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Letters from Elsewhere: Marie Hunter

Letters from ElsewhereSue BarnardMy guest today is Marie, wife of John Hunter, who has been directing an amateur dramatic society’s production of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. Marie, who comes from The Unkindest Cut of All  by Sue Barnard, has been kind enough to share an entry from her diary.

Monday 10th March

Well, that went pretty well for a first night, considering all the problems we’ve had.  It didn’t help that Brian arrived five minutes late, which sent John into a blind panic before we’d even started.  But then, that’s Brian for you.  Always thinks that normal rules don’t apply to him.  To be quite honest I’ve no idea how anyone ever puts up with him.  The play’s the thing, I suppose.

After all this time, I find it hard to believe that we’ve actually got to this stage.  John has been eating, breathing and sleeping that wretched play for the past two months.  Well, longer than that, I suppose, if I include all the time he spent reading and studying it before they started rehearsing.

Heaven alone knows why he wanted to do Julius Caesar.  I know he’s always loved Shakespeare, but it definitely wouldn’t have been my first choice of play.  And in any case, why pick a tragedy, when there are so many good comedies to choose from? But then, as Sarah pointed out, at least John didn’t go for Titus Andronicus.  We should be grateful for small mercies.  Maybe it was the timing – Ides of March, and all that. 

I did Julius Caesar at school.  I didn’t remember a great deal about it, apart from one lesson when we were reading one of the scenes in class, and at the point where it says Enter the Ghost of Caesar, the classroom door opened and in walked the headmistress, who must have been pushing sixty and looked like something out of a horror film.  It seemed absolutely hilarious to us at the time. 

Nobody could accuse me of not remembering a great deal about it now!  But it’s always the same.  When John gets his teeth into a task, it takes over his entire life – and mine – for the duration. By the time we get to performance week, I reckon I could be the all-purpose emergency understudy for the whole cast.

Thank goodness for Sarah.  She’s been an absolute trooper, taking over only a couple of weeks ago when Diane fell ill.  Nobody’s quite sure what was the matter with Diane, but her mother rang me this afternoon to say that she’s been rushed into hospital.  Poor girl.  I know she felt really bad about having to drop out. I’m going to go and see her tomorrow.  The cast all signed a card for her after the performance tonight.  I hope that might cheer her up a bit.

One down, five to go.  Maybe when the week is over I might actually get my husband back!  But we’ve still got to get through the rest of the run first.  Here’s hoping nothing else goes wrong between now and Saturday evening…

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The Unkindest Cut of All, by Sue Barnard, is available for download – and from today for the next seven days, it is on special offer at a princely 99p.  For more details, click here.

 

 

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Letters from Elsewhere

Letters from Elsewhere: Marie St Clair

Letters from Elsewhere

I’m delighted to be joined… at least, I think I’m delighted to be joined today by Marie St Clair, who comes straight from the pages of… well, I’ll let her tell you that herself.

Over to you, Marie.

My name is Marie St Clair. I’m a psychiatrist at a prominent British hospital. I have received many professional honours, as well as an O.B.E. from the Queen. My ascent to the heights of my profession was not made easier because I’m a woman. Men, even in this day and age, even in the medical profession, don’t take kindly to the intrusion of the ‘weaker sex’ into their domain. One would think doctors, especially psychiatrists, who are intelligent, educated and supposedly secure in their masculinity, would not fear a woman. But men were and still are intimidated by my beauty. I was strikingly beautiful when a young woman and even now that I’ve reached a certain age, men, even those considerably younger than myself, still find me very attractive.

But recently my husband of twenty-five years, the only man I have ever loved, told me I was a harridan and ran off with a woman two or three years older than myself – which came as a great shock and even led to some lapses in my professional judgement. I never thought it possible that my husband, whom I loved and cared for all these years, would walk out on me. If she had been young and pretty I’d have forgiven him, allowing for his hormones and a mid-life crisis – letting his testosterone make his life-changing decisions.

Although my practice was varied and I have helped many people with many different types of problems, from early in my professional life, marriage and the intricacies of the relationship between a woman and a man never ceased to intrigue. Now I knew what kept me faithful to my husband. I loved him, he loved me. We were intellectually compatible, having the same cultural background – the perfect couple. In addition to this the sex was always incredible – our mutual touching sparked an unbelievable passion. I will not divulge details but our love-making could have been the inspiration for many an erotic film – we did not know or care for inhibition, while every act was by mutual consent – we would not have had it any other way.

But so many of my patients were mismatched! How they ever decided that they were compatible and destined to live together ‘until death us do part’ was a mystery. I observed that when the wife, for I only dealt with married heterosexual couples, was dominant, the marriage was more easily repaired. Divorce inevitably resulted when the husband, to coin a phrase, ‘had a mind of his own’.

So after years of research, empirical but nevertheless well-founded, I developed this theory. It is not necessary to be right to be happy. Happiness will result from allowing your mate to be happy, even if submitting to her every whim is required. Why do I say her? Because marriages where the wife was the dominatrix, seemed to be more blissful. I did not have the statistics to prove this theory – as I said my observations were empirical – so I needed proof.

I looked around for the perfect couple to do a pilot study, which, or so I thought, I’d found in Patricia and Rodney Hart. The results of this study are to be found in Just for Fun an eclectic anthology of short stories and essays written by Henry Tobias, available as an e-book from your favourite e-book retailer and in print from CreateSpace. The title Just for Fun is an appropriate one because I thought my experiment would provide fun, joy and eternal bliss to all marriages.

