Doing an author talk and reading or a public book launch can be intimidating if you don’t have much experience. And public speaking generally is daunting unless you’re one of life’s extroverts, which I’m not. I have done quite a lot of it in past incarnations, sometimes to hostile audiences, but it still makes me nervous. Continue reading
Fellow Crooked Cat author Margaret K. Johnson has invited me onto her blog today to take part in her ‘Write Despite‘ series, in which women writers talk about their writing challenges and how they address them. So I’ve focused on a topic close to my heart – procrastination – about which I wrote on this blog not so long ago.
Read more here:
Margaret is a novelist who explores the theme of women triumphing over adversity in her writing. She also runs courses that focus on triumphing over adversity in order to write, or using writing to overcome adversity.
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Normally, I interview real live people. But today, I thought I’d let one of my characters have her say. So joining me on the chaise longue today for some Corsican vin de myrte (myrtle berry wine) and a bit of bean-spilling is my main character from The House at Zaronza, Maria Orsini. Continue reading
The dynamic author Carmilla Voiez (does she ever sleep?) has organised a great event, starting this Friday, 9th January. Indie Authors Appreciation Week brings together 60 authors on Facebook to meet new readers and old friends.
During the week-long event, each author has a one-hour timed slot to present their books, provide excerpts and run competitions. I’ll be on from 7-8 pm (GMT), which is 8-9 pm CET on Friday.
You can hear more about The House at Zaronza and the inspiration behind it, I’ll be publishing an excerpt or two from that and another work and, best of all, there’s a chance to win a signed paperback copy of the book.
Felix the cat will be doing the honours to help me choose the lucky winner, as he did during my launch party back in July. Here he is psyching himself up.
And there’s also a grand prize draw to win a $50 (or equivalent currency) Amazon voucher. You just have to buy one (or several) of the books listed. Every book you buy gives you one chance to enter the draw.
To find out more about the event and how to enter the prize draw, just click here.
Tell all your friends.
Continuing the Christmas with the Crooked Cats seasonal feast of literary offerings, here is a short story about a Santa with a difference.
Apologies for the possible lack of political correctness. Not to be taken seriously.
[P.S. Check out our books at the Crooked Cat Bookstore – plenty of Christmas ideas there.]
Leroy and the Camel
It was Leroy’s 25th year in the store as Father Christmas. He hated it a bit more every year.
When he applied for the job, Ralph, the Toy Department manager, had sucked his teeth.
“I don’t know; a black Father Christmas. Mmm. Well, why not? It’s a novelty. Might well draw in the punters.”
Warming to his theme, he mused out loud, “Since you come from Africa, we can’t have a reindeer. What do they have down there? Lions – no that’ll frighten the kids. Elephants – too big. I know – a camel!”
Leroy sighed. He’d never been to Africa. He was born in England; he was just as British as Ralph. But he needed the extra money at Christmas.
Leroy and the camel had been together for a quarter of a century now. It was a real baby camel that had died in captivity at the zoo. Embalmed, stuffed and mounted, a sleigh was attached to it with a harness.
Instead of a frozen grotto, Leroy’s empire was a desert oasis, complete with plastic palm trees and a trickling fountain that went wrong and sprayed the customers from time to time.
Just my luck, thought Leroy, I didn’t get any belly dancers to go with it.
But Ralph had insisted on retaining some of the traditional trappings. So Leroy sweltered under his nylon beard in his Father Christmas outfit.
The camel was a bit motheaten, the result of generations of kids climbing on it, but Leroy camouflaged the bursting-out stuffing with tinsel and plastic palm leaves. He had grown fond of it.
“We’re both a bit long in the tooth,” said Leroy to the camel, “but we go along well together. I wonder how much longer we’ve got.”
The camel’s glassy eyes stared into infinity.
Ralph had been right. The first few years, people flocked to the store to see the exotic Father Christmas. Then the numbers fell off a bit, but Leroy and the camel had managed to keep their jobs so far.
The kids have changed in that time, thought Leroy. Now their parents let them get away with murder. And they can’t sit on my knee any more – I’d get arrested.
He’d had problems already this year.
“You aren’t Father Christmas. He comes from up north and he isn’t black,” one kid had said, the previous week.
“Well, you see,” replied Leroy, “the chief Father Christmas has a lot to do these days. There are so many more children than when he started out five thousand years ago that he has had to take on helpers from all over the world. I’m one of his main helpers.”
The kid scowled and wandered off to look at a Play Station.
Yesterday there had been the little girl and her older brother.
“There isn’t a Father Christmas,” said the boy. “Our teacher says it’s religious bogitry. Anyway, it’s my Dad who brings my presents into my room. I stayed awake last year so I know.”
His sister’s face crumpled and she sat down on the floor and wailed. Their mother, who had been tapping away on her smartphone, looked up.
“What have you been doing to my little girl?”
“He says he isn’t really Father Christmas,” said the boy.
Leroy opened his mouth, but the mother glared at him, picked up her daughter and strode towards the exit.
The boy smirked at Leroy and slouched after his mother.
Leroy looked up from his reverie. A small boy with an angelic face stood in front of him. Leroy smiled.
“What would you like Father Christmas to bring you this year, sonny?”
“I’m gonna tell my mum you’ve been touching me.”
“Tell her what you bloody well like, son. I’ve had enough.”
Leroy dragged off his red robe, threw aside his cushion padding and made for the store exit, his beard still attached.
“Here, Leroy, where are you going?” Ralph dashed up behind him.
“I need some air. It’s too hot in here,” Leroy lied.
“You get back to your oasis right now,” said Ralph, his finger jabbing Leroy’s chest. “This is one of our busiest days before Christmas. You can’t just go wandering off.”
His shoulders sagging, Leroy turned and shuffled back through the store.
The next day, he found an envelope pinned to the camel. The management regretted…economic situation…appreciated his long years of service…but had to dispense with his services next year.
Ralph shrugged. “Sorry, mate, you know how it is. Tell you what, though, you can keep the camel.”
I’m interviewed on Fiona McVie’s blog.
Name Vanessa Couchman
Age Old enough to have achieved experience but probably not wisdom.
Where are you from I grew up in southern England but I have lived full-time in south-west France for the past 17 years.
A little about your self `ie your education Family life etc
I grew up with books. When I was very young, my mother, who was a Bookaholic, read to me. I learned to read before I went to school and later devoured the contents of my parents’ set of encyclopedias, especially the Greek and Norse myths. It was there that my interest in storytelling started. I almost became a doctor but wasn’t good enough at the maths, so I changed to arts subjects and read History at Oxford University. Writing has been a golden thread throughout my career, but it was non-fiction writing up until four years ago, when I took up writing…
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