Piecing Together The Jigsaw: Creating Strong Characters

"I like the idea of being strong. I've grown up with the concept. It's in my bones and my blood. Strong people survive. They don't go under."
         

 So speaks 18 year old Annie, the heroine of my ebook Jigsaw Pieces. The book has just been nominated for the eFestival of Words in the YA Category My genre is Historical Crime Fiction both adult and YA, and for me, there are two ingredients that go to make up a successful book in this genre. The first, clearly, is a crime of some sort. In Jigsaw Pieces, set in 1998, it is the mysterious death of one of Annie's fellow students. The suicide of Grant Penney is based on a real event: I was training to be a teacher at a secondary school when one of the pupils unexpectedly committed suicide over the weekend. The beginning of the book mirrors exactly the events and emotions of that time.
         
The second ingredient is a strong female protagonist. So what makes a strong character? Well, it's not enough just to tell readers they are strong. Strong characters have to demonstrate their strength in various ways, generally by being pitted against challenging events, or other characters. They have to stand out, or stand back from the rest of the crowd. Annie is taken from her birthplace, Norway, and dumped in an English school. This immediately makes her ''different' from her contemporaries, and she has to develop a carapace to survive the daily bullying. Through her determination we learn how strong characters function and survive in difficult situations.
         
But strength can be shown in softness: Annie 's compassionate side is made clear when she bonds with the mute World War 1 veteran Billy Donne, whom she meets in a nursing home (another character based on real life). Strong characters must also have faults: Annie is far too quick to rush to judgement and jump to conclusions. The reader warms to characters with an inner fault line. Maybe because they are a little like us?
           
At the end of Jigsaw Pieces, Annie discovers that there remains a vital piece of the Jigsaw missing from her life - she needs to explore her relationship with her missing father and resolve the unanswered questions his departure has caused. And here we see the final ingredient of a strong character - there must always be a sense that there is more to be grasped, new and different conflicts to be overcome.
         
 For a strong character, the journey is never complete; there is always another story waiting to be told. I love writing strong female characters like Annie because they are so multifaceted and complex. They challenge me and push me to my limits. I hope they do the same for my readers as well.


If you would like to read a sample of Jigsaw Pieces, you can do so HERE. 

Hard Joyce or: Why I have Never Read Ulysses

Last Wednesday was Dylan Thomas Day on BBC Radio 3, which reminded me of the time, not so long ago, when the same BBC in its infinite wisdom, renamed a specific Saturday 'Bloomsday', and we were treated to a whole day of Ulysses readings/performances/commentaries. James Joyce's Ulysses belongs to the: 'books I have never read, never intend to read, but pretend I have' list. Also on the list with Joyce are Proust, Dostoevsky (can't even spell him), Trollope, and A.S.Byatt.

As far as the two former writers are concerned, I think my appreciation was soured at secondary school by having to translate Joyce into French, and Proust into English (why,why?). No doubt if the current Secretary of State for Education gets their way, students will be reading and translating them at primary level. Then sales will really drop off.

The ability to talk fluently about something of which one knows nothing is an integral part of being a writer. Actually, it is what sets writers apart from the rest of humanity (pace politicians). Joyce got it down to a fine art by scribing pages and pages of stream of consciousness stuff that actually nobody understands, but hey, Ulysses is a great big long book so it must be a classic, therefore let's all nod wisely and say how wonderful it is. Emperor's New Clothes comes to mind.

If you disagree, feel free to take me on. I'd love to know why James Joyce is considered such a great author and why the BBC spent the whole of Saturday inflicting this book upon us. Where's the plot, where are the twists and turns? Where's the mystery, the pace and the suspense. Okay, there's an awful lot of language, but even so ... given the exacting requirements of today's publishers, it would never get past a first reading today. Hell, it hasn't even got a vampire! Clearly, it's one rule for dead people, another for the rest of us.

 As none of my books are as long as Ulysses and I am not dead (yet), I doubt there will ever be a Hedges Day on BBC. You are probably relieved to hear it.

A final gripe, not entirely unconnected to Bloomsday: why is there also so much sport on TV? I don't understand football or cricket, or racing around in a dusty track in a car, nor do I understand why everything interesting has to be bumped off the various channels to make way for it. Is there an equivalence between watching sport and reading Ulysses? Discuss. Not too heatedly.

