tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10577617385685377652024-03-14T17:00:12.704+00:00Exeter WritersJo Colehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243212253516498163noreply@blogger.comBlogger328125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-59615571872899763952024-03-14T16:32:00.003+00:002024-03-14T16:32:58.329+00:00Author Business Foundations<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjONKcqUWnA0P7K0Ttn3BzlDatcYEQXnkmgHsBGGpWEePtSedl6buQJFOGnOjOsu83GKL74t9aKmpBMFclQ1UqRp3E00CqCC41OLhfRJzsGljG_FxuxWOJ6xZl6wY2uOfoGnYJT6KPpg-gQEkD6jawcNZVRgBVEZMnL1i_329243oat09KxZydhH15WG3Wp/s940/ABF%20FB1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="415" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjONKcqUWnA0P7K0Ttn3BzlDatcYEQXnkmgHsBGGpWEePtSedl6buQJFOGnOjOsu83GKL74t9aKmpBMFclQ1UqRp3E00CqCC41OLhfRJzsGljG_FxuxWOJ6xZl6wY2uOfoGnYJT6KPpg-gQEkD6jawcNZVRgBVEZMnL1i_329243oat09KxZydhH15WG3Wp/w495-h415/ABF%20FB1.jpg" width="495" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Are you planning on turning your writing from a hobby to a business? Or is your business established, but you feel it could do with a bit more structure? Then the Author Business Foundations workshop is just what you need.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Elizabeth Ducie, member of Exeter Writers for more than a decade, has been running her own small business since 1992. And on Saturday 27th April, as part of the Play on Words Festival in Paignton, she's going to distill all that experience into two and a half hours of interactive workshop. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">You learn about writing business plans, setting objectives, establishing your finance systems and much more. And most importantly, you'll learn how to do it as easily and simply as possible, leaving you more time for the bit we all love - the writing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Places for this workshop are limited. <a href="https://www.palacetheatrepaignton.co.uk/shows/author-business-foundations-workshop/" target="_blank">Check out the details here and get your place booked</a> before it's too late.</div><p></p>Elizabeth Duciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11746520881833058618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-20745953794577594702024-03-04T16:36:00.004+00:002024-03-06T09:49:17.238+00:00And The Reading Begins...<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #535353; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 20px;">Our 2024 competition is now closed. Many thanks to everyone who entered and good luck. This year, we had a bumper crop of entries and we are about to start the process of reading and judging. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #535353; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 20px;">We'll let you know how we're getting on from time to time...</span></p>Elizabeth Duciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11746520881833058618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-5359745294596930212024-02-27T18:45:00.001+00:002024-02-28T12:01:21.973+00:00It's Nearly Time...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh53IGp704HfKzAaiWdz6J_U7zpn2ljkRswG6c7DS-6fzXSX1AqJKG4AMo6Gxxl0sszvjKJWxlr9uJuTB27tPLpk85pDAq6VKF57sEcF40j62cyHDaXZcESrpEyax1MaAeQWQpEIkFeP2OzkJNYdvyTwAfMPyFENFg5zTCbMg1TXSK7Bmf89bgjVOD_WyY0/s915/SSC%202024%20Draft.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="915" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh53IGp704HfKzAaiWdz6J_U7zpn2ljkRswG6c7DS-6fzXSX1AqJKG4AMo6Gxxl0sszvjKJWxlr9uJuTB27tPLpk85pDAq6VKF57sEcF40j62cyHDaXZcESrpEyax1MaAeQWQpEIkFeP2OzkJNYdvyTwAfMPyFENFg5zTCbMg1TXSK7Bmf89bgjVOD_WyY0/w479-h324/SSC%202024%20Draft.png" width="479" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you are planning on entering this year's short story competition, you have just over 48 hours left. The competition closes at 23:59 on Thursday 29th February (yes, you have a whole extra day this year).</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">You can check out the rules <a href="https://www.exeterwriters.org.uk/p/competition-rules.html">HERE</a>.</p><p style="text-align: center;">You can submit your entries <a href="https://www.exeterwriters.org.uk/p/entry-form_27.html">HERE</a></p>Elizabeth Duciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11746520881833058618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-2106909419370703002024-01-25T14:26:00.001+00:002024-01-25T14:27:31.474+00:00New Release! The Fair Folk by Su Bristow<h2 style="text-align: center;"> The Fair Folk by Su Bristow</h2><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Fair-Folk-Bristow/dp/B0C6YHSF2G/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1PO2KVEBRL8BY&keywords=the%20fair%20folk%20Su%20Bristow&qid=1702014221&s=digital-text&sprefix=the%20fair%20folk%20su%20bristow%2Cdigital-text%2C63&sr=1-1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="304" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZbaC3uDu4Jp-Cz1oeIUWwSbHxx2VvtinqvRowLmq7BeFd9KhCVscBofUKortanwdwEsuu84-nXF4VmtAuyGpwhdkRfQsVvsipdQY4I45Rt7Xr5nwP8nTuFWWZ-ACg8XhCc8CL4LKItaI4qdOhEoOyzTIbPh6zUlUsBDI3XIoOddxPXOIVIY4awxb4ig/s320/Fair%20Folk.jpg" width="209" /></a></div></div><br /><br /><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Su's second novel, <b>The Fair Folk</b> was published on 23rd January by <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Europa Editions in the US. We've asked her to tell us a bit about it.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><b>What was your inspiration?</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">My first novel, Sealskin, is a retelling of one of the selkie myths. For The Fair Folk I went to the multitude of fairy stories that were told all over the British Isles; not the ones you read in the Brothers Grimm or Perrault, but the homespun tales repeated over hundreds of years around fires and at feasts. Wherever country folk lived, it seems, there were fairies making mischief, striking bargains, and - sometimes - doing favours. </span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>What is <i>The Fair Folk </i>about?</b></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">My story begins with a lonely child meeting the fairies in the nearby woods, and it’s set in the 1950s and 60s, at a time when farming in Britain was changing after centuries of tradition, and sightings of fairies were beginning to dwindle. Most children grow up and forget these magical encounters, but Felicity cannot. She has been honoured - or burdened - with a special magical gift, and as she leaves home for university and the wider world, the fairies go with her.</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The story is interwoven with older tales that both explain and add deeper layers to the events of the book. Where possible I’ve given the dates and places where they were collected, but popular stories grow and spread and change in the telling, and some were impossible to pin down. And of course, they are still being retold...</span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadGps0oWV2XV65WMeHzH634l-8SLeS6YdDIkKQUF7fOYYpPMA2BL12PvirAkUIEfDUJnMLm7v29dgxXL4cXf7vvfffPHg6OYO2zziXOO9PWnWUalvxpZeR2EmGLIbWKhPu9Qcu3Kk-qafpztDFhwEjmu-1Sph64ke4Y7RhCizcT9Vl457IrUSzdHNUF0/s640/Su%202024.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadGps0oWV2XV65WMeHzH634l-8SLeS6YdDIkKQUF7fOYYpPMA2BL12PvirAkUIEfDUJnMLm7v29dgxXL4cXf7vvfffPHg6OYO2zziXOO9PWnWUalvxpZeR2EmGLIbWKhPu9Qcu3Kk-qafpztDFhwEjmu-1Sph64ke4Y7RhCizcT9Vl457IrUSzdHNUF0/s320/Su%202024.jpeg" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>How different was the process to writing your first novel?</b></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sealskin won the Exeter Novel Prize in 2014, and that opened the door to publication for me, although it was another three years before the book actually came out. The process was different with The Fair Folk; I wasn’t under contract to write another book, but my publishers wanted whatever I came up with next, and Europa Editions offered for it straight away. And the rest is not yet history!</span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-65182741428380340262023-12-01T07:32:00.001+00:002023-12-03T12:29:42.703+00:002024 Short Story Competition Opens<p><span style="text-align: justify;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDfaIjQxEeCQWeyLEJWduCAigEgnyC1F7qE4WIvqW7eiaAP8egPynI4FnaMXEdkVYH_UI7rwGZJWAnnT5TKOH_TW_9xkQIHM409zd92h3G1HrGGZh8FE0zkHTkRzOQBNTVNmD3ADZSp5m5yYEOFgjLf5_uez27PGa2n7cmMC92YSHPEo3fUL01Vx8yoWX/s1800/EWSSC%202024%20final%20poster.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvDfaIjQxEeCQWeyLEJWduCAigEgnyC1F7qE4WIvqW7eiaAP8egPynI4FnaMXEdkVYH_UI7rwGZJWAnnT5TKOH_TW_9xkQIHM409zd92h3G1HrGGZh8FE0zkHTkRzOQBNTVNmD3ADZSp5m5yYEOFgjLf5_uez27PGa2n7cmMC92YSHPEo3fUL01Vx8yoWX/w424-h282/EWSSC%202024%20final%20poster.png" width="424" /></a></div><br />Our 2024 Short Story Competition is now open. And once again, we have a magnificent £1350 in the prize pot. Including the opportunity for a local writer who is shortlisted, but not placed in the top three, to win the Devon prize.<p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">You have until 29th February to get your story in. But you know how quickly time flies by. So why not <a href="https://www.exeterwriters.org.uk/p/short-story-competition-2021.html">check it out now</a> and get writing those entries.</p>Elizabeth Duciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11746520881833058618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-43631281229906996032023-11-24T10:12:00.000+00:002023-11-24T10:12:08.461+00:00Books by Margaret James<h2 style="text-align: left;"> Books by Members: Margaret James</h2><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have a sneaking suspicion that Margaret has written so many books that it would probably crash the website to list them all! So, I'll just mention the more recent ones.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Silver-Locket-Choc-Charton-Minster-ebook/dp/B004D4ZYTQ?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="292" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj831GrupyGZFZNhKicWbuoNwV12TWX2xMlrm5swxscamlo8GM0leupwg33MfhWInyelvdorYUjNzgE2vnKPUugm9Hefef-JirA-4fB7HGMTBeqBmYLhaWlf7fOToagBzi2KlxscuDwYW3nIWe1hwUum58QdGPLaXIZcetHEdkJMxIep8hlreRwXNF8GJc/s320/silver%20locket.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><b>If life is cheap, how much is love worth?</b> It's 1914 and young Rose Courtenay has a decision to make. Please her wealthy parents by marrying the man of their choice - or play her part in the war effort? The chance to escape proves irresistible and Rose becomes a nurse. Working in France, she meets Lieutenant Alex Denham, a dark figure from her past. He's the last man in the world she'd get involved with - especially now he's married. But in wartime nothing is as it seems. Alex's marriage is a sham and Rose is the only woman he's ever wanted. As he recovers from his wounds, he sets out to win her trust. His gift of a silver locket is a far cry from the luxuries she's left behind. What value will she put on his love? <i>2011 Reviewers' Choice Award from Single Titles.</i></span></p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Chain-Choc-Charton-Minster-ebook/dp/B004YTJ6US?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="306" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTXYUuUpyEHYSYMeWgbk_OV7T8aqRWrmwMAXARrvuUlewB46a0DH3wm3poKQ393FHpC1NxvAIohoVREAHiK6CCPXt5UvHgDosKXre9WP6RD3reYjXTm06VbqnC1-Gn0fEiRXDTu2wvSvxe4GaCi7eKQLiFdbYPWDFXVA6frNQCaDX7MizTEVqARsjcY7w/s320/golden%20chain.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(12, 13, 12); background-color: white; color: #0c0d0c; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Can first love last forever? 