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With memorable characters and a plot that keeps the reader guessing right to the very end, Frances di Plino’s debut crime novel, ‘Bad Moon Rising’ will more than satisfy any fan of good crime writing. In the fictional city of Bradchester, someone is preying on young women. Paolo Storey is the policeman trying to stop the spate of horrific murders. In a series of point of view shifts, the story intersperses the progress of the police investigation with a chilling insight into the mind of the killer, allowing the reader a rare three dimensional view of the action. As the novel progresses and the body count rises, the main protagonists develop into well matched adversaries and that, coupled with a perceptive insight into the motives of the killer’s tortured soul, kept me involved right to the end.

Of course, like all good crime stories, I had to keep reading because I needed to know who did it, and Di Plino cleverly manages to keep this under wraps right to the very last chapters. There are plenty of red herrings to keep the reader guessing, and the action doesn’t stop even after the truth has been revealed – if anything, it cranks up another notch once we realise who Storey is really after.

I finished ‘Bad Moon Rising’ feeling as though I had just eaten a good meal – satisfied, and just a little guilty. The guilt came, in part, from the degree of empathy the author had managed to invoke for the killer. It takes a good writer to put a terrifyingly dark, twisted mind centre stage and make the audience feel a twinge of sympathy even as they are rooting for the good guys. But just as she has demonstrated her ability to construct an intriguing, yet deeply disturbing villain, Di Plino has created a complex, very human detective in Inspector Paolo Storey, and as the curtain falls on his first case, his audience is left hoping it won’t be the last.

Bad Moon Rising is published by Crooked Cat Publishing and will be available from 9th March 2012

Jane Dixon Smith, editor of Words with JAM helps answer every writer’s burning question …

Working as a graphic designer for the last ten years, I’ve submitted more professionally-crafted work than I’ve eaten cream cakes. And like eating cream cakes, sometimes I get that sickly feeling: Will they like it? Will they reject it? Will they feel they’ve got what they’re paying for? The answer to all of those is, generally, yes, because they already know what they’ve commissioned. I’ve been doing the job long enough to know what I’m talking about, and I can guarantee I know more about good design than most clients. Plus, when a client approaches a designer, they’ve already seen a portfolio of work and thus the element of trust is already established.

As a writer, I’ve also submitted lots of work to agents, publishers, editors and competitions. Like all of you, I know what a rejection slip looks like. I’ve also heard a lot of moaning and groaning about the publishing industry and editor’s and agent’s decisions on choosing work. I’ve seen people say that of course the work was good enough, the agent or editor just had bad taste/made the wrong decision/wouldn’t know a good piece of writing if it slapped then in the face with half the OED.

But, as the editor of the literary magazine Words with JAM, I understand what people are looking for when commissioning work, taking on a new client, or judging a competition. I’ve found submissions to editors, agents and competitions etc, generally fall into three categories.

1)     The bad: before you’ve even started getting into the characterisation, plot or (in the case of articles) the factual elements of the piece, you find spelling errors, bad sentence structure, poor typesetting, missing full stops … These writers aren’t misunderstood genius’ whose work has been overlooked because of a few typos that are insignificant in comparison to the ever so wonderful masterpiece. No, they’re just bloody careless, and there are hundreds of submissions of equal genius without having to battle through ill-used commas, transposed words, or submissions that don’t in any way follow the guidelines an editor or agent set out.

2)     The average: there are so many submissions that fall into this category. I’d say they make up around 70% of all entries to competitions we’ve run at the magazine, and it’s a damn shame. These submissions are, effectively, lacking. There’s rarely anything wrong with them that you could pinpoint without getting into full critique mode, they’ve all followed the submission guidelines to the letter, and in many cases have been carefully and painstakingly proofread prior to submission. But they tend to be mundane to read. One entry blurs into the next, and you can’t remember the one you read ten submissions back. They’re good, don’t get me wrong, but they just don’t stand out.

3)     The exceptional: now, these entries, these are the ones we get excited about reading, that I email to half the team to show them how brilliant it is. Depending on whether they’re a short story submission or an article proposal, they can be witty, funny, use great language, evocative description, hit on a subject under-explored, or have a great narrative. Usually more than one asset. Even so, we’ve had shortlists for competitions that don’t incorporate every exceptional entry we’ve had. And out of that a judge must select three winners, not fifteen.

I’ve developed a great empathy for agents and publishers. I understand now that, out of hundreds and thousands of submissions they receive, even the exceptional writers can’t all be taken on as clients or published; it’s just not possible. And when you find that piece of work you know will fit, or that you feel deserves a place on a shortlist or first prize in a competition, it’s because you know it’s exceptional, that it stands out from the rest. That you’ve created a connection with the words and the author that is more than simply acknowledging a good piece of writing.