Fan-tastic: the Victorian art of flirting

Are you a bit of a flirt? Do you sometimes catch an attractive man’s eye, then deliberately look away. Give him a little knowing smile. It’s all innocent fun and part of the games we play with each other. The Victorians were no different. While researching my novel Diamonds & Dust, A Victorian Murder Mystery (publ. Crooked Cat Books) I delved into the world of nineteenth century courtship. It was a fascinating journey.

Of course there were certain restrictions that do not apply today. Young ladies were not allowed to be alone with a gentleman unless they were properly engaged. You couldn’t even say ‘hello’ to the prospective love of your life until he had been formally introduced by a mutual friend. There were no mobile phones to send flirty messages, or indicate your availability. And most of your obvious charms were covered up in a crinoline, bonnet and button boots, or hidden under layers of corsets and uncomfortable underwear (the average weight of a Victorian lady’s underwear mid-century was 14 lbs).

But if you were a canny lass, you had one infallible way of indicating to that handsome beau that you fancied him rotten: you could use your fan.

Fans were an extension of the Victorian lady’s body and the language of the fan was an important part of the dating ritual. Once you had mastered its subtle messages, you could go an awful long way down the matrimonial path solo and unchaperoned. So here are some of the top flirty ‘’moves’’:

Fast fan movement - I am independent
Slow fan movement - I am engaged
Fan resting on right cheek - Yes
Fan resting on left cheek - No
Drawing fan across forehead - We are being watched
Fanning face with fan held in right hand - Leave me alone
Swinging the fan - Will you see me home?

What I love about this is that it shows how women, in an age of male dominance, and rigid social formality, still found a way to subvert the rules. Of course, the effectiveness of the fan relied upon one very big unknown: that the gentleman in question also knew the language!  If he did not, the ensuing results could be pretty disastrous....


Find Carol on Twitter: @carolJhedges
Read her blog: http://carolhedges.blogspot.co.uk
Visit her Amazon author page: Amazon UK

Caveat Invigilator

A busy time at Hedges Towers. Exam season is upon us once more, which means I'm currently doing my third part-time job as an invigilator. For those who don't live in the UK - invigilators are people who supervise public exams in secondary schools. In the past, it was a job done internally by teachers, but now it is done externally by us. Unsurprisingly, many invigilators are retired teachers -  after all we know the system and are used to working with groups of teenagers. It is a pleasant way to supplement our meagre pensions which doesn't involve zero hour contracts and stacking shelves in a supermarket.

The essence of invigilating lies in the ability to sit reasonably still for a couple of hours with one's eyes open. It is a lot harder than it seems. To distinguish us from the teachers and students, invigilators wear green lanyards with an ID badge. I'd really like something a little more distinctive - maybe a nice black leather jacket with INVIGILATOR on the back in big brass studs, so that I could also supplement said meagre income by doing door work at the weekends. I have floated the idea past the Exams Officer, but he is thinking Exams Office budget, so as yet there is no interface.

The thing people always say when they discover I work as an invigilator is:  'Oh, exams were much harder in my day.' Not sure about that. Certainly not in the subject I tutor, English Literature. I have exam questions going back to the 1970's, courtesy of my old English teacher, and I often set them for students. The texts haven't changed much either. This year I have been teaching Paradise Lost Book 9, King Lear, Othello, Dr Faustus, and Animal Farm, among other texts. The first two were books I studied for A level back in the 1960's.

What has changed is that back then if you were dyslexic, dyspraxic or, as in my case, just plain disruptic, no allowance was made. Now, students can get extra time. Some have readers or scribes. Or both. And the rise of the internet has brought a whole new rise in opportunities to cheat, so students can only use clear pencil cases and bring unlabelled bottles of water into the exam room, as it is possible to download 'fake' labels with formulae on the back. Seriously.

We are all extremely vigilant, but even so, we had an incidence of cheating a couple of years ago. It is still referred to in hushed tones. It was during an A-level resit. The senior invigilator noticed a student's ruler was sitting proud from the desk. She picked it up, and several strips of paper with notes cascaded down. The student, who had joined the Sixth Form in Year 12 from a posh private girls' school was escorted to the Exams Office, where the 'evidence' was photocopied. Her father was then phoned. His only response: 'Oh, you caught her, then?' Unbelievable.  Ultimate irony: she was resitting a Philosophy and Ethics paper.