1931 is the year that changes everything for Daisy Denham. Her family has not long swapped life in India for Dorset, England when she uncovers an old secret. At the same time, she meets Ewan Fraser - a handsome dreamer who wants nothing more than to entertain the world and for Daisy to play his leading lady. Ewan offers love and a chance to escape with a touring theatre company. As they grow closer, he gives her a golden chain and Daisy gives him a promise – that she will always keep him in her heart. But life on tour is not as they’d hoped, Ewan is tempted away by his career and Daisy is dazzled by the older, charismatic figure of Jesse Trent. She breaks Ewan’s heart and sets off for a life in London with Jesse. Only time will tell whether some promises are easier to make than keep …</span></p><p></p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Penny-Bangle-Choc-Charton-Minster-ebook/dp/B007IKD3NQ?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="292" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrE1Z9YEJDcIMApUmS99kPa71Q3GhOfS0EfFd1i99pxT25BkwD2KCzklwf3oiySGlHj6-5BUKhhPNMM5s0BhvJkEKNIeTNZAQReNathyphenhyphenLBxQrv7b4N_WJn78qUExKZUFkzL63gEHe_izmtMfynYzbdpHzbfcO7GZVdTZVAKrE8aWnHsZq59IlplvpoOiQ/s320/penny%20bangle.jpg" width="210" /></a></div></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">When should you trust your heart? It’s 1942 when Cassie Taylor reluctantly leaves Birmingham to become a land girl on a farm in Dorset. There she meets Robert and Stephen Denham, twins recovering from injuries sustained at Dunkirk. Cassie is instantly drawn to Stephen, but is wary of the more complex Robert – who doesn’t seem to like Cassie one little bit. At first, Robert wants to sack the inexperienced city girl. But Cassie soon learns, and Robert comes to admire her courage, finding himself deeply attracted to Cassie. Just as their romance blossoms, he’s called back into active service. Anxious to have adventures herself, Cassie joins the ATS. In Egypt, she meets up with Robert, and they become engaged. However, war separates them again as Robert is sent to Italy and Cassie back to the UK. Robert is reported missing, presumed dead. Stephen wants to take Robert’s place in Cassie’s heart. But will Cassie stay true to the memory of her first love, and will Robert come home again? Final novel of the trilogy. Previous novels: The Silver Locket and The Golden Chain.</span></p></span></div><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Wedding-Diary-Choc-Lit-Fabulously-ebook/dp/B00C6BFEUC?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXTb5nPlvbpUei8NcWh4vlG5EW7RxKcmcaLcqvcsE06Ucmppv_Oa9SyS8er6kgKccaM0H4jkL_0O9vKEOZiEYnrhb0Y3D3J6rDXcrm98nOR24KeeNMJYgdUczg_HPyIPlOXMafK7ts2xkOQw6xQNOTrFVQ2Q7AMkiaOXaggMjOQpjS-wtf2FZEstze3u4/s320/wedding%20diary.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">If you won a fairy-tale wedding in a luxury hotel, you’d be delighted – right? But what if you didn’t have anyone to marry? Cat Aston did have a fiancé, but now it looks like her Prince Charming has done a runner. Adam Lawley was left devastated when his girlfriend turned down his heartfelt proposal. He’s made a vow never to fall in love again. So – when Cat and Adam meet, they shouldn’t even consider falling in love. After all, they’re both broken hearted. But for some reason they can't stop thinking about each other. Is this their second chance for happiness, or are some things just too good to be true?</span></p><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Magic-Sometimes-Happens-Charton-Minster-ebook/dp/B00NMP8G4W?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizwZer_puAhbbCg4Z3D7El4sEgrp7t4Gi3MOxYzvZHhjiFN1yWsAWF5IbyUM92lOASkNRg-La1upTO_MbfthanVaaF8NLYe84O7rm3qpvhSfSPid7JwT0yB1BDORHkSx2rK1N6of-9x6PmX7NpdTZcyHKzwbaGvkf2i4UflPb5CCcQyIPPaRIT1NJ7_wA/s320/magic%20happens.jpg" width="209" /></a></div></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><b>A British fashionista finds love in the last place she’d ever look—Saint Paul, Minnesota—in this heartfelt romance.</b> London-based PR and promotions consultant Rosie Denham has just spent a year in Paris where she’s tried but failed to fall in love. She’s also made a big mistake and can’t forgive herself. American IT professor Patrick Riley’s wife has left him for a Mr Wonderful with a cute British accent and a house with a real yard. So Patrick’s not exactly thrilled to meet another Brit who’s visiting Minnesota, even if she’s hot. Pat and Rosie couldn’t be more different. She’s had a privileged English upbringing. He was raised in poverty in Missouri. Pat has two kids, a job that means the world to him and a wife who might decide she wants her husband back. So when Pat and Rosie fall in love, the prospects don’t seem bright for them. But magic sometimes happens – right?</span></p></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Snake-Stone-Margaret-James/dp/0727845667?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="281" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMYYdODppA_FG8pSEAQRglAUZHmKCPxAsd65MFW9bvpMFoTmYwGYz1APX9SMqgj09yKGyQ54pIPPUYrNbGr2tEwv9N3EU4BdnENUOPOuBqtBWS_BhTkYjda95ove1QcIO0PJGSlsi-4i220-QjYgvqXjd12U_5FM6xTjAxWgLO69Hg5fgDZsPcsElvo8/s320/snake%20stone.jpg" width="202" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">An abandoned child, Deborah Tanner grows up in the squalor of industrial Birmingham. A chance meeting with a strolling actor opens up a whole new world for her, as she is drawn into the tawdry glamour of the Victorian stage.</span></p></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Girl-Red-Velvet-Choc-Lit-ebook/dp/B071RKQ6LR?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXhYuAH8wMxokUMpLKBPpvPVMqlscOVtK6lxLjtwg5Qxsjt1dB1sXjh3DAfzsX30ieTZWy2hHMw726yPHcgN3zHutSWGe7ez5Uo3CdNI3o3H9tscFcTY7VmXviOsG3IlqLiUNBXOQFF8Gv3M_Q7cxNmP3bGkKyPYzF7SSMiD1q_siThINTzhK5euYOpN0/s320/girl%20red%20velvet.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Will loving two men tear your heart apart?</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">It’s the 1960s and Lily Denham is about to begin her studies at Oxford University. On her first day she meets Harry Gale and Max Farley, two fellow undergraduates who are both full of mischievous charm. The three of them become firm great friends and enjoy exploring everything Oxford has to offer, from riotous parties to punting up the river on sunny afternoons. However, something threatens to disrupt the fun, because Lily soon realises she’s falling for both of her new-found friends, men who might offer her two very different futures – but who will she pick? Harry is generous and kind, reliable and trustworthy. Max embodies the spirit of the sixties; adventurous and rebellious, but possibly a little bit dangerous as well. As university ends and Lily struggles to make her mark on the vibrant fashion scene, she must make a decision. But she soon becomes aware that the wrong decision could have devastating consequences for her own future and for Max’s and Harry’s futures, too … </span></p></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Elegy-Queen-Margaret-James/dp/1843954834?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="286" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDCtLuVAD9iak0rWw-3aFkYoGbPyyv089R7tb5QTQUCtG9NJNZvhQP2wbgD8DDSzy7-1nmhOfJTx0UgcFsmEWRQxfDRMOc9GtUcG8KNMEM-G9-bpQ_I9h9AWgtu1mAdnthnLy_17tCTnNTvERngZpKR2n32R1ChoXTF5xsqLrAauFvBbtVrODAKrStK4g/s320/elegy%20queen.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Recently graduated with a first-class degree in Anglo-Saxon studies, Susannah Miller starts a new job in a cathedral library. Translating documents for the millennial history of Marbury Minster is far from dull as the texts start to reveal a fragmentary but fascinating tale of fierce feuding between the rival Maransaete and Mercian tribes.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">With encouragement from Oxford don, Professor Julius Greenwood, Susannah deciphers a gripping story of honour and revenge. Why does our heroine feel such a bond with Aelwyn, queen of the Maransaete? Could there be a link with the terrible personal tragedy in her own past?</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Working on a local archaeological dig provides Susannah with concrete evidence but unearthing the past threatens to drive her close to madness and death.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Meanwhile, Susannah’s friendship with old college acquaintance, Gavin, takes an unexpected turn, giving her the strength she needs to face up to her demons, past and present.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Rich in suspense and historical detail, this time-slip novel, which moves seamlessly between Saxon times and the present day, will appeal to all fans of historical and romantic fiction.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Final-Reckoning-compelling-thriller-winter-ebook/dp/B07KFH2GYD?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheCGY79mpmHwOkxS4rmv-S0CeZ7wDV0uJXppG6T52rwgZt273BrDdlPlBBHm5GdHiP__j8Mu4uJCbOqmG_pE6Wyhf-oTEHQ8D2f-leB5Bl42iFz1qtsmanYWEB2VrIue3_YHDoOw26j4HxIUWWZ6bPRKA1VPS_q9n4a4DFgGAZEhyhCnRzmvlO6NqzfPA/s320/final%20reck.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;">A gripping thriller from this successful historical novelists and creative writing tutor. Perfect for fans of Erin Kelly, Linda Green and Laura Marshall.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><b>What if you had to return to the place that made you fall apart? </b>When Lindsay Ellis was a teenager she witnessed the aftermath of a violent murder involving her lover’s father. The killer was never found. Traumatised by what she saw, Lindsay had no choice but to leave her home village of Hartley Cross and its close-knit community behind. Now, years later, she must face up to the terrible memories that still haunt her. But will confronting the past finally allow Lindsay to heal, or will her return to Hartley Cross unearth dangerous secrets and put the people she has come to care about most at risk?</span></p></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Margaret has also teamed up with fellow Exeter Writer, Cathie Hartigan to create these three invaluable additions to the writer's toolkit:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Creative-Writing-Students-Handbook/dp/1500599549/ref=sr_1_5?crid=1ASFKCHRYCVB7&keywords=cathie+hartigan&qid=1697189485&s=books&sprefix=cathie+h%2Cstripbooks%2C68&sr=1-5">The Creative Writing Student's Handbook</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Short-Story-Writers-Workbook-CreativeWritingMatters-ebook/dp/B00UC541MQ/ref=sr_1_4?crid=1ASFKCHRYCVB7&keywords=cathie+hartigan&qid=1697189485&s=books&sprefix=cathie+h%2Cstripbooks%2C68&sr=1-4">The Short Story Writer's Workbook</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Novelists-Workbook-Definitive-Writing-CreativeWritingMatters-ebook/dp/B07GLYHHDV/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1ASFKCHRYCVB7&keywords=cathie+hartigan&qid=1697189485&s=books&sprefix=cathie+h%2Cstripbooks%2C68&sr=1-1">The Novelist's Workbook</a> </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmkGlqAK5hQQnJAIn4twdOedOBZTE3q4qibzNx2SwV5utXK-jl6FyYVe3OoxX7snZn3PIAn26Q669Oq9kenKRmcKP_M0gE81sVftTmnORaEdIdUfyaOIKjLLHMm3Cp85D0W7s2O15LMPjvMdBWJ7csgFCkHxeD4XvBuf5X7sgVT-LUyL1cJccAJ9bgbo/s4032/CWMbooks.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmkGlqAK5hQQnJAIn4twdOedOBZTE3q4qibzNx2SwV5utXK-jl6FyYVe3OoxX7snZn3PIAn26Q669Oq9kenKRmcKP_M0gE81sVftTmnORaEdIdUfyaOIKjLLHMm3Cp85D0W7s2O15LMPjvMdBWJ7csgFCkHxeD4XvBuf5X7sgVT-LUyL1cJccAJ9bgbo/s320/CWMbooks.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b></span></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-12496083715066304462023-10-30T14:44:00.002+00:002023-10-30T14:44:47.333+00:00Books by Cathie Hartigan<h2 style="text-align: left;"> Books by members: Cathie Hartigan</h2><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As well as having short stories in various publications, Cathie writes a mix of contemporary and historical novels and you'll often find her love of music sneaking in there somewhere!