The Owl and the Scruffy-dog: a love story for Valentine’s

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The Owl and the Scruffy-dog went to sleep

In the Dog’s paw-print bed.

The Owl screwed his beak, for the Dog did stink;

Dreams of big bones in Dog’s head.

The Owl looked up to the stars above,

And sang to a small guitar,

“O lovely Scruffy! O Scruffy, my love,

What a beautiful Scruffy you are,

You are!

You are!

What a beautiful Scruffy you are!”

Scruffy said to the Owl, “You elegant Fowl!

How charmingly sweet you hoot!

O let us consume our union of two!

And I don’t mean eating our food.

They tumbled away for one night and one day

Till Dog’s tail throbbed like hell

And the Owl could not fly away.

Fly away,

Fly away!

And the Owl could not fly away!

Talking to Lorraine Mace about discovering Sandman

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In order to reliably convey Sandman, I delved into the history of Afghanistan. I didn’t struggle with understanding the mentality of a nation subjugated by the Soviets – that was easy, I know of it first-hand. Sandman’s personal journey through two wars was harder. I am eternally grateful to Rodric Braithwaite for writing Afghantsy, The Russians in Afghanistan 1979-89. I read that book from cover to cover, took notes, re-read passages, and I gained a glimpse of what may be crossing the mind of an Afghan who had lost everything apart from his expertise in killing. I hope Sandman captured the essence of the mind of a terrorist.

The whole article: http://thewritersabcchecklist.blogspot.com/2020/01/friday-fiction-feature-anna-legat.html

The grander scale of things

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Last night I went to a Christmas concert at St John the Baptist’s. Reluctantly.  I bothered only because Daughter was performing – she was playing flute. I wouldn’t have gone otherwise, what with life being full to the brim with post-election trauma therapy, Christmas shopping, cleaning, addressing envelopes on copious Christmas cards and generally just chasing my own tail.

It was a life-saving experience (just about as I had lost my will to live). It was elevating and heart-warming. I bleated my socks off joining the choir in carol-singing. Husband had to rib me a few times to shut me up as in my enthusiasm I attempted to turn some brilliant solos into catastrophic duets.

That one short spiritual trip has made me realise that there are nasty-little, bothersome things in life that seem to dominate everything else and leave you with no space to breathe, but when you get a chance to shove them out of the way you will see the light at the end of a tunnel, and you will pump up your chest and stand tall above them. And whilst standing tall, you will see high and far – you will see that grander, better world out there. It’s all there, just obscured from sight by those nasty-little things. Just like the wood that you can’t see for the trees. It’s a question of scale and proportion.

So now the News channel is banned from the house, music CDs replaced Radio-blinking-4 in my car, I eat cake for breakfast, wear a Santa hat and burn scented candles. If the world must fall apart, it will have to do it without me. I am having a jolly this Christmas.

The Thieving Writer’s Syndrome

I imagine every writer suffers from this affliction: wherever we go, whomever we meet, whatever we hear, see and read – we steal it. Whatever we touch turns into a story, which we write greedily and for which we claim sole ownership.

It’s called “copyright”.

We don’t want others to copy our work. We make them pay for it even though, in the first instance, we have stolen it.

I do it all the time. It has become a habit of which I am barely aware. Every person I ever got to know will sooner or later make it to my books. So, beware! Avoid me if you care for your privacy. Or your mortal right.

The same with places. I nick every place that I visit. At some point I will pull it out of my back pocket and it will become a setting for my story.

All writers do it.

On my recent trip to the Canary Islands I discovered that a lot of stories that I would like to write had already been stolen and written by others. Like so:

1. The Odyssey (Sirens calling to Odysseus)

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2. For Whom the Bell Tolls

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3. Robinson Crusoe

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4. Guns of Navarone

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5. The Old Man and the Sea

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6. Treasure Island

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Anna Legat: My Guest Author: Attorney, Waitress, and Librarian – well-travelled Jill of all trades

Today, I am visiting the versatile crime and contemporary fiction writer and my fellow Headline-Accent author, Jane Risdon, to chat about Gillian, formally known as DI Marsh. Her latest case is that of Haji (aka Sandman) an Afghani wars veteran on a mission of revenge and destruction.