Now I would never condone cheating in any form whatsoever, but the pressure students are under today is immense. We have had students NOT turning up to exams because, according to their parents, they are too stressed. In my day, I managed to score two unconditional offers to read English and Archaeology from London and York universities (two E grades). Wouldn't happen today. In fact some of the 'top' universities are now asking for A* grades. In certain subjects, namely Art, Design, and Creative Writing, they also expect students to have a blog up and running too.

Back then we left with a degree, the expectation of a reasonably paid job, and if you managed it correctly, no debt. I ran a baby-sitting business, and worked for John Lewis at the weekend and in the holidays, so I came out with money in my pocket. In many ways, I'd hate to be eighteen today. Which is just as well, because even with the huge advances in medical science and plastic surgery, it is extremely unlikely to happen.

If you would like to sample my latest novel Diamonds&Dust, A Victorian Murder Mystery, you can do so HERE. US readers can do so HERE

Re cycling

Greetings from the Independent Democracy of Coldharbour Lane. The Two Grumpy Old Sods are so fed up with the general stupidity of life here that we have decided unilaterally to secede from the autocratic dictatorship of Harpenden Town Council (mission statement: Closer to the community - but not yours) and form our own free and totally democratic small state.

We have a badge, we have a motto: Floreat Helix Pomatia and our flag will be striped green and white with a snail rampant. We're working on our national anthem, finding rhymes with snail that do not involve silliness - though on that score, have you actually studied the words of some national anthems? We are also taking it in turns to be in control. Currently it is my turn, and my fellow citizen is making the coffee.

The decision, not taken lightly, to secede has been forced on us by the latest piece of folly. In the header pic to this post you can see it for yourself: a large chunk of our main and very busy road has been carved out to create a cycle waiting zone. No consultation, except with local Sustrans people. From the moment of its inception, there have been minor crashes, lucky misses and confrontations between drivers who are baffled by the new priority system. Oh, and some cyclists have nearly been knocked off their bikes as they assume they now have precedence over traffic. At night it is badly lit, adding to the confusion.

The whole thing got worse last week when one of the roads running parallel was closed so that the friendly local developer could finish off its latest piece of Tesco School of Architecture overpriced housing, meaning all traffic was diverted down my narrow un-pavemented lane and straight into the curtailed road area.

A brief highlight moment happened when the 366 bus was challenged at the cycle extension by a Harpy (portmanteau word coined by me to describe Harpenden Mummies: the ones that drive big black 4x4s and think they own the road). Harpy refused to back up. Bus refused to back down. Passengers cheered the driver on, (we know which side our free passes are buttered). Eventually the Harpy had to back, a manoeuvre she singularly wasn't happy to perform and performed badly, and we sailed through the gap, waving cheerfully. Nothing so sarky as a bus full of pensioners.

I have suggested to the local council in the past that they need to revisit their mission statement as I do not think it is fit for purpose any more. I suggest it again. Something like: May contain nuts would fit the bill nicely.





If you like, you can read a FREE excerpt from my latest book  Diamonds&Dust A Victorian Murder Mystery by clicking HERE. US readers can do so HERE

The PINK SOFA meets Simon Grover

The Pink Sofa's guest today is truly 'Renaissance Man'. Simon is an actor,writer, musician and the only Green councillor on St Albans District Council (so far). He is also part of the St Albans Literary Festival (as am I). Simon has been hugely helpful to me in my efforts to stop our urban green space being sold off to a developer by my unscrupulous Town Council, and he has freely helped and advised HIP in our campaign to be elected to the District Council. A man of talent and generosity! I asked Simon to talk about his various roles and occupations......

''I trained as an actor and had a reasonably successful career in theatre for about 15 years. Later I moved in to writing of various sorts, and that's mostly how I earn my bread and butter now. I still do the occasional film or TV job when one comes along, and the one I dine out on most is Harry Potter. I was cast as a Deatheater in Harry Potter part seven. 

Typically for these huge films, I was booked for months, then ended up working for just one day, and am on screen for about five seconds. The money they spend on these films is astonishing - I had two duplicate handmade costumes, all the props I saw were beautifully made, and there were about 200 people on set all day to produce what was a relatively small and simple scene, inside the train. All the Deatheaters had their own personal wands, and mine is now in its specially marked box near the gift shop of the Harry Potter Studio Tour at Leavesden Studios in Watford.