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Secret-Song-Cathie-Hartigan-ebook/dp/B015HFU6Z6/ref=sr_1_2?crid=1ASFKCHRYCVB7&keywords=cathie+hartigan&qid=1697189485&s=books&sprefix=cathie+h%2Cstripbooks%2C68&sr=1-2" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="304" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwBxfXFXQ1lbhhwzFvCA4F17BBGyiP30mBU_BErM0_aibISKXGup0Y2xOYnqXPgAVl2GwCVGry5Of0pExqrMUVZ0TdCys5GSP3rBKoaJ6m67smpqfXJAx9XCtQ5mNiurD90KCnNZ1Fx6U-xdBiUA0QsLbDFcXDrFU8h2MdRF40iNiSdZqfnHV8S3fPwfg/s320/secret%20of%20song.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Secret of the Song</b> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When a song by the mad composer, Carlo Gesualdo, is discovered in Exeter Museum, trouble descends on the group asked to sing it. Lisa is full of enthusiasm at first, but she soon becomes convinced the song is cursed. Can Lisa find out what mystery lies behind the discordant harmonies? Will she solve the song’s secret before her relationship with Jon breaks for good and harm befalls them all?</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In Renaissance Naples, young Silvia Albana is seamstress and close confidant of Don Gesualdo’s wife. When Donna Maria begins an affair, Silvia knows that death is the only outcome. But who exactly will die? And where is Silvia’s own lover? Why is he not there to help her?</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Notes-Lost-Cathie-Hartigan/dp/1686497148/ref=sr_1_6?crid=1ASFKCHRYCVB7&keywords=cathie+hartigan&qid=1697189485&s=books&sprefix=cathie+h%2Cstripbooks%2C68&sr=1-6" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="279" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_jbQTFDD4TxuRCC0rl83McYOuDzcuJHz97bsHgrCC08XgCznOI9tVKWYWGaoczBln7Cop904Id1mqr7xb4wxHaKwy49v4cc5v5mveelbF_d_slDe96CEwC58UWKxhda9RJ_F1xDdAMFQwYgNJo1xaaCsNZ5BzxBSoBqOqAr-Lqc4a7pHIU-iwtCeMCw/w201-h320/notes%20lost.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Notes from the Lost</b></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In October 1943, when prisoners of war Alfie and Frank escape from a train taking them to Germany, their lives depend on the family of shepherds who shelter them. In constant jeopardy, the young men wait out the winter in the Italian mountains.In 2000, Ros Goudy inherits her music teacher’s home in Exeter and there she finds letters that reveal the soldiers’ fate. Only one made it back, but it wasn’t to a warm welcome and happy ever after. What had happened that turned heads and hearts against him? The trail she follows begins with an charming comic song composed before the war. What she discovers is that everyone, including herself, has something to hide</span><span style="font-size: 14px;">.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Cathie has also teamed up with fellow Exeter Writer, Margaret James to create these three invaluable additions to the writer's toolkit:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Creative-Writing-Students-Handbook/dp/1500599549/ref=sr_1_5?crid=1ASFKCHRYCVB7&keywords=cathie+hartigan&qid=1697189485&s=books&sprefix=cathie+h%2Cstripbooks%2C68&sr=1-5">The Creative Writing Student's Handbook</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Short-Story-Writers-Workbook-CreativeWritingMatters-ebook/dp/B00UC541MQ/ref=sr_1_4?crid=1ASFKCHRYCVB7&keywords=cathie+hartigan&qid=1697189485&s=books&sprefix=cathie+h%2Cstripbooks%2C68&sr=1-4">The Short Story Writer's Workbook</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Novelists-Workbook-Definitive-Writing-CreativeWritingMatters-ebook/dp/B07GLYHHDV/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1ASFKCHRYCVB7&keywords=cathie+hartigan&qid=1697189485&s=books&sprefix=cathie+h%2Cstripbooks%2C68&sr=1-1">The Novelist's Workbook</a> </b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhREjGgVQnqqahA0VmC_GwomYwtTZPQ-zmdkTE4Bqb8IKR1_fPgwaPF3PxhRIf013K41HO7v6_2tQe5vwl_dZgVYdhHB1wOsP8BLc7ODXmh3JbEOZ3eFC2Yafl8ARLFL3G43e4acl__rVtsf3ya7C3BzeTkiHUn_j-nj-N8LBBiXPsB2Rcyr7K4DNIooJs/s4032/CWMbooks.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhREjGgVQnqqahA0VmC_GwomYwtTZPQ-zmdkTE4Bqb8IKR1_fPgwaPF3PxhRIf013K41HO7v6_2tQe5vwl_dZgVYdhHB1wOsP8BLc7ODXmh3JbEOZ3eFC2Yafl8ARLFL3G43e4acl__rVtsf3ya7C3BzeTkiHUn_j-nj-N8LBBiXPsB2Rcyr7K4DNIooJs/s320/CWMbooks.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-62380120027665300892023-10-18T14:46:00.002+01:002023-10-18T15:15:55.531+01:00Calamity at Coombesford Church<h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> <b style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;">Thrill Never Wears Off</b></span></h2><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></b></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Exeter Writers member Elizabeth Ducie launched her umpteenth book this week (and yes, she has lost count!) but found that the thrill was as great this time around as when she brought out her first book of short stories back in 2011. <i>Calamity at Coombesford Church </i>is the third in the <i>Coombesford Chronicles </i>series of cosy crime set in a fictional English village.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i></i></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWbmbNOPO_OeCqFd3vlofy2w7M4Cs8piyl_7hP441Sem4t6cwoLTgS4TABr7cP4Jnac6aUa5dq6h7VDb3EhPVU7qoijBQ8kwbbyCqn-Mwysdx_uzXViGa6uuMP_SeEsxQe-YjWeyNukUMQyS9ZsbuOfGhT-Ful26XEs3y4-baH0WjZsidLzNzk1n5-k8/s1170/Calamity%20at%20coombesford.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="762" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWbmbNOPO_OeCqFd3vlofy2w7M4Cs8piyl_7hP441Sem4t6cwoLTgS4TABr7cP4Jnac6aUa5dq6h7VDb3EhPVU7qoijBQ8kwbbyCqn-Mwysdx_uzXViGa6uuMP_SeEsxQe-YjWeyNukUMQyS9ZsbuOfGhT-Ful26XEs3y4-baH0WjZsidLzNzk1n5-k8/s320/Calamity%20at%20coombesford.jpg" width="208" /></a></i></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><i>Isabella Street is a talented composer and musical director with a passion for her craft and the drive to create something truly unique. In </i>The Hero’s Return<i>, she embarks on her greatest triumph yet: celebrating the tercentenary of a local boy made good. But not everyone is happy with Isabella's plans and one night in Coombesford Church, her preparations and rehearsals are brought to an abrupt conclusion. Amateur sleuths, Charlie, Annie, and Rohan work together to uncover the truth behind the shocking events.</i></span><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></i></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The ebook is available to download from Amazon (and can be read for free by members of Kindle Unlimited). The paperback will be available next month. <a href="https://geni.us/CoombesfordChronicles"><span class="s2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(16, 60, 192); color: #103cc0; font-kerning: none;">Find all the <i>Coombesford Chronicles </i>here.</span></a></span></span></p>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-29248954490230847752023-09-24T12:42:00.000+01:002023-09-24T12:42:16.893+01:00Books by Richard Handy<h2 style="text-align: left;"> Books by Members: Richard Handy</h2><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e;"><i><b>The Reich Device</b></i> and </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e;"><i><b>The Wolfsberg Deception</b></i> are fast-action spy thrillers </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e;">set during WWII </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e;">with a web of deception that will keep you guessing every step of the way.</span></span></div><div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you love the Jack Reacher novels, then you’ll like our hero, Danny Nash of the British Secret Intelligence Service. Nash is a loner who tends to hide his feelings, but is resourceful, tenacious and as tough as they come.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Richard's expert knowledge on the dangers of new technology and well researched history brings a realism to fiction that is hard to beat.</span></span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(12, 13, 12); color: #0c0d0c; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Reich-Device-Richard-Handy-ebook/dp/B0BQ1JDYH4/ref=sr_1_2?crid=1TKG3P4UFHRSX&keywords=richard+handy&qid=1695553829&s=books&sprefix=richard+handy%2Cstripbooks%2C89&sr=1-2" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="291" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixXtqNndouI_3fjGt4m9qVlIbl058pB8PttnHvmrm5n68oQnHvEjaCN4AvikCK_kj0My0WqXNMkpIUb-GvaSNoaEPGL42NPTMbJHOz560vFhzoB6fw0wrFCklU6_hCcGdkAMTyIaLzTIA7J6NhYQo73gkuIssKbHXeiMDpX5L_61Fo3wi6rBO-ee0fMIk/s320/reichdev.jpg" width="200" /></a></span><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><b>Leipzig, May 1933, Professor Gustav Mayer makes a monumental discovery, but a new menace rises in Germany …</b></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(12, 13, 12); color: #0c0d0c; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mayer is hunted by ruthless killers from the newly formed SS, with only his conscience and a mysterious agent, Major Danny Nash of the British Secret Intelligence to protect him. Mayer is captured and forced to work on the fledgling V1 rocket programme, but Germany has greater ambitions. The brutal Commandant Kessler knows Mayer is hiding something.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nash has a stark choice: save Mayer or protect the world from a devastating new technology. A trail of espionage leads from Berlin to New York, Cairo, and then South Africa. German spies are trading gold for clandestine favours in Cape Town. But what does this have to do with big American corporations and V1 rockets?</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nash is running out of options. A showdown in the swamp-forests of Zululand gives Germany the upper hand. But the game is not over until the last man is standing – assassins on both sides have men to kill.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Wolfsberg-Deception-Richard-Handy-ebook/dp/B0878WLG16/ref=sr_1_3?crid=1TKG3P4UFHRSX&keywords=richard+handy&qid=1695553829&s=books&sprefix=richard+handy%2Cstripbooks%2C89&sr=1-3" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkjRLK8x0q4mW6GSU7ngTSC-YNxuM32mmXkbaH1h32MbdIvYmXpFXP4DSv_buuYVer8xf7gsZqk7zV2fGN22FUTxR4YuT3_JGcHpi_eNSXf3Gh661mrg9aLoYf4sMTx0Xhv6qO3y1XYGcXtLFHma7TnFG9wEu4oFCfyKF5bdwZUnPw86ZZ8J-2haoXAe0/s320/wolfsberg.jpg" width="192" /></span></a></div><div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">I<b>t’s 1941. Major Danny Nash of British Intelligence has just sabotaged a supply train to Wolfsberg, a top secret Nazi weapons facility. But now it seems Germany has a new agenda.</b></span><b><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></b></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There’s a clandestine meeting between Nazi industrialists and the Soviets in Iran. Deadly secrets are about to change hands. A Russian spy of the old guard offers Nash a way in, but there’s a catch – he must send Emily Sinclair, daughter of the head of British Intelligence.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nash follows her to the deserts of Iran. A brutal SS officer hires a Persian assassin from an ancient order of swordsmen. Emily is in danger from the present and her past. Can the old Soviet be trusted?</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It all looks like a double cross. If Nash wants her back, he’ll have to take her, but the price could be the annihilation of Britain …</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is the second Danny Nash novel by the internationally respected scientist, and author, Richard Handy. </span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Loyalty and Lunacy </i></b>takes a break from WWII and takes us back further...