JD Smith is a Graphic Designer and Editor of the literary magazine, Words with JAM. She lives and works in the English Lake District where she spends much of her time reading historical fiction and inventing projects to avoid actually writing.

www.wordswithjam.co.uk

www.jdsmith-design.co.uk

The Ravens Deep Trilogy, is a dark gothic romance that combines vampire superstition with a complex and modern love story. Layered in myth and inspired by the author’s experiences, Jane Jordan takes the reader on an unexpected journey, from the ancient house on Exmoor, the vast underground tunnels in London, and to Scotland’s haunted Stirling castle.  A gothic tale of love, revenge and horror.

My name is Jane Jordan, I am a dark romance author living inWest Somerset. Originally I was from Essex, but I emigrated to America in 1992, spending nearly eight years in Detroit, Michigan and a further seven years in Florida, I have travelled extensively to South America, Europe, Egypt etc., but my heart was really back in England and I always knew I would return home.

Several years ago, my annual trips back to theUKbecame location hunting trips. I considered Dorset, Devon even Gloucestershire, but it was when I came to Exmoor and rented a beautiful old house that something happened, not only did I find the perfect inspiration for my book, but I was drawn to the place, so much so, that I decided to relocate here permantly.

That old house really did cast a spell, because from the very first night I stayed there, I had a story going around my head which just had to be written.  Perhaps it was the atmosphere, the ancient history of the place, or the beautiful scenery of the moors and wooded combes that captured my imagination, or just maybe I was inspired by the ghost that shared the house with me!

The house really was haunted, and I already experienced that even before I listened to the caretaker’s strange stories.  But as I began to write my story I felt that a ghost story based on an old house, was just too benign for what I felt. The story needed another factor and I wanted to take this dark tale to another level.  So I kept the ghost, based my story on real experiences and added a large helping of myth and legend. 

By 2004 I had the first draft down on paper. I moved back toEnglandand toExmoorat the end of 2006.  Ravens Deep was published in 2008. Blood & Ashes, the second book in the trilogy was published in 2010 and the third; A Memoir of Carl was published this year in 2011.

My books are available through my website; www.ravens-deep.com  at Amazon and other internet stores as well as selected local shops in westSomerset.

Metaphors and Symbolism: why bother?

The real question should be: why wouldn’t you?  You’ve spent the last year or two of your life carving a story out of thin air – when you weren’t writing it, you were thinking about it, dreaming about it.  When you’d finished it you redrafted it, edited it, polished it, scrutinised it line by line and reworked every paragraph to make the rhythms sing.  After all that effort and hard work, why wouldn’t you give your precious manuscript one final look-over?  You may have missed an opportunity for improvement.

If you’re lucky, you’ll have a good idea of the subtext of your work before you finish the first draft, but more likely you’ll have been so preoccupied with getting the story down that deeper meanings will not even have been a concern.  But once the story is down, why not take a look at the thing as a whole?  You may find that your apocalyptic zombie novel is more than just about survival, or that your vampire hunter story has more going on than merely staking bloodsuckers.  Whatever underlying theme you notice – even if it’s only a fragment of one – you owe it to yourself to bring it to the fore and let the reader see it too.

One of the best ways of highlighting theme is with the use of metaphors and symbolism.  Here’s a couple of examples, albeit from the movies:

Metaphor: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Benjamin Button had an unfortunate condition: he was born old and grew younger every day – eventually dying as an infant.  At first glance the story appears tragic, but is in fact a tale of optimism.  Throughout the film a seemingly insignificant old gentleman tells us of his poor luck regarding lightning.  He tells us of the seven times he has been struck, and by the end of the film we realise the old gent views these lightning strikes as a good thing: “God keeps reminding me I’m lucky to be alive.”

Now take Benjamin: If you count the meeting of his adoptive parents as one lightning strike, then there are a total of seven encounters that Benjamin has during his life – seven people who have a profound effect on him, whether the encounters are good or bad.  These are Benjamin’s lightning strikes, and regardless of the way in which he entered and left this world, Benjamin had a full life in between.  This metaphor becomes the beacon for the story’s theme: Life is a gift – Embrace life – whatever, it all carries the same message.

