A New Book – and I’m Back to Work.


While I have been recovering from the various ills that can assail the Not So Young, my new novel has, of course, been being prepared for publication. Above is the brilliant cover designed by Ana Grigoriu – which in itself has not been without controversy. Some people don’t like the old hands on the piano keyboard, but I feel it gives a good flavour of the book. The old lady may be bloody-minded, but she is also gentle and kind and loving – and music is a major theme in this novel.

The story is not only about her, though, as the quotation from the wonderful Jacob Ross on the back cover points out. This is a family story – and has been called a Modern Comedy of Manners. Three generations are involved in a series of conflicts and crises, with a fairly disastrous outcome.

Publication date is 3rd October, and Blackwell’s of Oxford is hosting its launch on Monday 10th October at 7 pm. As their events site says:

This event is free to attend. Please register for a place by emailing events.oxford@blackwell.co.uk; coming in to the customer services desk in the Norrington Room, or by telephoning 01865 333623.

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It’s been a long time…

I did not expect to be away quite so long! Ill-health – or rather the ills that beset Old Age – dogged me over the summer, and I began to think that my tag-line It’s not too late
might after all be inappropriate. Surely not?

Then, thanks to a brilliant cardiologist, I was fitted with an all-singing all-dancing new type of pacemaker with its own built-in defibrillator which simply would not allow my body to malinger any longer. New Woman, I was promised was on her way.

New signs of literary activity burgeon in the Mapstone-Williams household: tentative efforts at renewing what is supposed to be a regular blog are made, the text of a new novel The Porcupine’s Dilemma is finalised, a cover approved, plans for publication in October are made.

Occasional relapses into lethargy do occur, alas. And lack of faith in that demanding tag-line It’s not too late is very prone to arise whenever any new or vaguely unfamiliar technology has to be tackled. OK, so maybe once I understood X or Y, but now I just jolly well don’t. Some days I feel exactly like that eight-year-old girl referred to me years ago because she was terrified of maths. She just didn’t understand how numbers worked, and every new thing she was taught had nothing on which to build, so she became more and more baffled. So do I. I remember her and realize it has nothing to do with age. Thank heaven. It has all to do with understanding basics. I do wish people who give instructions on how to use a new smart phone, for instance, would grasp the simple fact that neophytes need instruction in the simple basics on which the whole process is built. My eight-year-old needed to start at the beginning and nothing taken for granted: I am happy to report that six months later, she was blooming and all set to become a star.

The trouble with starting at the beginning when you are as old as I am is that you begin to feel ‘There just isn’t time to learn all this’. The temptation is great to give up, sit back, vegetate, let others write books, garden, entertain. But I didn’t enjoy the months of enforced stagnation, so do what I can to keep my ambitions from flagging. New Woman does help. She turns up in unexpected places, is pretty hopeless at all things technological, but encouraging when it comes to things literary. She and I communicate there.

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My first guest: Marissa de Luna

[As I shall be away in Worcester this Sunday, with other ACE writers at the Worcester Literary Festival, and Sunday is the day I try to post a blog (at least once a month), what better time to introduce my very first Guest Blogger, author Marissa de Luna? I have already told loyal readers about her delicious new series, The Chupplejeep Mysteries as I thoroughly enjoyed the first, Under the Coconut Tree  (see Books to Escape With). But at least part of its charm is the unusual background, so I have invited Marissa to tell us more about why she chose her unexpected setting.]


Marissa writes:

As a writer I read extensively. I love escaping with a good book and, for me, the hook is often the location, travelling to exotic locations through the power of words. I often find myself perusing the on-line book shelves at Trip Fiction – a site which matches books to locations – just to find a book set in the country I want to escape to.

Location and a sense of place is a great tool to give your book that unusual edge or to provide a cultural reasoning as to why characters behave the way they do. In cosy crime novels where psychological twists are not the USP, it is often the location that draws the reader (or viewer) in.