</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Loyalty-Lunacy-Richard-Handy/dp/1916149987/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1TKG3P4UFHRSX&keywords=richard+handy&qid=1695553829&s=books&sprefix=richard+handy%2Cstripbooks%2C89&sr=1-1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="302" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_O5As8r286lNRjnYqPwmlv-3dveWSoDpi94ozH0re63uv7kV5edWCgRwlYPsDRK-fs37mGh9oHxJlEoNKAdLvyEZElnoI601GMPBgN3CWqJQxd61QTgvPcAJHlm8UyVn1ioWdUKNLZ185u82rPtZlV6VC4PGRoUjSiK9aFOky7WC2Es68AuWFe21gJNk/s320/loyaltylunacy.jpg" width="207" /></span></a></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">A remarkable story of love, honour and sacrifice in the face of wickedness. Sometimes we tolerate the intolerable and come out stronger on the other side …</span></b></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s 1913. Gertrude is a young scullery maid on the country estate of Sir Cuthbert Ackroyd and she dreams of a better life with her love, John Anderson. But she owes a debt of honour – no thanks to Master Davy Christian, a drunken aristocrat and psychopathic malcontent.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Davy lusts after Gertrude and uses the class divide to hide his wickedness, but there’s a fracas in the barn and Davy is sent away. He returns as an officer in the British Army, and with war looming, Davy plans the demise of John, and everyone and everything that she holds dear.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">John and Gertrude’s worlds soon spiral into madness, but if they can hold true to each other, and keep a solemn promise, they might just survive …</span></span></p></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-27043225420006373042023-09-13T20:51:00.002+01:002023-09-13T20:51:41.861+01:00The Thursday Book Club<h2 style="text-align: center;"> The Thursday<br /> Book Club on Phonic FM</h2><h2 style="text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvEM6HzusfOhtd9C9RDZa3cJmHgIHjtr2e8U-eHFlKGAFVn8F-ea-SzE-jwoxbjvBNP8rDRB1GEsVo-FM2PYluAIUSEKojpMfTZPm2fTq4sHxnLukqtlXs6ylg4hlchX-Y7KscGFOUeVprRdTxCqL1ehgBFRb_ktl_TONhSbLMsWDVWoAsUxJmR89_5SA/s1859/thurs%20book%20club.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1859" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvEM6HzusfOhtd9C9RDZa3cJmHgIHjtr2e8U-eHFlKGAFVn8F-ea-SzE-jwoxbjvBNP8rDRB1GEsVo-FM2PYluAIUSEKojpMfTZPm2fTq4sHxnLukqtlXs6ylg4hlchX-Y7KscGFOUeVprRdTxCqL1ehgBFRb_ktl_TONhSbLMsWDVWoAsUxJmR89_5SA/w640-h237/thurs%20book%20club.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div></h2><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Join host, Jonathan Posner and various members of Exeter Writers on the 3rd Thursday of every month as we talk books on phonic FM radio!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The very first episode is next Thursday, 21st September, from 2-3pm and Jonathan will be joined by Angie Wooldridge and Cathie Hartigan.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">You can tune in on 106.8 FM or digital radio, and don't forget to visit the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61550712190499">facebook page</a> and have your say too!</span></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-66997338582254065922023-08-31T17:47:00.003+01:002023-08-31T17:53:07.591+01:00Books by Elizabeth Ducie<h2 style="text-align: left;"> Books by Members: Elizabeth Ducie</h2><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Elizabeth Ducie is one of our most prolific writers. She is currently working on novel number 7 and Short Story collection number 6.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Her Author Business Foundation books, <i><b>The Business of Writing parts 1 to 6</b></i>, bring business skills to writers in easy to follow chunks.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Business-Writing-Part-Start-Up-ebook/dp/B07B68KVDF?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="437" data-original-width="1619" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivj1jallZB4wIyj2rani8KQtw9-c3dBpW2LkOWGNcHQadWAyJ33C6jc8NRhFRf2HwpvGz1zgDM-bl6OgUZsrOxsmLAi_16MrmyZBqMgSio2V8MZr6Nawt9Ls4xc1ZxbR_eMLdxUpXuBVpOX-vQw0o92BnO5-Y3_ITdOKK0QyA8cYoGx0PhyRi0PbLsqm0/w640-h173/Kate%20BOW.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Moving on to fiction, her <i><b>Jones Sisters</b></i> thrillers follow her heroines into the sometimes murky world of international pharmaceuticals.<br /></span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Counterfeit-Suzanne-Jones-Book-1-ebook/dp/B01GV22AY4?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="191" data-original-width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcr1s66hoZ8xxAZRxT31NgJiYjbiGSEfr-Dlz_n8fhyiPyy8ijsJyMFVlaRbWNeE18kz9Csd_cgt5IMRvBUYZQK6zcrXXYdNq50UiqQkaizGQfApPSK-XeCvcp6M9vQUiVsqJmI4uLnD2SIfkjGNoC-7azmALM8kj4IT58YgMsniIe-oHUrtALQYC-WPc/s16000/Kate%20Jones%20Sisters.png" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Meanwhile the <i><b>Coombesford Chronicles</b></i> are cosy mysteries set in a typical English village with the addition of associated short stories in the <i><b>Coombesford Calendars</b></i> for those who can't get enough!</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Murder-Mountjoy-Manor-Coombesford-Chronicles-ebook/dp/B09DT2VQJT?ref_=ast_author_dp"><img border="0" data-original-height="446" data-original-width="1437" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wz_JZ6VyKQGm0MbHL40yTHNl99ml_1k1EO4SpC9eadF06FmZAv3fFOnv27-BsQDX6B0NfaUpaSNijNshIbHbET5_0JXM_dt7MJM8Q28pgqxh2PMOdMkk4Dw4CnmKcYPvsQNbN4CmMv7uMliyoykm-KIUubIIvrGjZzj8b9D0xRLbD5oC5SSehFBe4GA/w640-h198/Kate%20Coombesford.png" width="640" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Elizabeth's first novel, <i><b>Gorgito's Ice Rink</b></i>, was runner-up in the Self-Published book of the year awards in 2015.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Gorgitos-Ice-Rink-Elizabeth-Ducie-ebook/dp/B00NXS2LC6?ref_=ast_author_dp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="326" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgju2AF59TcE2idoMka3WT_wmqB6NZi7EapuMHaDI-UpBoeX0XjpEZZ2K7D6D2trWWVJwQvxKK70YC-9s17bajD60Ssb3zIn7WR9Frr--e6K2TvMSP6hXMqRn7tMd04Z17py3BY5GeCKiDArOs3egjGDOBIZ4D3qK26D38wOt2C1g1duYvA08FgY2ccjFM/w131-h200/Gorgito.jpeg" width="131" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">All Elizabeth's books and her short story collections can be found on her<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Elizabeth-Ducie/author/B0080DIL8M?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true"> Amazon page</a>.</span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-36959285625762873562023-08-06T13:38:00.001+01:002023-08-06T13:38:17.084+01:00Books by Su Bristow<h2 style="text-align: left;"> Books by Members: Su Bristow</h2><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="a-text-bold" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif;">Su</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif;"> won the Exeter Novel Prize for </span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-style: italic !important;">Sealskin</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif;"> in 2013. A consultant medical herbalist by day, she is also the author of several short stories, as well as two books on herbal medicine and the co-author of two on relationship skills.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01MSUB9W6/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i0" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="208" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2dVOswocE5bF_7aME1QJ3hEzTIVnLBHsXZxUl76CfaawPoxgyCey3JPgggX68PETcedh8zg6Hq_ihXJ2Qjvfgs_lV6ELnRrm54SrHShMJDn9d6vGGBhpCrPyjIqXEnb6CLJZA0dzlTBq0yM7Mb-ON8XPfl-B6NqR4tYn0-H82HgDqZCchbhxZFBKACH4/w208-h320/Sealskin.jpg" width="208" /></a></div><div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 14px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">What happens when magic collides with reality?</span></b></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 14px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Donald is a young fisherman, eking out a lonely living on the west coast of Scotland. One night he witnesses something miraculous … and makes a terrible mistake. His action changes lives – not only his own, but those of his family and the entire tightly knit community in which they live. Can he ever atone for the wrong he has done, and can love grow when its foundation is violence?</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 14px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Based on the legend of the selkies – seals who can transform into people –Sealskin is a magical story, evoking the harsh beauty of the landscape, the resilience of its people, both human and animal, and the triumph of hope over fear and prejudice. With exquisite grace, Exeter Novel Prize-winner Su Bristow transports us to a different world, subtly and beautifully exploring what it means to be an outsider, and our innate capacity for forgiveness and acceptance.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 14px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Rich with myth and magic, <i>Sealskin</i> is, nonetheless, a very human story, as relevant to our world as to the timeless place in which it is set. And it is, quite simply, unforgettable.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 14px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 14px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/1906239770/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i2" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="309" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidI4oHLx-T7zVJJTPZlzNM9VmO6-88twajO329MDTJfqOefbZf6bARRkvZbQTkPG1Qe9tB_Ywb66bz7FMLH0p7SyuPUT4D9HRlwGs1I6XFzp-QbsI8LOTogDd2VpqSwnxwvIPMKFtktyGDobGwIkJ6r_Ur-SFOCRoP-BqnMgAD_G9LB7RVTGeXEn3xRNc/s320/Su%20herbs1.jpg" width="238" /></a></span></div><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This excellent guide is divided into two sections. The first section looks at what herbs are, where you will find them and how they can be used – in medicine, cookery, aromatherapy and gardening. It explains which parts of the herbs are used, and how to cultivate, collect and store them. </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The second part is a directory of 100 of the most widely-used herbs. It gives details on parts used, where they grow, cultivation, usage and appearance. The Herb Handbook is a comprehensive guide to herbs and their usage, and will prove an excellent introduction for beginners, as well as a useful reference work for more experienced herbalists</span></span></p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 14px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 14px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 14px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0517164027/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i3" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="394" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvRbIqvtfJj4PRQ6vQbLZlDUBwnd9zW81JYa9PQqdcFuB0bs6CHMNz9DH0RiKf8Uj3poe45S5dsaFQHpawSE12CHaNWwcaZK3cLCl8NExQ6RLY2-LxsPGzjdIKJeBFzU64cR9aMGDdRnRWLSVaiB5IjlKgZDlkcCQMiTyzZ8aXauhruUN9PcLks5Ss0A/s320/Su%20herbs2.jpg" width="265" /></a></span></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A simple, straightforward approach to herbal medicine, this fully illustrated volume features handy sections organized both by illness or body trouble and by herb. The herb directory has 35 herbs and explains the effects of each, including how it works, what to use it for, and cautions against certain uses. This clear guide discusses how herbs can be a part of health maintenance as medicines and nutrients, and how they have been helping people overcome physical and emotional aches and pains for centuries.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00KVLYBCG/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeAkiVZfQzdE8324FYYsOHjOZM6M6N133NlzG0rGr94KYYOke1UsT1aSWUp6ccFk2y1Tld5PG1D_rR8LEhgKSSmu6ahgVvT2A-ixJWciTHyR0spQX4BAnWMxdUZl7WRfzkiYeQrF7wWMOjiZJV7lCDxJ8c3jO1Qvf0UhNKqVSv8trUpjKjxQF5d1QTHzM/s320/Sulove.