I studied politics at university but never thought I would end up being a politician. I joined the Green Party while a student, as I thought their manifesto was amazing - positive and radical, but also realistic. I slowly got involved in local parties when I lived in London, and when I moved back to St Albans I found that there was a substantial level of support for the party even without any local campaigning. Over the last eight years local members have worked to build focussed support in central St Albans, until the point that I got elected in 2011. Now we find ourselves able to achieve all sorts of things in the Council, partly because the ruling Conservatives are a minority. And we're looking to get more councillors in the coming years.

Being the only Green is a challenge, as I don't have the support of more experienced colleagues. And for the party to be represented in committees and in debates, it basically has to be me or no-one. But council staff are very helpful, and I've learnt a lot from members of other parties too. I also have great support from my fellow local party members, and from other Green councillors around the country.

I write for a living - part time for a firm of communication consultants in London, called Quietroom, and occasionally scripts for children's TV. Any parent of small children will probably have seen my work - show like Tweenies, Fimbles, Big Cook Little Cook, Waybuloo and Wibbly Pig. Beyond this, I produce most of the written words that come out of the local Green Party - press releases, newsletters, stories for our website, and the manifesto - things like that. I keep a twitter account going, on politics and local matters, and have a Green-oriented blog too, at www.greenstalbans.blogspot.com, which has a mixture of local stories and commentary. I juggle all of this with being a dad to an 9-year-old, and a husband of course. My wife works full time, though not conventional hours, so between us we get everything done.

I don't have a novel in me, I'm quite sure of that. A sitcom maybe, or a children's play adapted from a book, but not a novel. Last year I was invited me to write a Lego-themed puppet version of Cinderella, that was performed at Legoland Windsor. Which was nice. I'm lucky as a writer in that I always know I'm going to get paid for the writing I do. I admire the motivation of people who can spend all that time and effort producing a novel without knowing a. if anyone's going to read it, or b. if they're going to make any money out of it. I suppose if you get your money somewhere else that's fine, but for me writing has always been a job. A job I really like - don't get me wrong. But still a job.''

You can contact Simon via:

www.greenstalbans.blogspot.com

www.sagreens.org.uk

www.twitter.com/simongrover

Are Reviews Important?

If you are following me on Twitter, you will be familiar with this:

carol hedges ‏@carolJhedges 

Read it? Loved it? REVIEW it!

I tweet it quite regularly to encourage readers to think about putting their thoughts (hopefully positive) onto a review site. There has been quite a furore recently about writers commissioning ''sock puppet'' reviews to boost their popularity, and conversely, people taking 'revenge' on a writer by posting one star reviews.

So what are reviews for? I think they fulfill various functions. Firstly, they help other readers decide whether a book is for them. A slew of interesting and varied reviews (by this I mean at least 3 cogent paragraphs of analysis, not just: 'Ooh, I sooo love this book'/'I didn't get further than page 5') help one to decide whether to download/buy. Or conversely, whether not to waste your time. We are all time-poor. Reviews are therefore an aid to connecting the reader to the right book.

As a writer, I find reviews of my own books useful as a gauge to measure whether or not I am hitting the reader satisfaction button. Are they enjoying the story? Do they get it? Can they follow the plot? If not, how can I improve the reading experience for them in the next book.Reviews are also a personal encouragement - the writers' lot is an isolated lot most of the time. It is good to receive a little praise for one's efforts, especially when the serendipitous happens: a reader finds a whole new layer of meaning that had never occurred to me. Reviews can be a writer's best learning tool, if you let them.

Reviews are also very important in boosting sales.That is why I welcome the way sites like Amazon and Goodreads allow ''ordinary'' people to post reviews, and I get annoyed when some writers are sniffy about ''non-professional'' people expressing their thoughts and ideas,because believe me, the chances of most of us small/self published authors getting our work reviewed in mainstream papers or magazines, which is what we'd all like, are pretty remote.

It seems there is a Catch 22 situation here: you cannot get taken seriously by a ''big'' journal or paper unless you have unbelievably good sales...yes, you are ahead of me. I recently contacted a book reviewer on The Observer with what I thought was a great angle for a story: Book deemed unpublishable by top London Agency ends up on 3 prestigious award lists. Her response: how many copies had I sold and did I get a socking great advance from my publisher?

The other problem is that only a minority of journals will accept a digital review copy. It's a shame, because it offers the most efficient way of accessing the book, not to mention the least problematic way of disposing of it once reviewed. We live in a digital world, but publications prefer print, it appears.