Inspector Morse and Lewis set amidst Oxford’s spires ensures that, more often than not, crimes are committed in and around the colleges providing the viewer/reader with a glimpse of what happens behind those stone walls. Alexander McCall Smith’s The Ladies No. 1 Detective Agency, set in Botswana, immediately conjures up images of Africa, wildlife interfering with crime scenes and the laidback lifestyle. The Inspector Montalbano series, set in Italy, gives a light-hearted approach to the occasional bribe and corrupt police officer and in my Chupplejeep Mystery series set in rural Goa the cultural nuances and the importance of food are almost as vital as the plot line. 

For me a sense of place anchors you.


Setting your novel in a specific geographic location allows you to explore (…exploit!) a whole host of new symbols, weather, and cultural differences. National flowers and birds and their specific meanings, persistent rain and superstitions can all play a big part and reflect certain themes within your book. The bleak weather of the Scandinavian countries provide the perfect atmosphere for thrillers and serious crime.  Whereas a sunny backdrop gives the perfect setting for more frivolous crimes. Plus, in an exotic location you have the added danger of venomous reptiles and cultural differences to add to your story. Bribery may be a taboo in England, but it’s fair play in many countries – an accepted part and parcel of life.

Most readers want to learn something new, even if it is on a subconscious level and as a reader I love learning about different locations, the way people in another country behave and react in certain situations. Using this in your novel makes the reader really question whether they would behave in the same manner when presented with those circumstances. And once your reader does this, they are hooked into that world you have painstaking created for them.

So how do you go about weaving a sense of place into your manuscript?

Here are a couple of pointers to get you on your way:

The senses. It’s not just about what your characters can see. They feel the heat on their back, the sweat on their brow. They can smell the simmering spices in a food bazaar and they can taste the sourness of the green mango. Use all the senses to build a picture of what it is like to be in that particular place.

Cultural references – Make sure you reader knows what is or isn’t a taboo. Are certain animals sacred? Is gossiping the norm? Do police rely on it? Is bribery okay?  

Food – I love food and so food (especially foods that are unique to a certain location) always plays a part in my novels.

Weather – I am a strong believer that weather always reflects atmosphere! Add a note about weather to the scene to reflect what your characters are dealing with.

Language – is your book set in a country where another language is spoken? Drop in a few words here and there. It adds flavour to the book reminding the reader of the location.

Marissa de Luna is an up and coming young author with a passion for travel. Her latest book Poison in the Water (So Vain Books) is out now. Under the Coconut Tree is the first in the Chupplejeep Mystery Series set in rural Goa and is available as an e-book and paperback. Both books are available to order through Amazon or your local bookseller. For more information on Marissa, please visit: www.marissadeluna.com   


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Submitting Your Manuscript to the Big 5 US Publishers

Visited your entertaining blog after you Liked mine – fo which thanks. Really appreciate your research, so am reblogging for the benefit of my own followers. Thank you!

The Cat's Write

Here’s a list of the Big 5 US Publishing Houses, their submission requirements and links to submission details. I’ve also included at the end of the list two smaller US Publishers that I have submitted to in the past (received real feedback!) I thought they would serve as good examples of what’s out there if you decide to try the smaller publishers.

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ACE at Worcester Lit Fest

Must not forget to remind all interested writers and readers that we Authors of a Certain Age will be running a workshop on Writing Fiction for the Over Fifties at the Worcester Literary Festival.


Left to right: Pam Nixon, author of But I’ll Remember This, Elizabeth Mapstone, author of The Amazon’s Girdle, Barbara Hudson, author of Timed Out, and Heather Rosser, author of In the Line of Duty.

Come and join us if you can.

Date: Sunday June 12 – that is NEXT SUNDAY – 2 to 4 pm.

Venue: St John’s Library, Worcester University.

