BIG WEEK!

... for Knots in the String.

BIG week!

This week, the e-book of Act III was published.

You can find it at https://mybook.to/ActIII

The print book will follow of course, but at this time of year, the big printing house of Ingram-Spark is inundated, so I don’t expect the title to be available until the new year.

It’s a procedure opening the door onto publication. The author must find suitable keywords, categories, and an apt blurb/description that allows Amazon’s algorithms to latch onto it by comparing the keywords and categories with the blurbs. Or so some of the pundits say. It is as daunting (and confusing) now as it was fifteen years ago when my first-ever novel was published. It becomes harder with each book published because in 2024, the digital market contained over 7 million English fiction titles alone. Gaaah!

This is the second contemporary fiction I’ve ever written and to be frank, the genre is huge, encompassing some truly exceptional writers. And honestly, it does feel like Imposter Syndrome to have the gall to stand amongst those published writers.

I began my writing career in the fantasy genre fifteen years ago but moved to historical fiction because I loved medieval history, had studied it as a major part of my degree. I used to waste wonderful time ‘imagining’ scenarios within the medieval timeframe and slowly, little fact-finds would expand and weave their way through a narrative. My protagonists were ordinary people living ordinary lives in the extraordinary circumstances of the twelfth century.

But a few years ago, one of Australia’s and indeed the world’s most loved fantasy writers, Juliet Marillier, challenged me to write a contemporary fiction about a woman of a certain age (70+). At that time my husband had been involved in a terrible farm accident and so I used that as the basis for the story. Passage was born. Act III followed with some of the same characters but a vastly different storyline.

After writing fourteen books plus sundry short stories for anthologies and just because, I’m looking at two more full-length stories. A historical fiction which has 30,000 words written thus far, and has been waiting in the wings very kindly until the curtain is down on Act III. There is also the beginnings of a contemporary fiction set in the same place and time frame as Act III, about une femme d’un certain age.

So as I write this, I’m raising a glass to my newly-published book and launching her with excitement and love. May she find many readers, and may they enjoy the words as much as I’ve had the joy of writing them.

Chookas, little novel!

Other things:

Cooking!

I’ve made the Hebridean Baker’s Rocky Road because there’s nothing in this world as good. I’ve made two Christmas cakes. One was pictured last week.

And I’ve made the most delectable truffles. All this is such rich food and it really doesn’t sit well in Australia where on my own little coast, it’s been almost 30 degrees and I’ve been swimming today with my friend, Pan.

I remember as a child I loved images of robins sitting on snow-covered stone fences in front of mullion windows behind which a big Christmas tree stood. There was snow everywhere in every image, snow in all the songs – let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Our reality is so different. It’s summer, we might be wearing shorts or floaty dresses, we are drinking cool punches, not hot toddies and mulled wine. And for me, the idea of roasting a turkey and veg in the middle of the day, died a death when my mother passed away.

This year, we’re having a summer day’s fun – beaches, kayaking, swimming, maybe even a couple of hours in the boat if the weather is suitable. And in the evening, we’re having an easy BBQ – in fact, a typical summer’s night.

Because in my view, it’s not about the food. It’s all about the family and this year, family is absolutely everything. This year too, it will be the Womble’s first Christmas. I dare say he’ll run off with a mouthful of Christmas wrapping paper and will do his bit for recycling, by shredding it for us.

The wrapping is concluded, with help of said puppy. In the kitchen, all that remains to be made is probably mayonnaise. The next couple of weeks we can relax, I hope, and enjoy a coast that is essentially empty of Incomers before the invasion on Boxing Day.

Maybe in the next couple of weeks, we’ll head off in the boat for a refresh and we’ll walk quiet beaches and roads and thank the stars for our little cottage in its garden behind the fence.

And I shall perhaps check my Kindle dashboard once or twice, to see if Act III is finding any readers. My biggest hope, Father Christmas, if you are listening, is that word will pass from one reader to another and the book will be read more widely and most importantly that it secures good ratings and reviews. That way, it will find more and more readers. It validates the hard work of being a writer.

Oooh, music. Because I really do enjoy Kelly Boestch, and because I talked about snow, there’s this:

Cheers and talk next week?