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>In these difficult and challenging times we are asking more from our relationships than ever before. To build strong, lasting relationships, we need a new set of skills. </span><i>Falling in Love, Staying in Love</i><span> is a powerful and moving examination of relationships and how to make them work. Using real-life examples, it explores love's uncharted territory in order to help us find our way into successful intimate relationships. Learn how to: Express your emotions; Improve your self-esteem; Develop your sexuality; Manage and resolve conflict; Live with passion and integrity; Use relationships as a tool for transformation and growth.</span></span><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/074991646X/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i4" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="309" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij_AFHvtfAZJdUAcBIuo8V3cgZin_YzQW9SrkHDh3KgcB2quKQAYf4zMMdjP79EQYysoeQ4AkFJeRUDmLDLiV2dLQZBTemxign1MvKCdKw0fKBekMUJNqxMJOyHSbdLw6Oan3wdCSL8adNUzaZme-dNkjmpz8ll9Z0_VQVwXZLXqSBm3t4o0NqscVKl4s/s320/Sulove2.jpg" width="198" /></a></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(13, 14, 14); background-color: white; color: #0d0e0e; font-family: Arial; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;">An examination of relationships and what makes them so difficult - and so essential to our happiness. It looks at how the old models of relationship which we observed in our parents no longer exist, and shows how we can create new models to meet the challenges and expectations of today.</span></span></p></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-82362288535222265852023-07-28T10:48:00.004+01:002023-07-28T11:05:33.019+01:00Summer giveaway<p> </p><h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"> Anthology Giveaway!</span></h2><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We've been having a tidy at EW HQ before we stop for the summer break and stumbled across some copies of our old anthologies, so we decided to stage a summer giveaway! Each title is just £2.50 to cover P&P. (Sorry, offer applies in UK only.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">If you'd like to take advantage of over 50 short stories, plays and poems, here's your chance...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI0XbosH5kGtHEZ3mebocTTVJuYHNfxYezKP-jh-LW0pPcrl4w1ysp10JWG42Cz_hQBtc6Q-5txjt4hbs7t8O6O2JvtmU2lfyWU5DX4WFJtzrQpijlfUzMzAEK4CQ40p2oSMZYynFEh-36d2pOy-8n85aC-tDGSGHeMu0cZXpEtqTe0iqC8CcjCDznncs/s3611/Birdman.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3611" data-original-width="2468" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI0XbosH5kGtHEZ3mebocTTVJuYHNfxYezKP-jh-LW0pPcrl4w1ysp10JWG42Cz_hQBtc6Q-5txjt4hbs7t8O6O2JvtmU2lfyWU5DX4WFJtzrQpijlfUzMzAEK4CQ40p2oSMZYynFEh-36d2pOy-8n85aC-tDGSGHeMu0cZXpEtqTe0iqC8CcjCDznncs/w155-h226/Birdman.jpg" width="155" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1sZLxI9EdCcnzRwPMs2lptOieLO7YHHlh93onmeTBr_tYfyzuHtjKGG3GfL3vJx8GlYBaXVCLiemzqQq13_MAljJW1C6AyLAIOkQYxp4459fdWrdxamngm-D0O8gYvHjwWQsLlf_bkIyjTgAHMfrLzd1KbNJGuHhwbt64N1Z-qoxiekiNKW09jq5cYw/s228/coastal%20zoo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="228" data-original-width="157" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1sZLxI9EdCcnzRwPMs2lptOieLO7YHHlh93onmeTBr_tYfyzuHtjKGG3GfL3vJx8GlYBaXVCLiemzqQq13_MAljJW1C6AyLAIOkQYxp4459fdWrdxamngm-D0O8gYvHjwWQsLlf_bkIyjTgAHMfrLzd1KbNJGuHhwbt64N1Z-qoxiekiNKW09jq5cYw/w156-h226/coastal%20zoo.jpg" width="156" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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</form>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-44734915489152996462023-07-23T18:32:00.001+01:002023-07-23T18:32:45.270+01:00Books by Dianne Bown-Wilson <h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> Books by Members: Dianne Bown-Wilson</span></h2><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dianne specialises in short stories. If you want to study the sort of stories that win competitions then you can't go wrong by checking out these.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51U5xvpDQOL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="368" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTTlXey2oF4cIV__v1IVVlVUndb0mfK0_UFj6RLWcm5ZPsnWFzmCkpzC-sMIC7M0suRaIwa453oCy2evhx26iFyUET4TJ6igRP6kJRjwZRaHqY1OeDgOJ8oXQPoXrdoN9WntUHb8JPfxyP_yzbtUFIB1cKo9v7b5vYpe0CFVAG9YDOF6lo-FyThRQHREM/w198-h320/Instructions%20for%20living%20front%20low%20resolution.jpg" title="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51U5xvpDQOL.jpg" width="198" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">All of the thirty-two short stories in this new collection have won awards or been short- or long-listed in creative writing competitions.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111;">Their subject matter is eclectic and their themes wide-ranging generating a brilliant treasure chest of scenarios: a young woman falls in love with a stuffed polar bear, an old man faces losing his lifelong companion, a decades old unsolved crime rears up, a boy suddenly finds out he can walk on water …</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1111;">With a cast of colourful characters that encompasses the tentative young and the resilient old, those who are seeking love and those who have lost it, these are tales of resilience, joy, hope and sorrow - and plenty more."</span></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/51Tnjk1GB0L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="417" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1zDCf6hwldZopkF1VKXAbDdK2VgliVS_P6GxPF69mQdQ7z2DHLuC94GiRBzsrfDd2fiWMcIoLMzoWKy2qzuer5GO0nEg1z3ZywDmNqnrzjxP9iopWrokAMIiwnhE5e4SbJKZ4dCpPS_d1MUfiJZIy2UyZFDUH4cAXDZEn8O0Uh7e-vitCRA7_hrzoBg/s320/Degrees%20of%20Exposure%20front%20cover%20rev%20small.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111;">"A young man is seduced by a knitting sorceress. A couple weekending in Copenhagen bond through an unexpected donation of wedding cake. An old ex-mercenary, cut off by floodwaters, finds himself transformed into James Bond. Two worlds collide in an out-of-town retail park as a middle-aged woman helps two asylum seekers in their quest for a better life…<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />In this new collection of thirty-three contemporary short stories, readers are invited to dip into different worlds, walking hand-in-hand with an eclectic and colourful range of characters as they deal with love, hope, joy, disappointment, and loss. All the featured stories have either won prizes or been short- or long-listed in international creative writing competitions."<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Praise from judges:<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-style: italic !important;">‘Moving and Inspirational’</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111;"> - Writers Forum: </span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-style: italic !important;">(That) Hollow Place</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-style: italic !important;">‘Wonderfully imaginative’</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111;"> - Yeovil Literary Prize: </span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-style: italic !important;">Seesaw of Isolation</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-style: italic !important;">‘Someone with a magical way with writing’</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111;"> - Writing Magazine: </span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-style: italic !important;">Stitched Up</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-style: italic !important;">‘Beautifully paced’</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111;"> - Dahlia Press:</span><span class="a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-style: italic !important;"> Nighthawks</span></span></span></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-55582293744681324292023-06-22T13:00:00.000+01:002023-06-22T13:00:50.711+01:00Interview with the 2023 3rd Prize Winner - Jane Miles<h1 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> Meet the Winners!</span></h1><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieza1tmW2yiWqu-1NXhka9tMY5UOGI6buFHcnMlinSPUqFRADWVT7-Lz5R7-wKDXDUbHKC5bqTXvU7mVVUTIW_m47EWL1uc53Sy33fDxtRMS73E-vz8d5GJeCBiR694CtMKzkxDTwhxzzH63rr130HUUOcXySKOHWat7FIF6sMEPAhlibiAd9rup53/s2480/Jane_Miles.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2480" data-original-width="1860" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieza1tmW2yiWqu-1NXhka9tMY5UOGI6buFHcnMlinSPUqFRADWVT7-Lz5R7-wKDXDUbHKC5bqTXvU7mVVUTIW_m47EWL1uc53Sy33fDxtRMS73E-vz8d5GJeCBiR694CtMKzkxDTwhxzzH63rr130HUUOcXySKOHWat7FIF6sMEPAhlibiAd9rup53/s320/Jane_Miles.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>The winner of our 3rd prize is Jane R Miles with her story,<i> The Curfew</i>.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;">Jane grew up in the suburbs of Perth, Western Australia. At twenty, she joined the Navy and travelled the world. Since coming ashore, she’s kept the lights on by working countless top-secret office jobs. She wrote her first novel after reconnecting with her love of writing during the Melbourne lockdowns. Jane now lives in the Netherlands, with her partner and their Australian cat. She is currently working on a very dark psychological thriller.</span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We were intrigued to hear more about her inspiration for the story...<br /><br /></span></span><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> <br /></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>How did you feel when you found out that you'd won?</b></span></span></h3><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I couldn’t help but feel relieved, only because it validates all those lonely hours at the keyboard! It’s a wonderful thing to have someone appreciate a story, and because of that, I am forever grateful to Exeter Writers.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> <br /></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Where did you get the idea?</b></span></span></h3><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A difficult question, and one that I’ve given a lot of thought. Like many others, I spent the pandemic confined and subject to strict restrictions. For me, an inconvenience, freedom for some, and others still, it was life and death. Everyone has a story about that time, and it almost always centres around control or the lack thereof. With <i>The Curfew</i>, I was trying to explore the idea that power is not always a wielded sword. If people are the sum of their experiences and the outcome of how the world chooses to see them, then their reactions to control also differs. Like the various ways people responded during the pandemic, taking or losing power is complex and the outcome dependent on the individual. This all sounds very thoughtful, but, at the time, it didn't seem to have any real starting place. It's only now that I can see how it all began.<br /></span></span><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> <br /></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">What is your writing process? Pen and paper or straight to screen? Do you have a routine?</span></b></span></h3><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I prefer to plan for longer forms, but with a shorter piece, I like to be freer with my process. Usually, I’ll think of a situation or a theme. Later, I’ll think about the scene boundary. One or two characters is enough, anymore and it becomes too complicated. Most times I don’t know the ending until I’m halfway through, then I’ll rework the beginning to mirror the finish. It seems simple, but the devil is in the detail and, of course, the right point of view. Luckily, with shorter forms, it’s easier to rewrite the story a few (dozen) times to see all the angles.<br /></span></span><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> <br /></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="s2" style="background-color: white; font-kerning: none;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">How would you sum up your story in a sentence or 2?