Discounted kindle and paperback of Sandman

Jane Risdon

https://www.facebook.com/AnnaLegatAuthor/ Anna Legat

Today I am really pleased to welcome Anna Legat back to my blog. We share the same publisher, Headline Accent.

She first appeared here in 2016 and she has written more books in her fab DI Gillian Marsh series since then…

Find out about Anna:

A globe-trotter and Jack-of-all-trades, Anna Legat has been an attorney, legal adviser, a silver-service waitress, a school teacher and a librarian. She read law at the University of South Africa and Warsaw University, then gained teaching qualifications from Wellington College of Education (Victoria University, New Zealand).

She inhabited far-flung places where she delighted in people-watching and collecting precious life experiences for her stories. She writes, reads, lives and breathes books and can no longer tell the difference between fact and fiction.

Read about the series she has written:

DI Gillian Marsh is the troubled heroine of my crime series, which include

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Back in time to Edinburgh

If you one of those history enthusiasts who would rather travel back (and forth) in time than into infinity and beyond, then Edinburgh is a place for you.

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The moment you land at Edinburgh Airport you get the impression you arrived in Hogwarts – Harry Potter-styled wizardly outfits are scattered all over the place. You stand a good chance of bumping into J.K. Rowling at the grocer’s.

Even the contemporary Fringe Festival has the feel of a Victorian fayre: street performers, jugglers, comedians and all manner of things bizarre and freaky call out to you from every street corner.

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The most modern building to visit is Hollyrood, the Scottish Parliament building, but from there it is only one-way street back in time.

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Historical fireplaces took my fancy, maybe because I had overestimated the Scottish Summer average temperatures and felt slightly on the shivering side.

Edinburgh Castle oozes history, the blood shed in endless battles and sieges trickles from the castle walls, the ghosts of betrayed leaders and prisoners of war haunt even by daytime (the night must be seriously overcrowded) and battle cries can be heard over the cannon fire.

And if you are still not satisfied that you have travelled far enough, you can always descend underground to walk the ancient Mary King’s Close (not recommended for people with claustrophobia).

And finally, you can’t have Edinburgh without a bagpiper – so here is one for you:

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Sandman – an expert opinion

Sandman review Major AFAn email arrived in my inbox from a retired British army officer. He wished to share his thoughts with me about Sandman (book 4 in the DI Marsh series). I read his email with a flutter in my stomach: a mixture of excitement and trepidation. After all, this was an expert in the field of warfare, and he was referring to my book!

He wrote:*

“I am not able to offer an erudite, literate assessment of Sandman however on a visceral level the book is, well, it just …  ‘works’. It is entertaining, absorbing, addictive and well structured or, in other words a jolly good read. I enjoyed your book, my wife enjoyed your book and now my daughter is reading – and enjoying – your book.

Your grasp of the realities is sublime. The heaviness of a German Toy. The sullen, slack, dead weight of a body. Anger and adrenaline. Detachment and retreat from emotions.

You have quite captured the bleak landscape of killing. You have understood the realities of war, radicalisation, anger and the practicalities of survival in a foreign land.

Medals. Your Sergeant Butler won the Military Cross in the Falklands. […] at the time there was class distinction in all walks of life, even gallantry. Richard Butler would not have been eligible for an MC in 1982, his award would have been the Military Medal.

Magnum. The Magnum .44 is an awful gun. It is extremely heavy with a vicious recoil, making accurate shooting very difficult indeed. It is also very expensive and the ammunition is hard to obtain. It is however a superb weapon if one is very close to a target and one has strong wrists… !!

The Magnum? Good and bad – the parsons… A veritable conundrum. Dirty Harry, .44 Magnum cartridge and the power of a shotgun. But expensive, rare and hard to use. The S&W 29 is a blood heavy gun…

If your terrorist wanted a firearm, then something from the bloc would be far easier and cheaper. Makarov. CZ75. Second hand P38? Cheap, anonymous and easily found.