HenryTobiasJustForFunJust for Fun is an eclectic anthology of short stories and essays written over a period of several years by Henry Tobias for his writing group. It was never his intention to publish, but as his stories were well received and with self-publishing, thanks to modern technology, being as stress free as it is today, he decided that the relative small outlay was worthwhile. This outlay came from securing rights for some of the pictures used to illustrate his stories like, the Andy Capp cartoon, and the reproductions of the painting by Van Gogh and Rembrandt van Rijn. Once the e-book had been published and distributed on Smashwords, the next obvious step was print. There are many small publishers who are willing to publish print-on-demand books today, but Henry chose the do-it-yourself route offered by Amazon’s CreateSpace, for two reasons. The first was the challenge of getting to grips with the technology, not easy for a baby-boomer. The second reason was being able to say ‘I did it myself’. Furthermore, I had been told about D-I-Y websites for cover design of e-books. I discovered Canva, a company apparently located in Australia. I find the site easy and fun to use and when I do have problems I get a prompt reply. I don’t get any financial benefit for mentioning Smashwords, Amazon’s CreateSpace or Canva.

 

HenryTobiasHenry Tobias was born in London, England and raised in Johannesburg, South Africa, where he trained as a pharmacist. As a young boy he was a member of Zionist Youth Movements – one of the factors which influenced his decision to live in Israel. The other influence was The Holocaust – the murder of some SIX MILLION Jews by the Nazis and their accomplices, which included citizens of many of the nations across Europe. He has a deep love of reading, especially history, particularly of World War II, The Holocaust including The Kindertransport and Jewish history throughout the ages. Some of his favourite authors are Richard Overy, Bernard Lewis and John Toland. Now retired, he writes and edits. He lives near Jerusalem with Jill, his wife of 44 years. He has three adult children and so far one beautiful granddaughter. He has published one anthology of eclectic short stories and essays, Just for Fun, and is currently working on his second book, an historical novel of World War II, provisionally titled Honour Thy Father and Thy Mother, which he hopes to publish before the end of 2016.

Links

Just for Fun can be found on Smashwords, Amazon, Kobo, iBooks, Oyster and Flipkart.

Henry Tobias can be found on his blog.

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Letters from Elsewhere

Letters from Elsewhere: Angus Montrose

Good morning! Today, 25th December, is the birthday of someone who is very much connected to the land in which I live. Yes, today we celebrate the birthday of

Letters from Elsewhere

D.r. Brauner (David Brauner) by welcoming a former prime minister of Scotland, who tells us his unusual story. Take it away, Angus, och ay.

My name is Angus Montrose, the Father of Scottish independence and ex-prime minister. I’m an altogether extra-large man. Tall. Wide. Fleshy. Thick-necked. Big-headed. Everything about me is big. My presence. Gestures. And a booming voice.

I was right-handed before I took office. I left the PM’s Bute House residence the day I curled the fingers of my left hand around the thick, short handle of a brewer’s copperhead hammer. I flattened the splayed fingers of my right hand in the reeking vomit and good whisky I’d heaved up all over my desk. Arm high overhead, the copperhead hammer orbited in a tight circle. Fixing on the huge paw that anchored me to my desk, I steadied myself. ‘Long … live … Scotland…’ And in a white, flashing arc, I brought the hammer down on my right hand.

I now write in great difficulty with my left hand, the sinister one, the one that brought me down and ended my career. I lived for Scotland, breathed for the Scottish people and shepherded our long-suffering nation out of repression and into independence.

It was Brew Moray, a Scotsman of the Jewish persuasion, the first Chief Rabbi of his people, who broke me. He wanted nothing more than to leave Scotland with his people. Like Moses wanting to leave Egypt-land with his band of Hebrew slaves.

At our first meeting on Monday 27 July 20—, he said to me, ‘There are two kinds of Jews: those who are home in the Land of Israel, and those who are on their way.’ And I countered, ‘There’s only one kind of Scot: the kind who stays in Scotland.’ To which he said that he ‘felt very proud to be a Scotsman.’

I didn’t believe that. ‘But, Rabbi,’ I asked, ‘where, sir, is your heart?’ And he put his right hand on his breast and said, ‘Right here.’ O, how he evaded me. Before he left, I took his hand in a vice-grip, and make no mistake I hurt him, for the Rabbi openly massaged his sore hand.

I asked, ‘Is it some sort of Jewish tradition, Rabbi, to rub your hand after you people shake?’ His reply: ‘Ay, a very old tradition, but one not usually practiced much these days.’

To say the least we Scots did not get off to a good start. Right from the beginning things soured beyond all imagination. We looked at the world beyond our new borders and saw a pernicious mess – but that strife and pestilence was always somewhere else, in the God-forsaken places, but never, never, Heaven forbid, in bonny Scotland. And certainly not when I, Angus Montrose, the Bellicose, was at helm. How I came a cropper was only because of him, them. And with that I rest my left hand from its scrawled lament.

another god_kindle cover - media.

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A cautionary tale of the near future …

another god

a novel of

Independent Scotland

by

D.r. Brauner

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What does the future hold for

Independent Scotland?

What if…? The speculative fiction depicted in another god has not come to life, not yet. But it could – after Scotland achieves independence. A rabbi’s dream could change the trajectory of one nation and save another nation from destruction. A prime minister’s Machiavellian patriotism could launch a new nation-state on an aimless course into oblivion. One woman’s miracle can produce a love-child. And another woman’s strength and daring might rescue a thousand lives. Scotland’s future history is yet to be written – or is it?

BIO

David and DaisyD.r. Brauner is a writer, editor and photographer. He was born in England, raised in America and holds an MLitt in English Linguistics from the University of Edinburgh. He wrote and photographed for The Jerusalem Post for fifteen years. During the last twenty-five years, he has edited academic papers and books and was the language editor of Yad Vashem Studies Holocaust journal from 2007 to 2014. From the early 1990s to this day, he has mentored a Creative Writing Circle in Jerusalem that has produced hundreds of memoirs, essays, short stories and novels, not a few of which have been published. Wherever David is, he is living in another world of images and books, kites and bikes, hopes and dreams. In this world life is all the better for having met his wife Ruth and finding their sweet dog Daisy.