Tickets https://worcslitfest.co.uk/programme-tickets-2016/Tickets

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Books to Escape With

The Literary Warrior returns after bloody battles with frustration and boredom, restored to mental vigour by immersion in some delicious (if murderous) mysteries. It is a puzzle that we British should so often talk of murder mysteries as ‘escapist’. But perhaps that is because our chosen genre focusses less on the violence and gore, and more on the intricacies of detecting the wrong-doer. ‘Cosy’ is the negative judgement of those who like their murders painful, prolonged and bloody (one might wonder about the condition of their psyche). But cosy was not how I would describe the books I chose to escape with.

Many of them were on my shelves, old green Penguins that I turned to as old friends. Michael Innes, for example, erudite and witty, pitting ruthless university dons against an intelligent Inspector Appleby in The Weight of the Evidence or Death at the President’s Lodging. Or Cyril Hare, a prolific writer of clever mysteries the reader could only solve if they were familiar with the idiosyncracies of English law: in his other life, Hare was a judge. Wonderful stuff: Tragedy at Law in which the victim is a judge himself, or Tenant for Death.

It is a mistake to suppose that these early Penguins were/are written for simpletons, capable only of digesting gentle dramas akin to Midsomer Murders. On the contrary, they were written by intelligent, erudite authors and designed for readers who like their entertainment clever. Women became particularly successful in this genre.

Margery Allingham was a prolific writer of witty, clever mysteries during the interwar years, introducing the gentlemanly Albert Campion as her sleuth. I reread several for their restorative powers, including  Sweet Danger  a quirky and witty thriller which has the added bonus of introducing Amanda Fitton, aviatrix and future wife of Mr Campion; and More Work for the Undertaker, very funny and highly evocative of London just after the war. Agatha Christie called Allingham “a shining light” – and she was.

I did not re-read any Agatha Christie this time, even though we have almost every title she wrote on our guest room shelves. But I did turn again to the wonderful Ngaio Marsh. We have early editions of her work, but I could only find collections on line, for example Inspector Alleyn Collection Book 3,  which includes Singing in the Shrouds, Off with his Head, and False Scent. Marsh was familiar with the theatrical scene which informs two of these tales, and her portraits of self-styled creative artists are witty and very funny. Delicious style.

My favourite of all the mystery writers during the interwar heyday is Dorothy L. Sayers, and most especially the saga of Lord Peter Wimsey’s love for Harriet Vane, starting with Strong Poison, in which the unlucky woman is accused of murder, through Have His Carcass to the wonderful Gaudy Night (which proves that a tender, believable account of love can enhance the unravelling of a mystery) to their somewhat incredible but entertaining honeymoon in Busman’s Honeymoon: A Love Story with Detective Interruptions. As pure self-indulgence in recuperative mode, instead of reading the first three volumes, I watched not one, but three glorious box sets of BBC videos starring Edward Petherbridge and Harriet Walters, both perfectly cast for the roles.

Perhaps the funniest and wittiest of all the whodunnit writers I have come across is Sarah Caudwell, whose first book Thus was Adonis Murdered was published in 1981. Her sleuth is Prof Hilary Tamar, who avoids academic research by visiting former pupils now practising law in Lincoln’s Inn. Julia, a first-class tax lawyer whose own life and finances are in permanent chaos, is accused of murdering a tax inspector while on holiday in Venice, and her friends rally to her aid. The plot is clever, but the dialogue and narration are of a high order – witty, somewhat malicious and very, very funny. Caudwell published six mysteries, each as good as the last, but died at far too young an age. Definitely a writer who should be more widely known.

For escapism, I have been concentrating on books which leave you feeling good, so cannot include otherwise brilliant modern writers like Val McDermid, Barbara Vine or Minette Walters. To read any of them, I need to be on top form, as they tend to leave me, at least, shaken and not a little stirred.

But a new discovery for my Books to Escape With is author Marissa de Luna and her Goan Detective Arthur Chupplejeep. A delightful new setting – rural Goa, in western India – and a fine new detective who is clever, but has been banished to the sticks by superiors who found his refusal to be bribed or otherwise corrupt put them in a painful position. Very nice. So however cowardly he is in his dealings with his fiancee, Christabel – and we realize he is terrified of commitment – we also know he is fundamentally a Good Guy. And his naive but very willing side-kick, Police Officer Pankaj, is proud to work with such a man.

