know he lives with foster parents, so it’s normal to want to find your biological parents, but aren’t there agencies that can help you trace family? He said his mum is dying but he doesn’t know where she is. I wasn’t sure how to help him, but maybe you could have a chat with his foster parents.
I just wanted you to know that I’m fine. I really am sorry about the trouble I’ve caused, and that I’m not always the easiest person to be with. But being with Guy has taught me a great deal. I wish I could tell you about the really amazing stuff… about the magpie that was tapping on my window… about being in the middle of a storm… and what really happened to Frisky…
When the time comes, I promise to tell you everything. At the moment I just need you to trust me that I’m fine and that I mean it when I say I’m sorry for all the hassle I’ve caused you.
Thanks for being there.
Lots of love
Luke x
Pica explores a world of ancient magic, when people and nature shared secret powers.
Luke hates nature, preferring the excitement of computer games to dull walks in the countryside, but his view of the world around him drastically begins to change when enigmatic loner, Guy, for whom Luke is reluctantly made to feel responsible, shows him some of the secrets that the very planet itself appears to be hiding from modern society.
Set in a very recognisable world of school and the realities of family-life, Luke tumbles into a fascinating world of magic and fantasy where transformations and shifting identities become an escape from the world. Luke gets caught up in an inescapable path that affects his very existence, as the view of the world around him drastically begins to change.
Where to find Jeff and Pica
I’m taking a short break from the blog. While I’m away:
Lamplight by Olga Swan is being published by Crooked Cat this Thursday. Lamplight is a thriller – book 1 in the David Klein series. David Klein is eighteen when he runs away from the poverty and orthodoxy of his Jewish home in Birmingham, England, for the bright lights and opportunities of New York. But trouble is in store.
From the anguish and terror of nearly drowning at sea, the story moves between New York, Birmingham and eventually to Breslau in Germany where, when working as a war reporter, he meets Karin. Together, they live through the burgeoning terror of Nazi Germany in 1938.
You’re invited to join the launch party on Facebook. And the ebook is available now for pre-order on Amazon UK and Amazon US.
Play nicely while I’m away and I’ll reveal all on my return.
What would you give for a world free of war, dependence on fossil fuels, pollution and terrorism? That is the premise for the Alchemy series.
An accidental discovery solving the problem of fossil fuel brings this Utopian vision closer but at what cost? Could there be unforeseen consequences and how dire would they be? Who could fight demons if all established religion had been abolished?
Put aside demons and add two people more doomed than Romeo and Juliet who are forced to fight alongside each other. Mix in some very energetic Goths and an undercover Christian Granny for an explosive result as the stories move at breakneck speed into the near-future blending magical realism with pizza, ritual with slang, deepest hatred with impossible love, shape-shifting with public transport.
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Book 1 Alchemy
Book 2 Shaman’s Drum
You can find Ailsa Abraham on Twitter, Facebook and on her Web page.
Miriam Drori, Author