Links

Amazon US

Amazon UK

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Letters from Elsewhere

Letters from Elsewhere: Lauren

Letters from Elsewhere

Today we’re privileged to see a letter from Lauren to Christie, brought to us by Teresa Cutler-Broyles. (Details at the end.)

December 18, 2015

Hi Christie!

mtnsI hope you, Emily and Robyn are doing well. I’m so sad to be missing Christmas with you all but the ranch is amazing. I can’t believe I’ll be working here next summer, and being able to spend these two weeks here right now is… well, let me tell you everything.

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The name of the ranch is Bear Basin – they have real bears here in the summer! My dad and I arrived just yesterday. To get here we had to drive through the most gorgeous mountains with all these twisty roads, through the forests and along these long narrow meadows. There’s snow around but it’s mostly melted, and the skies are so blue it’s almost unreal. So much bluer than at home, and you can see forever. Just before the turnoff to the ranch itself you can see the most incredible mountain range way far away. Immense peaks covered in snow that go on forever and ever. It’s called the Sangre de Cristos – that means the blood of Christ – and it looks like it’s miles and miles away.

My dad’s friends are really nice! Zeke and Amanda, and they own this whole ranch. I was reading about it on our way here and it covers more than 10,000 acres.

All the buildings are really old – more than a hundred! We pulled up and everything looked deserted – there were some horses – all Appaloosas – in the corral but nothing else. I was scared, thinking that we were in the wrong place. It seemed so isolated. I almost told my dad I changed my mind, then all of a sudden all the ranch dogs ran to greet us and some people came out of the buildings and when we got out of the truck everyone gave us hugs, even the people that didn’t know us, and it suddenly felt like home. I met the people I’ll be living and working with next summer.

Zeke and Amanda are the owners of the whole ranch.
Karen and Bob are the ranch managers.
Francois is their French chef – yes, in the middle of nowhere, Colorado, a real French chef!
Eli is their horse trainer and head wrangler – and he is very handsome. He looks just like the guy in any Western movie that you can’t tell if he’s the good guy or the bad guy. Maybe don’t tell Jackson I said Eli was handsome. 🙂
Sally and Jessica are wranglers but that’s not all they do. They’re a little older than us, about 20. Sally is like an Amazon. She’s big and strong, and she is a farrier so they don’t have to call outside to shoe the horses. I’m going to ask her to show me how to do that. Jessica is African American, and she is getting her degree in Denver for being a veterinarian. She’s working on the ranch as part of her classes. Isn’t that cool?

There were some others, some friends of Zeke and Amanda visiting, but I don’t remember their names. They were musicians and that first night we all gathered around the fireplace in the main bunkhouse – yes, a real bunkhouse – and they played guitars and violins until long past midnight.

This morning Francois cooked normal bacon and eggs – I thought it would be French bacon and eggs 🙂 – and then my dad left for home. It was hard to say goodbye, but I know he’ll be back up to get me after the first of the year. And David’s at home to keep him company over the holiday.

To cheer me up, Eli and Jessica took me for a ride. I got to choose the horse I wanted to ride out of the ones in the corral so I chose the biggest Appaloosa. Her name is Blue, and Eli had to give me a boost to get on her. They wouldn’t let me ride bareback, which I understand but it was still a bummer. Next summer I’ll show them I know how when I get Jack here.

I just know Jack will be fine here on the ranch. Even with only one eye, he’ll be able to learn the trails and figure out the gates. It’s not much different than the trail classes he’s won. Well… at home we don’t have rocky, twisty mountain trails in the forests that dip down into the valleys along steep slopes… okay, so yeah it’s a lot different. 🙂 But still I think he’ll do well. He’s smart, and he trusts me, and once he finds his place in the herd the other horses will take care of him, too.

Zeke and Amanda told me that they raise and ride Appaloosas here because they’re the most sure-footed in the mountains, and from just the one ride so far I can say that’s true. Blue didn’t misstep once, didn’t trip, and even on the steepest hill she moved like she was on flat ground. I was terrified at first but she took care of me and I got over it fast. On hal_burrothe ride we saw a man running behind a burro. I thought he was trying to catch his loose animal but Eli said that was his friend Howard, and that he does something called burro racing where he runs behind the burro in full-length marathons. I’m definitely going to find out more about that next summer – can you imagine running behind an equine instead of ON one??

The best part of the ride happened when we got to the top of this curved trail that went through really dense trees. Suddenly we broke out onto this flat area. Snow covered most of the ground and we were higher than all the hills around us. We could see in every direction, forever, and everywhere we looked were more and more mountains far away, fading into the distance. They told me one of them was Pike’s Peak, and that’s more than 50 miles away. The skies had white, fluffy clouds that just hovered high, high above. There was no noise at all except for the horses’ breathing and the creak of leather as they shifted from foot to foot.

They say in the summer the ground is covered in wildflowers and the sky is just as blue.
I can’t wait to come back.

There’s so much more but I’d better go for now! Please give Jack a big hug from me and give him a carrot, and tell Frank and Steve I said hi. I’m writing a separate letter to Jackson so he’ll get that when you get this one.

I love you guys! Merry Christmas, and I can’t wait to see you when I get home!
Oh, I’ve included a couple of photos so you can see it all.

Bye!
Love,
Lauren

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From the forthcoming Mountain Jack, by Teresa Cutler-Broyles. Mountain Jack takes place on a real ranch in Central Colorado, and is book two in the YA series that began with One Eyed Jack, the story of Lauren and her one-eyed horse. One Eyed Jack is available on Amazon.com ( http://amzn.to/1magqF5 ).