Let's end by going from the ridiculous to the ridiculously sublime: For me, a special and unexpected reviewing source has also come from all those followers on Twitter who tweet a few lines saying how much they have enjoyed one of my books. Or, as someone did recently, treat me (and all my and their followers) to an excellently succinct chunk by chunk commentary on Diamonds & Dust as they read it on a long train journey. Interactive reviewing 2014 style. I never experienced this when I wrote teenage fiction and it has been a revelation.

Reviews. They come in all shapes and sizes. Welcome or unwelcome. What's your experience?

Independents' Day: May 22nd

Six weeks to go. 10 signatures on each of our 2 application forms and now Harpenden Independent Partnership are Standing For The District Council. It needed caps. The alarming discovery we've made as we've been going round collecting said signatures, is the number of people who'd like to sign our forms but are scared to do so in case they get into trouble with certain members of the local Tory Party.

Seriously. First time we laughed it off. After that, we really started sucking in our breath. Das blauen Reitstiefel is alive and well. Apparently. It appalls me that in this age of so-called democracy and freedom of choice, there are people running ''scared'' of some small group of petty-minded bullies with their own agenda who want to keep Harpenden 100% Tory so they can get their own way.

Previously, this has not been a problem for them: the other 2 main political groups regard Tory domination of my town as a fait accompli and don't bother to contest it with any vigour. Harpenden is wittily referred to as ''our friends in the North''. I have tried over the years I've campaigned to get the LibDems and Labour interested. They aren't. Cannot believe their mutual short-sightedness. Nor their claim of 'no money to campaign in Harpenden'. We are self-funding and are managing. There are 8 seats on the District Council occupied by Harpenden councillors and the other parties shrug and look away? Thus the genesis of an Independent group.

Our lovely candidates are standing in two wards: East and North. North is my ward and the local incumbent, Affable Tory Bloke, is standing again. He is as his name suggests. Pleasant enough, but does little. And blends into the background so well that another councillor we know has admitted that he's sat on the same committee as ATB for ages and he still isn't sure who he is.

We now have badges and lanyards (see pic), very useful on the doorstep as Jehovah's Witnesses don't tend to wear them. Also useful when shopping in Sainsbury's for starting conversations and making ourselves known. And we are certainly getting known. I was walking to the station the other morning to catch the London train when a car drew alongside, a woman leaned out and shouted: 'I'm voting for you!' Most gratifying.

Another high point was reached when the local secretary of a mainstream political party, not standing this time round, asked for official permission to vote for us. And got it. Even more fun was had when I and my colleagues turned up to the Annual General Toryfest of our local town council fully badged and lanyarded. The list of councillors who completely blanked me was ... interesting.

So what are our chances? In one ward, East, they are pretty high. In my ward, so-so. It depends upon the weather, and if those who said they'd vote for us turn out on the day. However IF the status quo is maintained by all the other political groups, and we get just one Independent elected, we could end up holding the balance on the District Council. Which might just make those councillors who blanked me, and have spent the past six years opposing us and defying the wishes of the local community take a step back, although I'm not holding my breath.
See you at the count.

The Pink Sofa meets Bodicia

The PINK SOFA is delighted to welcome Bodicia. She describes herself as a mother, and grandmother whose interests include geoscience, planetary science, ancient history and civilizations and chocolate. A woman very definitely after the PINK SOFA'S heart in every respect. Bodicia also reviews books on her site A Woman's Wisdom: http://awomanswisdom.wordpress.com/  and is an all round supporter of writers. The Pink Sofa has lost count of the number of times she has kindly retweeted links to its new book: All You Need To Know About Upholstery.

In honour of Bodicia's visit to Hedges Towers, there is fresh coffee and a humongous box of Belgian handmade chocs on the coffee table. So lovely lady ...over to you:

BFinding The Perfect Moment by Bodicia

I was a lucky child; I had the most wonderful grandmother. She would read Enid Blyton’s books to me as I sat on her lap, snuggled and surrounded by her love and transported to faraway lands of adventure and mystery as the Famous Five went on adventures I could only dream of. And dream of them I did.

I found adventures of my own in my grandparent’s garden. I hunted for broken pieces of decorative pottery left over from another era in the sandy soil. I followed butterflies as they danced over purple buddleias and I tried to capture their essence on to mere paper with my ever present colouring pencils. I wrote of elves in the garden and fairies on toadstools. I lay on my back in the grass and watched the birds flying overhead and I wondered what it would be like to glide so freely, held by the invisible power of the wind.