Symbolism:  Gran Torino

Walt Kowalski is a racist Korean War veteran who forms an unlikely friendship with a Hmong teenager (Thao) who tries to steal his prized Gran Torino.  The friendship causes Walt to face his racism but also a dark memory from his war days.  Throughout the film a local priest tries to get Walt to take confession, but Walt has no intention of airing his sins to a wet-behind-the-ears priest fresh out of catholic school. But when Walt decides to lay down his life to save Thao and his family, he takes the priest up on his offer, but only confesses to the most trivial of sins.

In their final scene together, Walt locks Thao in the basement to protect him, and it’s here, through the wire mesh of the basement door, that Walt confesses his darkest sins to the boy.

The symbolism of the screened door not only landmarks Walt’s confession by visually redefining the immediate surroundings as a confessional, but also gives weight to the confession itself, and by doing so clearly echoing the theme of the movie: Redemption.

Metaphors and symbolism are no substitute for good storytelling, and omitting them does not a schmuck of you make, but not taking a step back to see what you’ve written does.

I’ve just returned from a great day out as the guest of Porlock Arts Festival. It’s the first festival I’ve been invited to, and I came home really hoping I get to attend many more. I was taking part in the Local Authors’ Day, along with more than twenty other writers from the region – poets, historians, travel writers, crime writers, and even another fantasy author, one of whose novels managed to find its way into my bag before the end of the day. Thanks to Jane Jordan for that one – I’m looking forward to curling up with Raven’s Deep! Although solitary by nature, it’s amazing how talkative writers can be when we get together – the halls were buzzing an hour before the public was allowed in. I had the good fortune to be placed next to the Exmoor Writers Group, a fantastic and friendly bunch, and local poet Doris Sloley on my other side made sure I felt at home as soon as I walked in.

What struck me most about the day was just how hard the organisers work to make local festivals like this run so smoothly. Volunteers looked after us all day, providing tea, coffee, lunch and a welcome glass of wine. So thank you to the ‘Porlock Ladies’ for keeping us all fed and watered! Organisers Miles and Ros Robertson and their committee did a fantastic job of keeping us all happy – a difficult task when a load of pernickety writers get together – aided and abetted by a great team of helpers.

So thank you Porlock for making it such an enjoyable day, and I hope to be back next year. Meanwhile, if anyone is in the area, there is plenty going on tomorrow, the final day of the festival, and it’s well worth a visit.

SNAKES, CROCODILES AND MARRIAGE PROPOSALS

My Time in the Northern Territory and How it Turned into

The Land Beyond Goodbye

by

Barbara Scott Emmett

The story that became The Land Beyond Goodbye started to bubble up some years ago when I was working as a temp for a week or two in the dingy basement of a solicitor’s office in Edinburgh. In my youth, I’d lived for a while in various small towns in the Northern Territory of Australia. The vibrant lifestyle had got into my consciousness and the stories, people and  atmosphere of that beautiful stark landscape still had a hold on me and wouldn’t let me go. So, to relieve the boredom of my temp job, I started typing up little snippets inspired by my time there. I still have these first attempts, badly typed on flimsy green file paper, though it was years before the book properly got going, and years more before I finally decided it was finished.

The people I met in the Northern Territory were like characters in a wild west film — or perhaps some surrealist painting. Territorians were gutsy, eccentric, and individual. The didn’t wait for other people to solve their problems but got on and did it themselves. This was summed up for me in the actions of Mrs Richardson, who spotted a deadly King Brown snake curling through the feet of her customers at the Mataranka Homestead one night. She went and got an axe, chopped its head off with one blow, and then continued serving drinks as if nothing much had happened.

I suppose I could have become a Territorian myself, since I received several proposals of marriage while I was there. One was from a cowpoke type who reminded me of Hoss from Bonanza. He proposed to me after I’d known him, ooh, a week or so. ‘Ya’d mike me real happy if yer’d be ma woife,?’ he said, and offered to give me a horse. I declined the horse and he offered a Labrador instead. When I told him I didn’t want anything I had to feed, he suggested a marcasite watch. He even took me to see it in the Chinese general store that sold everything from hundredweight sacks of animal feed to, well, marcasite watches. I was touched by his offer but felt I really couldn’t accept as I wasn’t even going out with him at the time.

Another random proposal came from a 49 year old Italian man (I was 20). He kept assuring me (or possibly himself) that at 5’2″ he was exactly the same height as Napoleon. He took me aside one day and told me quite seriously that, though he would happily divorce his German wife for me, he couldn’t divorce his Italian wife because she was Catholic. Oddly, I found myself able to turn this offer down as well.