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me_book_sign_page_oneTeresa Cutler-Broyles is an author, traveler, and adventure guide, and has been writing since she was eight years old; her first published piece was an article about her one-eyed horse in Western Horseman Magazine. Currently she lives in New Mexico with two goofy dogs and her husband, and divides her time between there and Italy where she teaches in the summer. When she’s not teaching or writing, she’s probably researching something historical and architectural, or off on another adventure. Story ideas happen to her when she travels; what better reason to get off the couch!

More upcoming books include an historical novel set in 1570 Italy, and more. She can be contacted at www.tlcwritingtours.com or www.herosjourney-italy.com.

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Letters from Elsewhere

Letters from Elsewhere: Clara Lehrs

Letters from Elsewhere

My guest today is Clara Lehrs, brought to you by Gill James. Clara lehrs appears in the YA/adult novel, The House on Schellberg Street, published by Crooked Cat Publishing.

Rexingen, 15 February 1942

Dear Ernst, Käthe, Rudi and Renate,

I’ve no idea if, when or how you will ever get this letter but I hope that one day one of you will read it, and pass it on to the others. I hope you are all still in touch.

I would like to assure you that I am well and content here in Rexingen. The people are very kind, even though we are poor and I have had to become Jewish again. There is a lot of warmth and everyone shares what little they have. There is a lot of love and spirits for the most part remain undaunted. It is so clear to me that in fact we believe in the same God, whatever he – or she – actually is. We’re not clever enough yet to understand these things fully.

I’ve taken on the role again of being Mutti Lehrs. I’ve befriended one young woman particularly who lost her husband just after she became pregnant with her second child. Her little daughter, Kyla, is delightful and comes to me when her Mutti needs a rest. And somehow that set everything in motion and suddenly all of the younger children in the village began to regard me as their second grandmother. So Renate, if you ever come here, you will have a lot of new cousins to get to know. It seems I have found a purpose again.

We all gather in the evenings to share a meal and sit round the log fire. We’re often hungry but at least here we are better off than those who live in ghettos in the towns. We grow a few vegetables and make use of what grows naturally. Occasionally we hunt.

You may wonder why I hesitated and hesitated about leaving and didn’t in the end join you all in England. Well, I just could not leave the Hilfsklasse to survive on its own. You may argue that I’ve had to anyway. This is true. But even here there is something of a miracle: by the time I was ordered to leave everything there was in good hands. Karl Shubert was comfortable in my house and Helga Gödde and Hani were really helping. Renate, you should be so proud of your friend. She will make an excellent teacher one day. Hopefully all of this nonsense will soon come to an end and people will be able to resume their normal lives.

Today is a pretty day. The countryside is covered in snow. I’m sure the sun will shine later. That’s the thing. All of this human silliness and nature takes not one bit of notice. The seasons come and go. The sun still feeds this planet. Oh boys and Käthe, what you and Professor Einstein could tell me all about that! And Hans too.

Ernst, I want to thank you for taking such good care of our family. I’m sorry your old stubborn mother would not comply, but Herr Hitler, of course, didn’t know what he was taking on when he challenged CLARA Lehrs. No doubt you are doing a deal of good furthering the work of the Waldorf schools in England.

Rudi, did you ever get to Canada? I hope you are still enjoying playing with your numbers and I hope you are taking good care of that chest of yours. Have either of you two met a nice young lady yet? I’d like a few more grandchildren, thank you, even though I have Renate and all the fine youngsters here.

Käthe I’m so sorry that you and Hans have to live apart. Given the nature of his work it’s understandable. But at least you are with your child in England. Some families I know have to be split up. To think that Hans is involved in designing some of the very weapons that are being used on you in England. Gruesome. I don’t condemn him for it. It is just the way things have worked out. Be courageous my dear.

Renate, I hope it’s not too confusing for you. Perhaps you now wonder whether you are German or English, Jewish or Christian but actually you are all of those things but more than anything else you are Renate, who is now stronger because of everything that has happened to her. Remember, home is where you are and what you make of it.

Well, now I’m feeling my age and I’m actually very sleepy. I hope that I can get this letter to you soon and that soon after that we can all meet again,

Your loving Mutti and Oma,
Clara Lehrs.

About The House on Schellberg Street

GillJamesTheHouseOnSchellbergStreetRenate Edler loves to visit her grandmother in the house on Schellberg Street. She often meets up with her friend Hani Gödde who lives nearby. This year, though, it is not to be. Renate finds out a terrible secret about her family. She has to leave behind her home and her friends and become somebody she never thought she could be. The house on Schellberg Street needs to stay strong.

Will it and those who work in it be strong enough? Will Renate ever feel at home again? And what of those left behind?

About Gill James

GillJamesGill James writes for children and young adults. She is also a prolific writer of short fiction and flash fiction. As well as being published by several companies, she is a publisher / editor working with Bridge House, Chapeltown and The Red Telephone. She works at the University of Salford as lecturer in English and Creative Writing.

Website Blog Facebook / Facebook Author Page Twitter

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Letters from Elsewhere

Letters from Elsewhere: Eva

Letters from ElsewhereI’m delighted to be joined today by Eva, who has come from the pages of Seven for a Secret by Rumer Haven.

RumerHaven7forASecret_FRONT_REVSeven for a Secret is a romantic tale told through two time periods, the year 2000 and the 1920s. Set in Chicago, each era follows its own love story, with the past and present interrelating through mystical means. Lon is the hero of the Jazz Age story, in which he meets a young socialite, Eva, who is betrothed to someone else. The two become fast friends and confidantes, however, sharing a connection they’ve never enjoyed before in their stifling upper-class milieu.