</span></b></span></h3><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After her parents' murder, a teen girl becomes the face of the curfew, a new law that keeps men inside at night. When her teacher asks her to debate the curfew's validity, the teen must make a choice: either shy away or lean into a role she never wanted.</span></span></div></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Thank you Jane. If you haven't read Jane's story yet you can <a href="https://www.exeterwriters.org.uk/2023/06/read-3rd-prize-winner-curfew-by-jane.html">find it here!</a></span></span></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-9202361128505192372023-06-18T11:25:00.002+01:002023-06-21T16:16:02.575+01:00Interview with 2023 2nd Prize Winner - Kathleen Conlon<h1><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Meet the Winners!</span></h1><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QpmeNbU67lv3wlX80KY6ki7N0L-DfFO78NvzBBVShC4Gk31SQJUcMlF5grH7Tr2T9GnL_ANxMzwOAg-ywud9DaEOeFV4WB7FCqqv_LkFksh0ZP--cke2d3W6l1fnfjYg169vnybKxtJlqjgbvYOQeD9V2DqkaA9Tgg_UzH2tnnXmzpERX0s1M2d8/s884/KateConlon2.jpg.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="884" data-original-width="753" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3QpmeNbU67lv3wlX80KY6ki7N0L-DfFO78NvzBBVShC4Gk31SQJUcMlF5grH7Tr2T9GnL_ANxMzwOAg-ywud9DaEOeFV4WB7FCqqv_LkFksh0ZP--cke2d3W6l1fnfjYg169vnybKxtJlqjgbvYOQeD9V2DqkaA9Tgg_UzH2tnnXmzpERX0s1M2d8/s320/KateConlon2.jpg.png" width="273" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Winner of our 2nd prize was Kathleen Conlon with her story, </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">A Lease of Life.</i></div></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;">We were intrigued to find out more about Kathleen's writing...</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"><br /></span></span></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="color: #222222;">Where did you get the idea?</span></span></span></h3><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit;">It was sparked by a real incident: a flat tyre on a lonely road in Umbria. Sadly no one came to our aid and the rest of the story is pure fiction.</span></span></div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><h3 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Do you have any writing heroes or favourite authors?</span></h3><div style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">With regard to short stories: Chekhov, William Trevor, Jean Rhys, Alice Munro. I worship at their feet - or I would do if three pairs of those feet were not now pushing up the daisies.</span></span></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><h3 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">How long have you been writing? Is this your first win?</span></h3><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">More years than I care to remember. I've entered very few competitions, the best result was being short-listed (a long short list before it was whittled down to the short short list) for the BBC short story comp a few years ago.</span></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><h3 style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #222222;">What is your writing process? Pen and paper or straight to screen? Do you have a routine?</span></span></h3><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><div style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span>Pen and p</span></span><span>aper first always, which suits the gradual pace of both my mental processes and my handwriting, because I type faster than I think.</span></span></div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><br /></p><h3 style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Do you have any advice for other short story writers?</span></h3><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Cut, cut and cut again.</span></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><h3 style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Do you have any other stories published elsewhere that our readers can check out?</span></h3><div><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-kerning: none; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I've h</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-family: inherit;">ad stories published in the Woman's Journal, Cosmopolitan, The Atlantic Review and the Woman's Weekly Fiction Special (before it folded), among other publications.</span></span></div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 11px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">My first novel, the first of fourteen, was published when I was twenty-five, more than fifty years ago (all out of print but available on Amazon and other reputable bookselling sites). Most writers seem to start with short stories and then move on to novels. I did it the other way round and have probably produced around a hundred since.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Thank you Kathleen. If you haven't read Kathleen's story yet, you can <a href="https://www.exeterwriters.org.uk/2023/06/read-2nd-prize-winner-2023-lease-of.html">read it here!</a></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(26, 26, 26); background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-14892282700652692672023-06-13T16:30:00.001+01:002023-06-21T16:16:20.575+01:00Interview with 2023 1st prize winner, Abigail Williams<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><h1 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-large;">Meet the Winners!</span></h1><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2K5yAKjZrfnXtFWFVbQYwdNeyOb-9NjsKg7c19mcuW5pGIz05F2nABwOxlKljHydPAMbF5vDDoCfQJ1WZoz6nmkkMsWHrmTaL9pPdgKaLzz8A_BNBsEpInqWka3f3EerGjS2ycy8ObaELuk2uVgL9U-PBIADUzgbVpxNkzYc_asEQE28ym2IIGIh/s320/AbbyW.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2K5yAKjZrfnXtFWFVbQYwdNeyOb-9NjsKg7c19mcuW5pGIz05F2nABwOxlKljHydPAMbF5vDDoCfQJ1WZoz6nmkkMsWHrmTaL9pPdgKaLzz8A_BNBsEpInqWka3f3EerGjS2ycy8ObaELuk2uVgL9U-PBIADUzgbVpxNkzYc_asEQE28ym2IIGIh/s1600/AbbyW.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">The winner of this year's 1st prize was Abigail Williams with her story, </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Dancing the Dead Leaf Charleston</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />Abigail lives in Totnes in Devon with her husband, three children and one wayward dog. She spent twenty years working for a Yorkshire-based creative agency and is now, between juggling family and part-time copywriting work, in the process of completing her first novel. We were dead keen to ask her a few questions...</span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></h3><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">How did you feel when you found out that you'd won?</span></span></h3><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Elated! And then concerned that there might have been a mistake... and then grateful. Writing is such a fickle, subjective business. Sometimes judges and readers see value in stories that we aren't sure of, and sometimes we have a story that we believe in and no one else does and it's impossible to understand why. For every prize that anyone wins, there will have been dozens of rejections or close calls, so to all the other listees and to everyone who entered the competition with a story that they believed in, congratulations. I'm very aware that on a different day, someone else would have won First Prize and I feel incredibly grateful that today it was mine. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Where did you get the idea?</span></span></h3><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I got the idea for my story from a writing prompt for a different competition in which I was allocated the historical period '1920s'. My initial thoughts went to tassled flappers and tommy guns (of course) but then I was thinking about the amount of social change that there was in the '20s. So many people would have been grieving the loss of children from the Great War and Spanish Influenza and it must have been incredibly hard, wading through those murky depths of grief, to have found the will to move with the times. I think that children are often our link to modernity, and if that link is cut, what then? But I am making a concerted effort to put more happiness in my stories so I wanted to give my lady the beginnings of a happy ending. </span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><b>How long have you been writing? Is this your first win?</b></span></span></h3><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I wrote lots as a child and I've been writing for work purposes for twenty years. I started my MA in Creative Writing at the University of Exeter in September 2020. In January 2022 I started trying to be more productive and competitions are a good focus for me. It is my aim to write novels and I'm slogging away at the moment on a second draft of a novel set in 1940s Paris. But I find flash fiction (stories between 300-1000 words) ridiculously seductive – the possibility of crafting a little golden nugget is tantalising when viewed next to the juddering blancmange that is my book. I have been lucky enough to win a few prizes, including the Flash 500, and I was delighted to place third in both the Bath Flash Fiction and Oxford Flash Fiction prizes.</span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><b>Do you have any advice for other short story writers?</b></span></span></h3><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Hmmm. I try to give a piece time to breathe. Something that feels exquisite the moment it is completed rarely is when you come back a second, fourth or tenth time. Then I would say write a story you would want to read because, hopefully, people will. Think carefully about where you're sending the story, read previous winners, think about whether that particular story is right for that readership. And finally I try to cut at least 25% from a story and it always makes it sharper and more engaging. If you can, enjoy the process. If you can't, I find cake helps. </span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Have you taken any courses in creative writing, and if so are there any that you'd recommend?</span></span></b></h3><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Yes! I love courses. My family thinks I'm bonkers because I never stop signing up for them, but every single time I do I come away with something new. Doing an MA was critical for me. It was a big investment and that meant that I carved out the time I needed to do it properly. The regular feedback over the course of the degree really helped build my confidence that perhaps I can write a bit, and getting a Distinction felt fabulous. I recently completed Imogen Hermes Gowar's 'Writing the Past' course (she wrote <i>The Mermaid and Mrs Hancock</i> – brilliant – find her on twitter @girl_hermes) and, again, the feedback and the ability to meet other likeminded writers has been fantastic. Writing can be lonely and your confidence can take a battering when things don't go well. I find the contact that courses provide to be really important. </span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><b>Where did you hear about our competition and what made you enter it?</b></span></span></h3><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">You're my local competition! I live in Totnes in Devon so anything South West-y feels like home. (I do also claim anything in the north because I'm from Leeds originally, and anything in Wales because that's where my husband's from...) And of course avarice: a big prize pot is a lure to a jobbing writer. I did enter a couple of years ago before I did my degree and had no luck, so I'm absolutely delighted that this story resonated. Thank you for choosing it. