Race for Life - by a friend of mine!

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Where do you edit? Confessions of a serial editor!!

Editing.

Oh editing!

I could write a lot about editing: how it sometimes makes sense, where other times it doesn't, how it gives and takes, highlighting your mistakes one minute, underlining the quality of your work the next, but where would we be without it?

When I reread some of the things I've written in the past, they make me laugh, some even have me squirming; some make me wonder what illegal substance I must have consumed when writing them, because from a literary point of view, they make such little sense, but, getting your work down, scribbling those notes whilst on the train in the morning, during your lunch hour, adding a memo on your phone, or taking a photograph that will jog your memory later, are all so, so important, because a novel, a poem, the short story or novella that you are nursing, isn't going to write itself.

So, where should you edit?
For me, it's in the backroom, the lounge, kitchen or bedroom, the car, the common, or in a field. It's at work, on holiday or in the dead of night and because we all lead such busy lives, (some more so than others), I find those little moments wherever I can, so when people ask me how I find the time to write, (after all, ninety thousand words don't just fall onto the page), I can tell them.
I confess that I don't watch the television much, that I'm able to spend most of my lunchtimes undisturbed, and if you add in a few hours here and there, on a Sunday or a day off, it all adds up.
It's not as much as I would like, (will it ever?) but I take what I can get, and I'd encourage you all to do the same, 'cause once it's on the page, set down for you to see, you can start the real writing . . . the editing.
Good Luck.

The lovely Bones, book review. (Alice Sebold)

Wow. A book about murder, death, abandonment loss and depression, that leaves you feeling happy, joyous and longing for more. Wow indeed. 

This book got some good reviews when it first came out and was of course made into a film (which I saw a few years ago), but like most of the books I read, I read them when I feel ready, not when the hype or the movie release dictates. 

Told in the first person by a murdered fourteen year old girl, (Susie) the book takes you from the high of a teenager's first kiss, to the low of her death. Raped and killed by a neighbour, in a hole he'd dug in a corn field, (and then dumped in a sink-hole), Susie's body is never found; so her family never really find out what happened to her.

Once dead, Susie is unable to rest in her heaven, so she visits her family and friends as often as she can; her brother repeatedly comments on how he can still see his sister, but as a reader, we're never really one hundred percent sure if he can or not. This, I think, adds a nice element of uncertainty to the book. 

We witness her father's slide from successful businessman and loving husband, to a broken man who's lost his daughter, his wife and his mobility, (he suffers from a heart attack later in the book), all whilst Susie's brother and sister grow up, with their mother in California. 

There is great drama when Susie's sister goes in search of clues in the killer's (neighbour's) house, and then there's chapter 16, where the family, her school friends and the local community, go to the field where she died, in recognition of the anniversary of her death. This is one of the best chapters I have ever had the pleasure of reading, in any book, ever. It is so moving, so perfectly timed within the story and just has you reeling for more. 

Powerful stuff them? You bet, and Alice Sebold keeps it coming until the very end, but I won't reveal any more here, I’ll just finish by saying whatever you do, READ THIS BOOK. 

The Red House, book review. (Mark Haddon)

Interesting.
There are hundreds of reviews for this little book and they all seem to compare it with Mark Haddon's previous and very successful novel, 'The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time' but as far as I can see, the similarities end with the Author's name.
This book is a snapshot, a voyeuristic look at an estranged brother and sister, who come together with their respective families for a weeks holiday.
Set near the border town of Hereford, the remote setting gives the reader a sense of isolation and we learn quickly, that all is not well.
There's divorce, infidelity, teen angst, and an eight year old that'll make you laugh.
Angela and Richard have lost their mother and the holiday is a way of Richard trying to reconcile their differences, but things don't quite go to plan.
Richard's step daughter finds out that someone she's bullying at school has tried to commit suicide, whilst Angela's son thinks he might fancy her. Angela secretly comfort eats in the middle of the night, whilst her husband tries to sever ties with his mistress. Richard's second wife has doubts about their relationship as Angela's daughter kisses Richard's step daughter, thinking she might be a lesbian, and whilst this is all going on, her eight year old brother, is making you laugh.
This is good writing, making what could have been a rather monotonous week in the country, into a rather entertaining yarn, so why only three and a half stars?
Because essentially, the book doesn't go anywhere. It starts on a train one Friday afternoon and ends a week later. All the characters interact in their own special way, and then at the end, without much ado, they go their separate ways.