When Eva writes Lon a letter in Chapter XI (following the afternoon tea scene recently featured at author Claire Stibbe’s blog: https://clairestibbe.wordpress.com/2015/10/23/a-warm-welcome-to-rumer-haven/), he responds, Let’s not pretend we weren’t appeasing the censors on that one. At least I hope that’s all it was.” Eva, you see, feels very guarded in what she dares to share, for fear that her husband might screen her correspondence or – worse yet – that Lon won’t reciprocate what she really has to say.

And what would she like to say? Here’s a draft of what she probably wrote and burned…

November 5, 1925

My dearest Lonnie,

I hope this letter finds you well and hopefully not torturing my kid sister somewhere on the lakefront. Remember, old boy, the temperature has dropped since summer, and she could catch cold. [Author’s note: Were this 2015, Eva would surely add a winky emoticon here.]

But truly, thank you for still entertaining my little pet on weekends. It’s more than I ever would have expected, having hardly seen or heard from her myself. Why bother with
me when she has you? Would I bother with anyone else, given the choice? She fancies you, I suspect, and I can’t fault her there. But really, that doll? If it were anyone else buying it for her, I should think that toy is the last thing she’d want. But naturally she would turn nothing down from her dear Lonnie.

Neither would I. I can hardly pretend I don’t envy the time Ollie spends with you. It will break my heart if I, on the other hand, have lost your friendship when it’s all I yet cling to; as we long talked about and feared, I pray my marriage hasn’t caused just that. I still savor those summer evenings at the zoo, just the two of us. I yearn for them, really. Lying close to you on the grass in the twilight, our clothes dampening in the dew…your silhouette kissed by moonlight but your darkened face still so difficult to read when nose-to-nose with mine. I’m dying to know what has occupied your mind and heart since, if anyone else now lies by your side. I don’t hear much of what you’re up to but will assume no news is good news. And I’ll be very glad if you’re continuing to abstain from the usual temptations – though I do wish my particular presence hadn’t stifled those so thoroughly; when I had you to myself, I’d have liked if you gave in to your vices, just a little. Or a lot. With me, please know you can always give in to your passions so long as they’re true. I think I’d even welcome them if not.

I’m not expressing myself well. No, I’m not at all. What I’m trying to tell you so clumsily is that I couldn’t have more adoration – and love – for you, Lonnie. That dreadfully handsome face aside, your convictions are the most moving of anyone’s I know. You bring me to life, and your paintings – my God, your talent brings me to tears! You may feel you need to hide from everyone else’s judgment, but I, still and forever your Eva, am one person in this world who would never fault you for forsaking wealth and title for honest work and art. Although you realize as well I’m certainly not the only one who believes in you, and thank goodness for that. So drop the charades, old boy; you have nothing to prove to me but your undying affection, whatever the nature of it might be. As long as there is love in some form, you can trust that it’s requited.

I wish I could love my time in the countryside remotely as much – I keep waiting for the new landscape and fresh air to work its magic, for the little wood sprites to enchant and crown me their princess, but they do not speak to me like the Dream Lady does. Or once did. She’s grown quiet, even though my other memories scream straight into my heart. I can still see you that first night we met, how you circled her under the stars, standing so tall yet looking up with a child’s wonder. I loved you from that moment. So everyone can think I have everything a girl could ask for, but I don’t have you, for whom I’m homesick above all.

I returned to the city for my first time only the other day – afternoon tea with the ladies, old boy, so please don’t think I snubbed you. You’d have hated it anyway, though of course you can just imagine it, can’t you? The pageantry of it all, so vividly empty. You wouldn’t have believed the games of elocution my mother and mother-in-law competed in all the while; I’d have thought I was at the theatre, viewing a comedy of manners, were I not so painfully aware of the farce that’s become my “real” life. I envy Ollie that as well, how she can so easily detach from realities she doesn’t like. She was there but not there, and I tried so hard to not be there also. Sitting among the pomp and silly circumstance, all the peacocks sitting like stiff department store mannequins, I could think of nothing but you and those nights in the grass. So different than the lake breezes we’d breathe in and sigh out, the stale, sterile air in there nearly suffocated me. Oh, Lonnie, if you could have seen it – I actually swooned and spilled my tea everywhere! Even Ollie leapt to my behalf, dear thing, but it was all I could do to remove myself and cry in solitude.

But settling into a new life and duties has been a busy occupation, at least, which does help distract me from my thoughts. No, that isn’t true. I have abundance in everything, including time, more than enough to turn my thoughts to actions and contact you, or even try to see you if that’s what you wanted, too. But I know I haven’t tried, and I think we both know why; if you didn’t before, you surely do after reading this terribly inappropriate letter. I am so very sorry. For not communicating sooner and, now that I have, if I’ve offended you spectacularly with what I’ve said. Please forgive me on all counts, my darling – if I may call you that – and do write or telephone me without delay.

Ah, but you only need to contact me at this address this month because, whether you like it or not, I’m moving into the Wrightwood townhouse. Should all go to plan, I’ll be there well ahead of Christmas and staying in Chicago for the indefinite future – forever, if I have anything to say about it. What a fool I’ll feel if I arrive only to learn you’re no longer there. So please tell me now, can I pin my hopes on seeing you then?

If so, just imagine it, Lonnie! I suppose we’d be making snow angels at the zoo until spring, but in all other ways, it could be just like our old days of summer, made into something new.

With love and dreams,

Your Eva

To read Eva’s real letter to Lon and his response, you can find both in Seven for a Secret, where historical fiction meets contemporary rom-com – from the Roaring Twenties when the “New Woman” was born, to the modern Noughties when she really came of age.

About the Author

Rumer HavenRumer Haven is probably the most social recluse you could ever meet. When she’s not babbling her fool head off among friends and family, she’s pacified with a good story that she’s reading, writing, or revising – or binge-watching something on Netflix. A former teacher hailing from Chicago, she presently lives in London with her husband and probably a ghost or two. Rumer has always had a penchant for the past and paranormal, which inspires her writing to explore dimensions of time, love, and the soul. She debuted in 2014 with Seven for a Secret, and her next novel, What the Clocks Know, is due for release by Crooked Cat Publishing in early 2016.