One day I went outside to collect the hen’s eggs and as I rounded the bushes I saw something which, to my childish eye, resembled a pirate’s chest. It was made of slated wood and metal and was big enough for me to fit inside. It was surrounded by bushes and roots and looked as if it had burst from the very soil itself but I reached out to touch it and with mounting excitement I slipped the catch and opened the lid wide, letting loose a musky wooden smell.  As I peeked inside it appeared to be devastatingly empty but a closer inspection revealed a tiny piece of exquisitely embroidered cloth, about three inches square, in the bottom corner.

 I lent right inside and took it back out into the sunlight, running my finger over the faded silks and imagined it a map of places untold of for centuries. I took it to my grandmother who told me her mother had embroidered it and that the chest had belonged to her great uncle who had gone to sea. She gave me the cloth and the chest was taken to my bedroom at home where in times of trouble I would lift the lid, breathe in the perceived memories it held and feel my grandmother’s comforting presence. And I would paint those emotions with words in my stories and colour them in until I was gliding free again.

What I enjoy about the written word is the emotions and memories it invokes. I like to touch a story with all my senses, to taste the emotions and feel them in my core. Life goes by at such a fast pace we sometimes forget to make the time to just ‘be’ and exist in that perfect moment where imagination has no limits and the only thing which exists is the slow beating of a butterfly’s wings.

Thank you, Bodicia for sharing your story.  And while the PINK SOFA absorbs these words of truth and prepares to copy them into its next book, a quick reminder of Bodicia's review site: http://awomanswisdom.wordpress.com/ where you can read lovely reviews like this. 

Meanwhile, Bodicia will be here for a while to chat and hand out chocolates - if she hasn't scoffed them all.....

ccc

Things I Have Learned Recently

By 'eck our Cyril, this grandmothering lark is hard work, nah then sithee lad. You think you know what you are doing because you were discovered in possession of a baby many years ago, but guess what? That was in the Bygone Era. Things have changed. It is a wonder that any baby survived in those far off days, what with being put down on their sides, unswaddled and not monitored for constant breathing activity.

The first thing you learn as a new grandmother is how little you know. Actually you know nothing - well no, you know an awful lot but that was then and this is now. The word on the street is: shut up. Those of you who are on more than just blog-reading acquaintance with me will appreciate how difficult it is not to chip in with My Opinion every few minutes. I am learning. (If you would like to read the ''Letter' I wrote to my lovely granddaughter on her birth, you can do so here )

The baby is nearly four weeks old and there have been some very funny incidents. As part of the ''baby box'' I made, I bought a lovely grey bodysuit with bones on it. Skeleton Baby - hahaha. What neither I nor DD realised was that the bones glowed in the dark. Slight shock then to awake at 2am and spot a small luminous-boned figure lying next to her. Help, my baby's gone radioactive. That was the same night New Dad had the dream that the baby was stuck on the ceiling, sat bolt upright in bed and tried to get her down.

Away from the babyfest, my Harpenden Independent Partnership - possibly fielding two candidates in the upcoming District Council Elections in May, have started campaigning. We have brilliant leaflets, thanks to Designer Dave who did my book cover. Sadly, as we are self-funding, we do not have enough brilliant leaflets, so are only able to cover one ward completely and one partially.

It is the first time ever there have been two truly Independent candidates possibly standing here and not before time either. There is one councillor who calls himself independent, but it is more a case of: kicked-out-of-the-Tories-for-being-a-pain-in-the-arse rather than truly Independent as we are.

The scale of countrywide ''corruption'' in local government is jaw-dropping. Our two people recently attended a training day, where they met others hoping to get elected in May. One lady disclosed that she was fighting a greenbelt development on her doorstep where the head of the council was also on the board of the development company. Same political party as the one that holds sway here, funnily enough.

I haven't leafletted since before my Town Green Application went to Public Inquiry and had forgotten how interesting it was. A re-learning experience in so many ways. I now have painful scrapes on my fingers from letterbox bite-back. Also slight knee pain from bending down to stuff leaflets through low-lying letter boxes. And at least 2 leaflets were Consumed by Dogs.

But the response has been heartening. So many people have said they will vote for us. Including Harpenden's only known Communist. I know a verbal promise isn't worth the paper it's written on, but we have taken note of their addresses and like Arnie, We Will Be Back on polling day. Yes indeed.


If you would like to read a sample of my novel Diamonds&Dust, A Victorian murder mystery, you can do so here. US readers can do so here.