In Under the Coconut Tree, Chupplejeep’s investigations into a sudden death uncover village gossip and scandal, unusual relationships and criminal activity, including drug smuggling, but none of the dangling threads lead to a plausible murder. The final outcome is both surprising and absolutely fitting. All the evidence was there, but only Chupplejeep saw it.

And finally, a new twist on school stories and whodunnits, Robin Stevens’s  two schoolgirl detectives in Murder Most Unladylike. In a plausible scenario, our heroines Daisy and Hazel find they are the only people who know that a murder has been committed, because the body disappears before they can report it. Obviously they need to find out who dunnit, before the murderer gets them too. Very enjoyable and perfect escapism.


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A less cosy view of the NHS at work

Other people’s medical problems are intrinsically tedious and only of interest to those immediately affected, so you may well wonder why I am revisiting my recent sojourn in hospital (blog 8 April, A Personal View of the Beleaguered NHS). This is because my experiences after progressing from A&E to Short Stay Ward were distressing and potentially life-threatening, and entirely contrary to the principles behind the founding the NHS.

For the second time in less than a month, I arrived in A&E in the middle of the night with congestive heart failure. Not surprisingly, doctors decided further investigations were needed and I was transferred to a ward.

“A cardiac consultant will see you, and will probably want you to have an echocardiogram and angiogram,” I was told. “You will stay here until that is done.”

Thereafter, as my recalcitrant heart continued to give me pain and breathlessness, I was told on a regular, certainly daily basis, “A cardiologist will come and see you today.”

No cardiologist ever came to see me. Not once in the five days I was on the ward.

I was regularly seen by student doctors, visited on a couple of occasions by the Registrar, and by the excellent Head of Clinical Medicine in charge of that area of the hospital. All appeared to believe that “a cardiac consultant” was due to see me almost immediately. I heard telephone calls made, and urgent appeals, but that elusive “cardiologist” never appeared.

At lunch time on the fifth day, I was told I could go home. The young doctor who came to “explain” told me that I should consult my GP. “He’ll probably be able to get you to see a cardiologist more easily than we can.” “But – I’m here, actually in the hospital…” “Yes. Sorry, nothing more we can do.”

My GP was appalled. He knew it would take 8 months at least to get a clinic appointment.

I suggested we go private – what am I hanging on to my savings for if my heart is liable to give up any time? The heart consultant saw me promptly, gave me that elusive echocardiogram immediately, and booked me in for an urgent angiogram the following day. (It’s a day procedure, where a wire is inserted into an artery and directed into the heart itself.) The result: a view of clear coronary arteries and a very damaged heart muscle due to a clot in the lower left ventricle dating from many years ago. Nothing to be done except change of medication and de-stressed life style.

How did the cardiologist know what these results would be? No one else did. Nor was I given further medication, simply was told to double the dose of everything I am on.

And how can it be that while I am actually in a ward in the hospital no specialist was willing to come up in a lift from one floor to another, just to speak to me?  Instead I am told to go through the tedious process of referral via GP and waiting list, which everyone knows will take months. And yet, a heart specialist who works at the same hospital was able to see me privately less than a week after referral, and immediately conducted the investigative procedures so that at last it is clear what can and cannot be done.

I wish it to be clear I have no criticism of the excellent heart specialist I was able to consult. He too appeared shocked to learn of my experience, and went out of his way to make things easier for me. I am grateful to him personally. And to my GP, who has been consistently supportive.

But the behaviour of those cardiologists responsible for my neglect is surely not what we expect of those at the top in the NHS. Specialists have always demanded – and received – special treatment, right from the inception of the NHS. We know that without special treatment, certain specialists would simply have refused to cooperate in a new-fangled  service designed to be for everyone regardless of means. Perhaps without our realizing it, some of these specialists are withdrawing their cooperation now. I hope this is not yet one more way in which private medicine is encroaching on our beleaguered NHS.


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