Find more at www.rumerhaven.com.

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Letters from Elsewhere

Letters from Elsewhere: Cassandra Longmore

See my other news at the end of this post.

Letters from Elsewhere

My guest this week is Cassandra Longmore (nee Graham) who is the protagonist of two archaeological romances, The Calgary Chessman and The Book of Lismore, set in the Inner Hebridean islands of Scotland. The third book in the sequence will be The Ashentilly Letters, in which Cas has to return to her home in New Zealand. This letter, from Cas in New Zealand to her best friend Bernie, on the Isle of Mull in Scotland, refers to some of the events in the upcoming book.

Many thanks to Yvonne Marjot for letting Cas out for a while.

Dear Bernie,

It was wonderful to get your letter. I’m reading it now in the kitchen, surrounded by the best silverware, because at about three o’clock this morning Nanna decided she needed to start polishing. I’ve finally managed to get her back to sleep, but now the birds are waking up and I think my day has begun.

It seems odd to be thinking about spring on Mull – daffodils coming out and the days getting longer – just as we are beginning to deal with the cold, windy weather of autumn. I hardly noticed the summer – I feel as though I’ve been working from dawn to dusk, while the world has gone on turning without me.

Enough complaining. We’re doing all right, and while things are worse than I feared I’m not alone. We have a wonderful lady called Tina who has had experience with dementia. She’s the best thing that has happened to Nanna for a long time, really brings her out of herself. Granddad is starting to get the help he needs – we’re waiting for the test results, and I think all of us fear the worst, but at least he’s not struggling to care for Nanna and look after the farm as well.

And we have good neighbours. One of them in particular. I’m not sure what to tell you about him.

I was so glad to hear about your mum getting the all-clear. She managed incredibly well through the chemo-therapy, I always thought she’d be all right, but it’s a relief when you hear it confirmed, isn’t it? Give her my love. I hope things work out that well for Granddad.

Yes, I can hear you tutting about me changing the subject. All right, here it is…

Did I ever tell you about my life on the farm here, growing up? I met a boy when I was fifteen, a couple of years before Andrew. He came and worked here for a summer, learning the ropes. We had a kind of love-hate relationship. Well, that’s probably too strong a term for it. I was fascinated by him and he ignored me. Until I forced the issue! Then it became clear that he had a man’s interest in me. You know what I mean.

Who knows what would have happened if Granddad hadn’t realised what was going on and sent him away. I never saw him again, and two years later I met Andrew and made the stupidest decision of my life, and you know all about that.

Well, it turns out that Cam, my teenage obsession, is now my grandparents’ neighbour. I know – you should have seen the look on my face!

He’s lovely. Apparently he’s been helping out around the place for years, gradually doing more on the farm, and now he’s running it practically single-handed in tandem with his own. I’m worried he’s going to wear himself out if he doesn’t get help, but he’s been a godsend. I’m trying not to rely on him too much. I don’t want him to think all us Grahams are needy and demanding. But I can’t help thinking about some of the things I’d like to demand from him.

You know how when some people grow up they’re not as good looking as they were when they were children? Cam’s the opposite. He was interesting looking when I first met him. And fit – I love a man who does physical work for a living, with real muscles that are used for real work. But he’s matured into someone very attractive indeed, and he’s smart with it. I hope I’ve hidden my feelings from him. But I have a feeling he’s intelligent enough to see through me.

I shouldn’t have any energy for such thoughts. Life is so busy. But when I step outside for a minute, for a breath of fresh air or to watch the sunset, and he’s there to share a piece of news or stop for a chat, it just makes all the rest of it that much easier to bear.

I miss you. Write soon, and tell me everything those kids of yours are getting up to. Is Emma Jane walking yet? Is Tom looking forward to his first day of school? Has Tilly found a new interest, or is she still horse-obsessed? Do you see much of Sam and Niall? Sam writes every now and then, but his letters are all about Uni. I can’t get over the fact I haven’t seen him since Christmas. It seems such a long time ago, now. I’m so glad he has Niall. I can’t believe it was only two years ago he told me he was gay and I thought it was the end of the world. It just goes to show – life goes on, regardless, and things we think are problems turn out to be solutions. You were right all along.

Enough rambling. I’m going to get this in the post today. Tomorrow we’re off to the hospital to find out the results of Granddad’s tests. I’ll keep you posted.

Lots of love and hugs.

Cas.

About The Calgary Chessman Trilogy

 The Calgary Chessman

YMarjot TCC TBL picsDiscovery is Only the Beginning

On a windswept beach on the Isle of Mull, Cas Longmore is walking away from loneliness when she unearths a mystery in the sand. To Cas, torn between Scotland and her New Zealand home, the object seems as odd and out-of-place as herself.

Intrigued, she begins to search for its origins, thinking it will bring a brief respite from isolation. Instead, the Calgary chess piece opens the door to friendships and new hope. Her son, meanwhile, brings home his own revelation to shake her world.

The Book of Lismore

The Past is a Lost Book

While visiting the beautiful Hebridean island of Lismore, Cas and Sam stumble upon a new chapter of the island’s past. Once again, they are confronted by the ghosts of the distant past, and ancient tragedy combines with present danger as each is faced with a fresh challenge.

Archaeology provides a strong bond between Cas and her favourite men, but the mystery they uncover proves easier to solve than the ongoing conflicts in her personal life, and love seems as fragile and elusive as ever.