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13.3px;"> </span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13.3px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Thank you, Abigail. If you haven't read Abigail's story yet, you can <a href="https://www.exeterwriters.org.uk/2023/06/read-1st-prize-winner-2023-dancing-dead.html">find it here</a>.</span></span></span></div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></span></p>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-14235281818487739902023-06-10T11:52:00.000+01:002023-06-10T11:52:03.618+01:00Update on the Devon Prize<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Devon Prize 2023</h2><div><br /></div><div><div style="background-color: white; color: #500050; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"> As you know, we normally award a Devon Prize as well as first, second and third. This goes to the best rated story from a Devon writer, excluding the top three, and is always chosen from the shortlist. On this occasion, the only Devon entry was the overall winner and therefore we decided not to award a Devon Prize. (The result notice on the website mentioned the longlist, but that was an error. It should have read shortlist. This error has now been corrected.)</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #500050; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">This is a unique situation for us, and not covered under our rules. However, it was pointed out that there were three Devon writers featured on the longlist, the one that went on to be the winner plus two more. Having reviewed both stories once again, we have decided to award the Devon Prize jointly to the two writers.</span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #500050; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #500050; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Congratulations to</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #500050; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #500050; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #222222;">Jass Tabriz - </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times;">For all the caged & warm birds </span></b></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #500050; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #500050; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times;">and</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #500050; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #500050; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #222222; font-family: Times; font-size: 32px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Jenny Giel - My Sister and the Bird Boy</b></span></span></span></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-79257540654968880132023-06-05T13:49:00.001+01:002023-06-21T16:17:15.123+01:00Read the 3rd Prize Winner - The Curfew by Jane Miles<h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"> The Curfew </span></h2><h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">by </span></h2><h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Jane Miles</span></h2><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The debate topic: The curfew should continue indefinitely.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Mr. Argyle underlines his cursive on the whiteboard and then travels between the rows to assign each of us a viewpoint. Some of the girls in the back of the class squeal, others groan. The affirmatives won last month when they argued that genetically modified crops were good for people even if they destroyed the environment. Now, everyone thinks the assenting stance is lucky.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>I’m confident as I wait my turn. There’s only one approach I can take, even if Mr. Argyle thinks the opposing view is more creative than the affirmative. Everyone knows that I’m the catalyst and that I’m different.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Mr. Argyle pauses briefly as he nears my desk. His showy pants swish when he stops to fish a scrap of paper from the top-hat used in last year’s play. Solemnly, he drops a ball of paper to me and moves on before I unwrap it.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Opposing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>It matches the same distinctive loops on the whiteboard. My first thought is to ask for another, but I don't. I just stare at the word. The bell for next period sounds, and I scrunch the paper into my pocket. He looks away when I frown at him, and it crosses my mind that he knows what he’s given me. If he does, he must know what he's asking of me. How could he not?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">*</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">My first chance to speak to Mr. Argyle about the debate is third period English. I ask him if he’s made a mistake while the rest of the class read. His lasered upper lip slinks high under his nose, but he puts his phone away.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“It’s not a mistake.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>I keep my eyes down. “But with everything…” The words hang for a second too long. “I just don’t think I can debate against the curfew. I-It’s not right.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> <span> </span>“Remember, to never state an outcome backed only by an assumption.” He sighs and rubs his eyes. For the first time, he meets my gaze. “Look, I understand your caution, but this is an excellent exercise for everyone. Debating is about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes and backing it up with research. It requires heart, and Joan, you have a lot of that. I can’t think of a fifteen-year-old with more experience in the subject. You can bring something new to all the tired arguments.” He nods to himself. “Research alone won't get you far. Search your heart and inject your own beliefs.” He checks the time on his phone.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“How—”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“That’s your job.” He smiles. “Debates are next week. Go on, get back to your desk.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>I turn away, not sure what else I can say.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>It’s in these moments I wish for my parents’ advice, but it’s been two years since their murder and, in that time, I’ve had to learn to be independent. My teachers don’t like to speak to me because they’re afraid they’ll say something wrong. The male teachers are the most careful. I can only guess what they say about me behind my back. <span> </span>When I go to Gran’s house for the holiday’s, she does her best to shield me from the news, the riots and the violence, but it still filters through. It’s my face on the banners and my parents’ names crossed out in red ink.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Mr. Argyle carries on with the lesson as if he hasn’t asked the impossible of me and I wonder if he’s a radical, one of the anti-curfewists who are trying to stop the revolution. Does he think that humiliating me will achieve something? I’m kept at the boarding school for most of the year, but I know there are people out there who worship my commitment to the curfew. I think about that when Mr. Argyle looks at me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">*</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">At lunch, I slink back to my dorm because I don’t know how to behave around the other girls, and I’ve given up trying to understand them. <span> <span> </span></span>When it started, we were all thirteen. The marches began when men were warned to stay home at night. At first, both men and women went to the protests, then after a while, it was just the men. It was hard for people to adjust to the change in roles. The economy suffered for a while until they recruited more women. My classmates didn’t understand either. They questioned why men had to stay home between sundown and sunrise. Some of them had fathers and brothers who were let go from their jobs. Most had never considered their loved ones as dangerous. They’d never worried about the dark until they were told to be scared.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>On my bed, I stare at a framed portrait of my parents’. Dressed in white, they look lovingly at one another. The photo doesn’t hint at how they would both die or how the world would use their deaths as the trigger for change. It could’ve been any crime before or after that finally tipped the scales towards the curfew. There were countless shootings, assaults, rapes, stabbings, executions, crimes of passion, fire, acid, and all the other innumerable ways men hurt others. So much pain, until nothing else was left. Even the indifferent couldn’t bear to watch the suffering continue. My parents’ murder was the spark, and the reason given to end all violence. A crime so terrible that it woke people up, and when they heard my speech, they had to face what other generations had ignored. It might not have happened if they hadn’t seen my tears, my distress, and my pain at having to relieve it all over again.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>A girl who’s a year younger asks me if I want to talk, and I shake my head. What’s there to say? Life isn’t fair, especially when I should be grateful. I am both safe and the biggest target in the world. It’s a privilege to be in my position. To have a voice when so many others don’t.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>From my pocket I take out the scrap of paper with the one word written on it. How can Mr. Argyle ask me to oppose the curfew? I tear it up and sprinkle the pieces on to the floor.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">*</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The day of the debate and my hands are sweating. They always do when people stare. My body becomes slick and my throat dries. I’ve spent the weekend practising, but I don’t feel ready. The other girls are working together, and I stick out alongside the two groups of six.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“Who’s speaking in the affirmative?” Mr. Argyle asks.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>The group next to me giggle and one girl raises her hand. She’s the leader and although she pretends to be nervous like the others, her eyes are sharp. In a show of solidarity, they all wear a ribbon on their school lapels. Brown, red and yellow. The curfewists wear it to represent the three excretions of the body. Shit, blood, and piss. These are the colours of crime. The reminder stops us from hiding the true nature of violent deaths, or pretending they are anything other than animalistic. The colours come from a description I gave to Parliament on how I found my parents’. How could I know back then that it would become a symbol of a generation?</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Mr. Argyle sits at the back of the class. “Go ahead, Violet.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>The girl with the large white teeth smiles. I can tell that she’s finished pretending to be scared. Her body is solid and forward facing. She doesn’t rock or waver and despite my reluctance, I lean in like the others.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“The curfew should continue indefinitely.” She pauses with confidence. “Fact: two years ago, men contributed to ninety percent of all violent crimes. Fact: before the curfew, ninety-nine percent of all stranger crime occurred at night and by men.” She’s passionate when she speaks. Her hands remain on the lectern, but she exaggerates her expressions. Her nose scrunches, she widens her eyes, and her head tilts out at an angle. All of it is perfect.