None of these characters found their way into The Land Beyond Goodbye but there were others who sparked off ideas for the novel. There was the man who reputedly owned a goldmine and drank rum and milk; the handsome cattle station manager who always dressed in cream denim; the hirsute hermit who lived in a shack made of packing cases; and the policeman who dressed in shorts and rubber flip-flops and and helped out at the telephone exchange; there was also the story told of a man who had killed someone in the bar.

In addition to the wild stockmen and miners who came in from far outposts every weekend, that same bar sometimes hosted horses and wallabies, and on one occasion, a crocodile. But there were also the aboriginal men and women who were not allowed to enter the bar and could only be served flagons of red biddy from a counter in the outside wall.

Though nothing in the book is true in the sense that it actually happened, all these various elements mingled together, fermented, and turned into The Land Beyond Goodbye. The title is taken from an old book about the history of Australia.  I can’t now remember which book I found this quote in and though I’ve searched through everything I’ve got, have been unable to track it down. If anyone knows the source, I’d love to hear from them.

Oh, and the sleazy lawyer isn’t based on any of the wonderful solicitors I worked for in that dingy basement in Edinburgh, where it all started.

Honestly.

~

The Land Beyond Goodbye is available as an ebook from Amazon.

Visit Barbara’s Blog for more information on her publications

My first attempt at writing fiction was an 80,000 novel, inspired by some strange events in our village in which I was personally involved. My husband said, “Someone should write a book. They could call it Neighbourhood Watch.” So I went upstairs and wrote it, almost without stopping. Now, seven years later, I know it isn’t anywhere near good enough for publication, but I’m not inclined to go back and make it better. My mindset has shifted.

My second story, a short called ‘Out of Hand’ grew out of a sudden memory of preferring my right hand as a child. The next, ‘Footprints’, was based on something that happened when I was at college, and the next on recollections of shifts at the Samaritans. The characters and scenes fell into place quite naturally, bearing out the adage that you should write about what you know. ‘Family Man’, The Special Years’, The Seventh Christmas and ‘The Last Ward’ also came from my experiences or those of close friends.

Cathartic as this was, I found that now I had discovered how to construct a story, external triggers also began to inspire me. Sitting on a train opposite a woman whose palms were covered in hennaed patterns spawned ‘Decorated Hands’. A pot of geraniums on the step of a dreary block of council flats inspired ‘The Beast Next Door’ and a spate of knife crime provoked ‘Reality TV’.

It’s interesting, to me at least, that I never considered any of these ideas as the basis for a novel. They wrote themselves to a certain length and that was the end of it. People have suggested I might be able to get a book out of some of them, but I’ve never really wanted to. They were complete in 5,000 words, some in considerably less. Why spin them out unnecessarily?

Perhaps I have a short attention span or am fundamentally lazy, but I think the reason I enjoy the format is that I do see life as a series of episodes, sometimes linked, sometimes not, each entertaining and revealing in its way. I’m fascinated by family dynamics and how people react to minor events. I often like to leave my characters with a problem they have yet to solve, and this would lead to great frustration for a reader who had invested many hours reading a novel only to find it wasn’t really over on the last page. The beauty of shorts is that I can leave the reader wondering without guilt!

Looking back, the first few stories tumbled out as though they were waiting for the right moment. A memory or line of dialogue began to swirl in my head and, when enough elements had settled, I wrote the complete story down. The editing process apart (for which I thank insightful reviewers on three great writing websites) it seemed quite a straightforward process.

Then I hit a wall. Nothing came, which was a terrible shock.

A friend signed up for the ‘Story a Day in May’ challenge in 2010 and thought it might be a useful way to break my deadlock. Twitter was quite new and tweet-length stories were becoming an accepted story format. I decided I couldn’t commit to anything longer, but 140 characters a day was something I might manage. It took a while to assimilate the limitations of the genre but once I started, I couldn’t stop! My brain went into overdrive and after a while I found I could write to exactly the number of characters allowed. For three months I wrote a story nearly every day and, apart from a few that have mysteriously disappeared, they are still on my blog. Several have been published by Nanoism, Thaumatrope and Folded Word but I won’t be writing any more.

Hooray, I thought – ninety new ideas for short stories. That should keep me busy for a good few years! Until I found I had become addicted to the format and couldn’t write anything longer than 140 characters. My first few attempts at drawing them out into something longer were unpleasantly clipped and sharp. It took me months to relax my style, even a little, and I still find that 500 words is a fairly comfortable limit. This, in fact, has served me well recently, having taken third, fourth and now first place in the Flash500 competition (insert bells, whistles and fireworks) but I would dearly love to be able to write something longer. To immerse myself in the story and characters as I used to.