About Yvonne Marjot

YMarjot profile 1Yvonne Marjot was born in England, grew up in New Zealand, and now lives on the Isle of Mull in western Scotland. She has a Masters in Botany from Victoria University of Wellington, and a keen interest in the interface between the natural and human worlds. She has always made up stories and poems, and once won a case of port in a poetry competition (New Zealand Listener, May 1996). In 2012 she won the Britwriters Award for poetry, and her first volume of poetry, The Knitted Curiosity Cabinet, was published by Indigo Dreams Publishing.

Her archaeological romances The Calgary Chessman and The Book of Lismore are published by Crooked Cat Publishing.

She has worked in schools, libraries and university labs, has been a pre-school crèche worker and a farm labourer, cleaned penthouse apartments and worked as amanuensis to an eminent Botanist. She currently has a day job (in the local school) and teenage children, and would continue to write even if no-one read her work, because it’s the only thing that keeps her sane. In her spare time she climbs hills, looks for rare moths and promises herself to do more in the garden.

You can follow her work via the Facebook page and group The Calgary Chessman, @Alayanabeth on Twitter, or on the WordPress blog The Knitted Curiosity Cabinet.

In Other News

  • I’m still on target with NaNoWriMo and looking forward to reaching 50,000 words by the end of Monday. There have been some wonderful write-ins this year. I’ll tell you about them in December.
  • Today, Black Friday, Crooked Cat Publishing is selling all its wonderful novels for under a pound/dollar on Amazon UK and Amazon US.

CCBlackFridaySaleRed

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Letters from Elsewhere

Letters from Elsewhere: Rachel Swift

Letters from ElsewhereToday, you’re invited to meet Rachel Swift, who tops and tails The House at Zaronza by Vanessa Couchman, another great Crooked Cat read. Here is her letter to Maria Orsini, whom she never met but who had a great influence on the lives of Rachel’s family.

Dear Maria,

Rugged Corsican landscapeYou died long before I was born and I really wish I had had the chance to meet you.

I came to Corsica wanting to find out more about my ancestors. This was my first visit and, as soon as the plane touched down, I had a sense of coming home. Somehow, the rugged but magnificent landscape and the perched villages seemed familiar. And that scent of aromatic herbs from the mountain scrub they call the maquis was almost intoxicating.

My search led me to the beautiful village of Zaronza, where I stayed in the house you once lived in. I discovered that my grandmother, also called Maria, had lived there as well for a while, although you weren’t related. There is still much more to find out about my grandmother and my other relations and that quest will take me to other parts of Corsica and to the French mainland.

But I became intrigued by you, because of the framed love letters addressed to you that hung on the walls of the house. As I discovered later, you had hidden them in the attic and the present owners found them when they broke down a wall. You never married your schoolmaster, the author of the letters, because of something terrible that a person close to you did. And you spent your life regretting it.

Corsican villageWhat an extraordinary woman you were! From a sheltered upbringing in a quiet backwater, you left Corsica in 1917 to nurse at the Western Front, something that would have been unthinkable for a Corsican woman a generation earlier. But you were always deeply attached to the island and now I understand why. I feel something of that bond myself.

You had a huge influence on my grandmother, who also left Corsica in search of her dreams. One day, I will piece together the jigsaw of my family’s history. In many ways, although you are not my ancestor, you are a key part of that puzzle.

With love and thanks,

Rachel

About The House at Zaronza

Front cover final 2Set in early 20th-century Corsica and at the Western Front in World War I, The House at Zaronza is loosely inspired by a true story.  Maria Orsini, the daughter of a bourgeois family in a Corsican village, and the local schoolmaster carry on a secret romance. Maria’s parents have other plans for her future and she sees her dreams crumble. Her life is played out against the backdrop of Corsica, the ‘island of beauty’, and the turmoil of World War I. This is a story about love, betrayal, loss and reconciliation in a strict patriarchal society, whose values are challenged as the world changes.

You can find The House at Zaronza at AmazonBarnes & Noble and Kobo.

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About Vanessa Couchman

Vanessa CouchmanVanessa lives in France and is passionate about French and Corsican history and culture, the inspiration for her writing. The House at Zaronza is based on an intriguing true story that she came across when holidaying on the beguiling Mediterranean island of Corsica.

She is working on a sequel, set in World War II, and another novel set on Corsica during the 18th century.

Vanessa has been writing fiction since 2010. Her short stories have won, been placed and shortlisted in creative writing competitions and published in anthologies and online.

Vanessa has a degree in history from Oxford University and an MBA. She is a member of the Historical Novel Society, ex-pat writing community Writers Abroad and the Parisot Writing Group.

Find Vanessa at:

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Letters from Elsewhere

Letters from Elsewhere: Mr Sykes

Letters from ElsewhereI’m delighted to welcome Mr Sykes to my blog today. Actually, between you and me, I was surprised to learn that Mr Sykes is only in his sixties, because he seems like a very sweet old man in the novel (Nice Girls Don’t by Sue Barnard) and “sixties” isn’t old in my book – not any more. I suppose in the early ’80s we had a different attitude to age – I know I did!

It’s 1982. A few years ago Mr Sykes took early retirement to look after his wife, after she was left crippled by an accident.

Following her death two years ago, he has slowly begun to rebuild his life.  Every day he comes to the local library to do The Times crossword.  He is well-liked by the library staff, especially Emily, whom he treats with old-fashioned gentlemanly charm.

But events are about to take an interesting turn, in both his life and Emily’s…

6th April 1982

The crossword was a real stinker today.  I think they must have got that dreadful compiler back again.  Goodness knows how he thinks up the clues, but most of them are impossible to solve from first principles.  I have to hazard a guess at the answers, then work back to try to make them fit.  It takes all the pleasure out of it.