The Cuckoo's Calling, book review. (Robert Galbraith) J.K. Rowling.

I don't read much in the way of crime novels, but, like a million others I suspect, I was gifted this on

the strength of the author's previous books.

Good characters, good story, good setting, (Although a friend of mine tells me there are some accuracy errors here, but as a writer myself, I tell him 'poetic licence'.) and there's a good twist at the end.

So all good than! Here endeth the review!
Well, not quite.

If I could, I would have knocked half a star off of this and gone for three and a half. Why? Stupid names!

I know our influences come from a hundred, a thousand different places, my characters haven't always got standard or English names, I have a Dumonbreville in my latest book and a Mai-Ling in my first, but these are names I have come across, people I have met, and in the case of Dumonbreville, I use it very little in the book because I feel it might interrupt flow.

And that is my main issue, flow.

When I read I want the book to flow, I don't read fast, so it isn't a speed thing, but when the book is encumbered with names like Cormoran Strike and Lula Landry, things start slow down a bit. Throw in a Bryony, Tansy, Deeby, Cyprian and a Ciara and I start thinking about putting the book down.

I'm glad I didn't because the story was good, but next time I'll think twice before reading a Robert Galbraith novel. Maybe the next one could be about the Bristow family. They all had nice, normal names.

The Snow Child, book review. (Eowyn Ivey)

This one came about simply because I saw it everywhere.
I'd see it on peoples shelves on coffee tables, I'd see it in shop windows, on Goodreads, I'd see it in my local charity shop, and as you might know by now, when the charity shop has a book, I find it hard to resist. 
So, not recommended in any way, I went into this book with my eyes wide open. 
I read the end before the beginning, which sounds weird but it’s a good idea because you get a sense of the history behind the story and the author’s influences, which sets things up nicely. (I'd recommend you start there.) 
The story itself was intriguing. A couple who can't have children relocating to the isolation that is Alaska, to avoid the questions, the looks, the pressures.  
So, having settled in, our two main characters start to make a go of it, but there's always that nagging doubt, that unspoken word, that the move was wrong, that they should go back home, give it all up. That is until a child appears, a young girl hidden in the snow. 
I liked the main characters, and the sense of isolation that only a good book can portray. I liked the mystical aspect too, which reminded me a little about how I write. Was this magic, Gods will, or just dumb luck? I liked the cold, the chill, the ever present danger of being lost, or worse, attacked by wild animals in the vast northern tundra of Alaska. Reading this book in the summer did nothing to warm me.
So, why only three stars? Well I suppose the book just wasn't me. The writing was good, the characters fine, the story was somewhat quirky, which isn’t always a bad thing, and I did enjoy it, but I didn't bond with it.
I guess, some you do, some you don't.

Hearts of Darkness, book review. Harry Lytle III (Paul Lawrence)

I love Harry Lytle. (He even has his own website with a Goodreads link)

Set in the dark devious, depressing destitute and deprived depths of seventeenth century London, this, the third chronicle of Harry Lytle, finds our unlikely and unwilling protagonist, fighting against his most deadly of enemies to date, the black death; bubonic plague.

In order to avoid a long and agonising death on some rather barbaric medieval torture device, Harry and his best pal are tasked (forced) to travel to Essex and once there, to gain entry to one of the most plague infested towns in the country, all to detain a wanted criminal who might be innocent.

There is a familiarity between the characters and some mention of what went before, but this volume can still be read as a standalone novel, and won't disappoint.

So, under treat of death our two key characters pursuit their quarry with foolhardy poise, having little clue about what lies around the corner.

They fight, they lose, they are captured they escape, they are surround by death, they find a dead cow!

There is much to like about Paul Lawrence's books and ever since the first one (The Sweet Smell of Decay) crossed my path back in 2010, I've been a fan. 

So a good, well deserved four stars. When can we expect the next one?

Mad Mike's Model blog takeover. (Part1: Royal Aircraft Factory SE5a)

We all need a little down time once in a while and when the fingers won't type, or the brain can't see through the fog, I turn to glue!

No, I don't sniff it, I use it to bond plastic together. Then the paint comes out and hey-presto, a miniature is born. 

I did this as a kid, as so many of my generation did, and now I do it again because it's relaxing and I'm not staring at a computer screen all day. 

Some of you might know this already, as you might have seen my miniatures photographed and posted on my Instagram feed; see top right of page. For those who don't, forgive their intrusion every now and again, but making them clears my head and leads irrevocably to more writing. 

Enjoy.