At last I have the germ of an idea – predictably another episode from my distant past – that might make such a piece. Not a novel, mind! I can’t imagine that will ever happen. I am a short story writer and increasingly happy to admit it.

***

Susan Howe is the joint author of Triclops, an anthology of forty short stories by three writers, with recommendations from Andrew Taylor (author of The American Boy) and Gillian Philip (author of Firebrand). It is available from Amazon. She has had several stories published in magazines, one as a podcast by Words with Jam and two as ‘apps’ by Ether Books. She blogs at: howesue.wordpress.com, where some of her work can also be read.

Author Elizabeth Jasper has taken time out from a hectic life to blog about what it’s like to be a writer. Hmm – I think most of us will find quite a bit to relate to here!

Thursday:  -  Jo has asked me to write a guest blog for her website.  The subject – ‘A Writer’s Life’.  That should be easy enough.  I’ve been writing for around six years now and I have plenty to say about the ups and downs of …  Hang on a sec, phone.

I’m back, but not for long.  That was my daughter.  She lives in the UK.  I live in Spain.  She’s moving house starting on Sunday and needs me to give her a hand.  Not a problem.  I’ll take my laptop with me so I can continue with this blog and my writing when I have some spare time.  Now, I’ll just get onto the Ryanair website and book a flight and a hire car.  Two and a half weeks should do it – plenty of time to get back to Jo with this when I come home. 

Saturday evening:  -  At the airport and they have wifi.  Which is more than I can say for home, where we lost our internet connection just after I booked the flights.  We were waiting for a new ISP, but the old one has cut us off before the new one joined us up.  Had to go to the local English shop to get the Boarding Passes printed out.  Very kind people in that shop, and they make a great cup of tea. 

Excuse me for a moment. A nice lady wants to talk to me about the problems she’s having with her mother, who has dementia.  She has suggested we sit together on the flight.  I’ll write some more when I get to my daughter’s house.

Sunday morning:  -  Got to bed at 4:30 am, and grandsons woke me up at 8:30 am whispering outside the bedroom door.  Loudly.

‘Is she here?  Can I see her now?’

‘No, leave her alone, she’s very tired.’

Door bursts open.  ‘Granny, Granny.  You’ve got to get up.  Will you take us to the park?  We can go on the secret walk.  Come on.  Get up, now!’  Well, I’m sure you get the idea.    I can do some of the blog when the boys have gone to bed.

Monday evening:  -  Spent all morning in the new house waiting for various tradesmen, including carpet fitter.  I was expecting them to come in, do whatever jobs they were there to do, then go away.  It didn’t work like that.  I was up and down like a yoyo.  The carpet fitter didn’t come until late, and he hasn’t done the bit inside the front door.  He’s coming back tomorrow.  We hope.  Abandoning the blog for a couple of days while we move all the furniture and other stuff. 

Friday 2:30 am:  -  Just finished building the bunk beds from John Lewis Flat Pack.  It took twelve hours and I’m exhausted. Daughter couldn’t help as awaiting an op on her knee and can’t bend it much.  Sore hands, sore knees, sore everything.  Sorry, Jo.  I’ll get round to it, really I will.

Saturday afternoon:  -  New oven arrived so we can finally have some hot food. Pity about the microwave blowing up like that on Tuesday, then the washer on Wednesday.  Washer now fixed, thank God.  Phew!  Move just about complete.  Time to celebrate with some wine and a takaway!

Sunday:   -  Resting.  Head hurting.  More wine needed.

Monday evening:  -  Shopping for curtains with two small boys is not recommended.  They’re in bed now, and I’m right behind them.

Tuesday:  -  Had to alter some curtains.  Sadly, boys jumped on my glasses last night and squashed them a bit while we were playing, so not an easy task!  Must find time to get some new ones.  Oh, and to finish the blog for Jo.

Wednesday:  -  Emergency appointment at opticians.  Should have new readers and distance by Friday.  Can pick them up before I set off to spend weekend with other daughter about an hour away, and fitting in a quick drive to North East to see my Mum. 

Friday morning:  -  Opticians called – specs ready.  Yay!

Friday evening:  -  Went to collect specs but optician broke lens while trying to fit it.  Bugger!  Can’t see very well through these bent ones. 

Tuesday: -  Lovely weekend with daughter and nice to see Mum, too.  Collected glasses this morning.  They’re brilliant!  Going home tonight.  Just as well.  Totally knackered and really looking forward to a nice long rest.  And writing that blog for Jo …

Born and raised in the North East of England, Elizabeth Jasper currently divides her time between Spain