 Emily was full of a cold today.  Poor girl; she looked like death warmed up.  I think she was on the late shift yesterday, too.  Frankly I’m surprised she came into work at all.  But then, I suppose she’s worried about the cutbacks.  If she wants to stand any chance of not being made redundant, she daren’t give the Council any reason to criticise her.  And I’ve no idea what I’ll do if they close the library altogether.  It’s been my lifeline since I lost Hilda, even if one day is very much like the next.

 Having said that, something rather different happened this morning.  I was looking through the dictionary trying to find a word which would fit the letters I had for 14 down, when a young man (well, probably in his late twenties, I would guess) wandered into the reference section carrying a pile of books about researching family history.  He spread them out on the table next to where I was sitting, and seemed to be trying to decide which ones to take out.  It struck me as odd because he seemed a bit young to be interested in that sort of thing.  Anyway, we got chatting, and it turns out that his grandfather died about six months ago, and that he’s now uncovered some kind of mystery about the old man’s past. 

 He said that he’s found a lot of old papers amongst his grandfather’s stuff, but can’t make much sense of them.  I told him about my own interest in family history, and offered to help.  I didn’t think he’d really be interested, but he leapt at the chance.  He’s going to bring it all in tomorrow for me to have a look at.

 He seemed like a pleasant young fellow, and very well-spoken.  It was only after he’d gone that I realised I don’t know his name.  I must make sure that we introduce ourselves properly tomorrow.

 I’ve no idea if we’ll find anything interesting, but it will make a nice change to have something else to think about for a little while…

About Nice Girls Don’t

NiceGirlsDont - Sue BarnardWho knows what secrets lie hidden in your family’s past?

Southern England, 1982. At 25, single, and under threat of redundancy from her job in a local library, Emily feels as though her life is going nowhere – until the day when Carl comes into the library asking for books about tracing family history.

Carl is baffled by a mystery about his late grandfather: why is the name by which Carl had always known him different from the name on his old passport?

Fascinated as much by Carl himself as by the puzzle he wants to solve, Emily tries to help him find the answers. As their relationship develops, their quest for the truth takes them along a complicated paper-trail which leads, eventually, to the battlefields of the Great War.

In the meantime, Emily discovers that her own family also has its fair share of secrets and lies. And old sins can still cast long shadows…

Can Emily finally lay the ghosts of the past to rest and look forward to a brighter future?

About Sue Barnard

Sue BarnardSue Barnard was born in North Wales but has spent most of her life in and around Manchester. After graduating from Durham University, where she studied French and Italian, Sue got married then had a variety of office jobs before becoming a full-time parent. If she had her way, the phrase non-working mother” would be banned from the English language.

Since then she has had a series of part-time jobs, including some work as a freelance copywriter. In parallel with this she took several courses in Creative Writing. Her writing achievements include winning the Writing Magazine New Subscribers Poetry Competition for 2013. She is also very interested in Family History. Her own background is stranger than fiction; she’d write a book about it if she thought anybody would believe her.

Sue has a mind which is sufficiently warped as to be capable of compiling questions for BBC Radio 4’s fiendishly difficult Round Britain Quiz. This once caused one of her sons to describe her as “professionally weird.” The label has stuck.

Sue joined the editorial team of Crooked Cat Publishing in 2013. Her first novel, The Ghostly Father (a new take on the traditional story of Romeo & Juliet) was officially released on St Valentine’s Day 2014.  This was followed in July 2014 by her second novel, a romantic mystery entitled Nice Girls Don’t.  Her third novel, The Unkindest Cut of All (a murder mystery set in a theatre), was released in June 2015.

You can find Sue on Facebook, Twitter (@SusanB2011), or follow her blog here.

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Letters from Elsewhere

Letters from Elsewhere: Katie

Letters from ElsewhereIt’s Friday again and time to meet Katie Button. It was supposed to be a new start for Katie and James but Jack’s arrival at Southampton forces Katie to board and travel alone to New York with the promise that James will follow as soon as he can. Oh and the ship Katie is travelling on is called the Titanic. Here’s her letter to James.

14th April 1912

Dearest James,

    I am somewhere in the Atlantic, surrounded by nothing but blue sea as far as the eye can see. It’s been a calm sailing so far, a bit chilly today though but a bracing walk along the promenade is rather invigorating.

   I’ve met and made a friend. Her name is Polly. She’s from Ireland and like me, travelling on her own. But downstairs (third class) they know how to make everyone feel welcome with wonderful music and dancing. I feel comfortable with Polly and her friends; I can talk to them about my life as it’s pretty similar to Polly’s. She was a maid too and is looking for a new life in America. I think we’ll stick together when we reach New York. It won’t be so daunting.

    I’ve been thinking of you and your father. I hope he’s not suffering  and I’m sure he’s grateful to have you there. You made the right decision to stay with him in his hour of need. You can also keep an eye on Jack but don’t be mad with him for his actions at the Southampton. He just wants what’s best for you. You’re his brother and the thought of you sailing away to the other side of the world is probably most upsetting for him.

     I miss you so much. I will write again soon. I’m filled with excitement but I’m so nervous.

    Lots of love,

Katie

PS My good friend, Polly wrote this letter for me and she is teaching me to read and write. She said her father helped build Titanic when it was in Belfast.

About The Adventures of Katie Button

The Adventures of Katie ButtonWhat happens when your dreams collide with reality?

Katie Button doesn’t believe in soul mates. When charismatic Jack Masterson asks her out on a date, despite him being her new boss alongside his more aloof brother, James, she agrees.

But her romantic dreams about a dashing highwayman, heroic gladiator and Tudor lord are becoming more frequent. And, worryingly, they feel real. She remembers every detail, every touch, every kiss. Until she realises the man in her dreams is James.

But Katie doesn’t even like James. And what about Jack, who is whisking her away for sexy mini breaks in the here and now?

Katie knows she needs to put an end to her dreams before they ruin her life. But how?

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