Or American – 1911, Colt. German – Walther.

The ending of your book, hard and fair. Have you left room for another chapter? Is the tale not yet complete? Or is there a new story to tell?”

I am so chuffed with this feedback that I could scream the roof off the house! It’s constructive and honest, and at the same time, it is positive! A jolly good read! he said.

It is often said, but not often enough, that book reviews are the writer’s life support. We feed on them. They help us build meaningful relationships with readers. Praise sends us orgasmic with pride. Brutal criticism has its value too, as long as it is constructive and not designed to hurt. Criticism is like bitter-tasting medicine – we don’t like it much, but once we digested it, we find that it helps us get better at our craft. So, dearest reader, never hesitate to share your reviews, no matter how short. Writers crave them. When they finally arrive we feast on them, get drunk on them, and crave more.

*I omitted personal detail – if the gentleman wanted to make them public himself he would have posted his thoughts somewhere on Amazon or Goodreads, though perhaps he is unfamiliar with those platforms.

 

80 Years – celebrate or commemorate?

destruction of Warsaw

We all delight in medieval history – it is so quaint and so distant. But there are historical events closer in space and time which must not be forgotten.

80 years since World War 2 started. Should we celebrate the 80 years of global peace, or should we commemorate the outbreak of the all-out war that cost us 80 million dead, the barbarity of the Holocaust, famine, disease, the homelessness and displacement of millions, the obliteration of cities and industries that would take decades to rebuild, and finally the crisis of civilisation as we knew it?

It’s great to celebrate – never say no to a good party. Remembering is a bit harder because it requires drawing analogies and avoiding repeating the same mistakes.

WW2 started ten years after the Great Depression of 1929 caused by corporate greed and bankers but blamed by populist politicians on Jews and the Others. Those scapegoats became the casualties, but ultimately they were not the only ones. Everyone was a casualty. One cannot control war – who lives and who dies becomes a game of Russian roulette. There are five bullets for every six slots in the magazine – you know the odds.

It is now just over ten years after the 2008 Financial Crisis. It was caused by corporate greed and bankers but is being blamed by populist politicians on foreigners, refugees and yes, you guessed it – the Others. Those who don’t speak your language, look different and aren’t related to you are being dehumanised so they become dispensable.

WW2 was cooked up by those in power who wished to change the world order in their favour – to divide and to rule it on their terms. They didn’t like the League of Nations created to guard peace after WW1 and they certainly didn’t like the terms of the Treaty of Versailles. They had better ideas of dividing the world on their own terms: The Thousand Year Third Reich or the ever-growing Union of Communist Republics – and nothing else. Nazi Germany and the USSR put their heads together and signed the Molotov-Ribbetrop Pact of Non-Aggression just seven days before the outbreak of WW2 so that each could do their own thing – their worst – and get away with it. (Luckily for us, Hitler lost his marbles and reneged on that treaty when he attacked Soviet Union in 1941. But imagine if they had both stuck to it – the rest of the world would have stood no chance. There would be no Victory Day celebrations and no Remembrance Day every year -not for us.)

Today again two powers have risen and are led by two demented dictators who seem to have found a common ground – their new common understanding of divide-and-rule. And after a few cosy tête-à-têtes they now have a friendly pact of non-aggression between them, allowing each other to do what they please in their own backyards. The rest of us are pawns. Most of us support them because we believe them. Their hatred of peace organisations, such as the UN or the EU, is well explained to us. Those institutions haven’t been elected to power based on lies and false propaganda! They are the enemy! And why would we need them if we have NATO? Except that NATO is for the times of war (which we really, really don’t want) and UN or EU are to guard peace (which they really, really don’t want). The existing peace and world order doesn’t suit Mr Trump and Mr Putin. Time to change it.

The wheel of history is turning and the same mistakes are being repeated. Democratic institutions are being compromised, prejudice is rampantly bred in the streets and people’s minds and values are being corrupted. I think this is the time to remember. There is nothing to celebrate.