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“I’m going to argue the affirmative view. The curfew will work past the two-year review period because the statistics support the assertion. My first point….” I follow her finger as it scans the width of the room. “The decision to instigate a curfew did not happen overnight but over five thousand years of documented violence by men, where women and children were the predominate victims. Over the subsequent years more men created laws to discriminate against women, people of colour, disabilities, and sexual orientation. The only demographic not prejudiced in any capacity was the cisgendered man. Never have men had to fear going outside at night because the law, their size and their aggression, protected them.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>I watch Mr. Argyle for a reaction. His pen moves quickly over his notes, but he doesn’t look up. I wonder if he’s one of those men who argues not all men are the same and that most are good. He looks the type, dressed in his kitsch clothing.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“… it’s true. There are many shades to men as there are of women.” Her voice rises in a sign of power. “But good men do not outweigh the terrible crimes of the few. The current curfew has seen a drastic reduction in stranger crime to the historic low of one incident per year. This equates to the prevention of three thousand homicides and one hundred and fifty-five thousand assaults.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“Since the curfew, night life venues that catered to young men have embraced family-friendly activities. Children play in the streets and women can venture out unafraid. We’re not talking about banning men.” She shrugs suggestively. “They need us as much as we need them.” Someone laughs beside me. “Let’s not forget that men can still go out at night if they request a permit or if they’re escorted by a woman. Restricting their ability to move freely has decreased crime in the suburbs, the city’s, public transport, and places serving alcohol. In an ideal world, a curfew is the last resort, but we don't live in a perfect world. History has shown us that curfews were typically used to mute the vulnerable. It’s now time we restrict the predators!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“In conclusion, I have shown that the curfew is a meaningful way to reduce crime and should remain for the foreseeable future. Thank you.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>She curtseys and her team claps. I watch as she shrinks back to size when she re-joins her classmates.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“Thank you, Violet.” Mr. Argyle walks to the front of the class. With deft movements, he strokes his chin. “A well-researched and delivered argument. Although, I think we would’ve benefitted from a personal story or how the curfew has affected your own life. Something that didn’t make us think we were watching a re-run of the news.” He scribbles something in his notebook. “Overall, a solid assertion that supports the motion.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>The group hugs again, and the other team congratulates them.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“We’ve got two factions who will speak for the opposition. Who will go next?”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>It’s posed as a question, but Mr. Argyle looks at me.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“I’ll go,” I whisper. My voice is wobbly, and I can feel the unease sink into my belly. Eyes burn into me as I pass. My skin is already itching from it.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Someone murmurs sharply. “Man-lover.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>I turn to pick the heckler from the crowd, but the sea of crimson uniforms hides them. I don’t want them to think I’m an anti-curfewist or worse, someone who can’t decide. At the lectern, I reorder my cue cards and avoid looking up. I know what they’re wondering. How did she deliver that speech to Parliament when she can’t even talk at a debate? I told the world about my fear and demanded the Government do something. To end violence once and for all. The speech went viral and changed my life forever. More so, then when my parents’ were killed.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“When you’re ready.” Mr. Argyle eyes me with interest.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>I clear my throat. “Ah. T-The curfew should continue indefinitely, and I’ll be arguing the opposing view.” My cards smudge, and I skip to one I can read. “Men are people.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Someone boos.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“I mean, men are violent people. My opponent outlined that fact in her argument. Without men on the streets at night, stranger violence has decreased. But…” My throat feels like it’s closing, and I swallow too loudly. “Violence has increased in the home and in the unrest caused by the rioting. Cyber bullying and trolling has become so widespread that universities are closed to the internet.” I rest my trembling hands on the lectern and discard my notes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“My parents’ loved me. They were normal people until I found them, dead on our driveway.” I say it quickly before the image can form in my mind. “Since then, my life has changed. I still feel danger every day, but now it feels different. It’s not there because of my age or gender, but because of the curfew movement propelling me forward. I’m a teenager, but I’m also the sum of my parents’ murder.” <span> </span>My hair clings to my face. Pulling it free buys me time to collect my thoughts. “I-I didn’t tell the world to make the curfew. When I gave that speech, I didn’t know what would happen afterwards. Does that make me the right person to spearhead this change?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>I know I’m rambling, but I can’t stop. If I can keep going, something inside me will take over, like it did before, and it will all make sense.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“I don’t hate men, but I fear them. I don’t want them locked away, but I can’t think of a way to keep women safe.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Mr. Argyle raises his hand and speaks without waiting for me to nod. “I believe you’re arguing the affirmative.” He sounds disappointed. “Your assignment was to form an argument opposing the curfew. Can you—”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“Let me finish.” I like how he withers when I snap at him and how the other girls smile at me. “Where was I? Oh, yes. I’ve tried to research the opposing viewpoint as objectively as possible, but as you rightly informed me, Mr. Argyle, I have to speak from the heart.” My voice is stronger than I thought possible. I can feel the surge start inside me.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“There’s no evidence that men will stop re-offending if we remove the curfew. In fact, men are still harming but instead of in parks or clubs, it’s in the home and online. My opposing view to the debate topic is that a curfew only pushes the problem into the shadows. If we want to ensure most men are never violent, ever again, we need to introduce genetic screening at conception. We need to eradicate strength, aggression and drive.” I pause for dramatic effect. “We need to eliminate the deficiencies of the Y chromosome.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Mr. Argyle is pale, and his words are lost over the cheers of my classmates.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>I urge them to quieten. “If we were talking about a crop of grain with a susceptibility to mites, we would look inside it and increase its tolerance to pests. We would improve its DNA to ensure it remains nutritious, hardy, and plentiful. So must we look at the male species as incomplete and in need of repair.” I am breathing hard and it's then that I notice the red light of a video camera in the back row. Is it live streaming? I think of the billions that watched my first speech. It wasn’t those people I was speaking to, though. It was always the broken and bloodied faces of my parents’.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“In conclusion, violence is a plague. The curfew doesn’t remove the threat. To do that, we need to take the next step. Control. Modification. Eradication.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Most of the girls cheer. Some look uncomfortable, others are angry. The minority stay quiet.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“You…” Mr. Argyle is sweating, and his hands shake.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>I stare up at him with my best impression of innocence. “Was that your camera, Mr. Argyle?”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>He looks away, but the red hue on his neck is spreading.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>Without being told, I know my speech has left the room. Outside, car horns sound and phones vibrate. My words are travelling around the globe all because of Mr. Argyle’s camera.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“Don’t you understand what you’ve done?” He says to all of us. “You’ve condemned us. We’re not all bad. What do you really know about anything at fifteen?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>I frown when I look up at him. How can he say that? He’s the one who tried to trick me by choosing the debate topic and telling me to speak from the heart. It’s his fault, not mine.</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>His expression softens when he thinks he’s getting through to me. “It’s not too late.”</span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>I’m surrounded by the other girls when I turn back to him.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span> </span>“It’s time you went back to your desk, Mr. Argyle.”</span><br /><br /><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><br /><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-21944854307698356602023-06-03T12:10:00.001+01:002023-06-21T16:17:34.014+01:00Read the 2nd Prize Winner 2023 - A Lease of Life by Kathleen Conlon<h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"> A Lease of Life </span></h2><h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">by </span></h2><h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Kathleen Conlon</span></h2><div><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> It was cool and cloudy when we left England; here in Umbria the heat is so fierce it could render you senseless. Especially if you’re marooned with a flat tyre on a little winding road somewhere off the beaten track between Spoleto and Terni.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Michael has taken the jack from the boot and endeavoured to raise the wheel in order to change it but the jack doesn’t seem to fit, no matter which way he tries to adjust it, and now he’s on the phone to the hire company and I can tell by his reiteration and over-emphasis that he’s talking to someone whose command of English is limited.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> He makes an exasperated noise and ends the call. “They’re going to send out a mechanic,” he says. “I think.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “Did they say how long they’d be?”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> He shakes his head. “He’s got to come from that Acqua-whatever-it’s-called place so it’ll be a while.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> There isn’t a patch of shade to be had. I have no hat and I discovered earlier that I must have left my sunglasses on the table in the trattoria a few miles back where we stopped for lunch. Nor, since we broke down, have we encountered any passing traffic, probably because it’s the Italian equivalent of siesta-time.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “Are you sure you can’t get that jack to work?”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Which is quite the wrong thing to say.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “You have a go,” Michael replies, his tone just this side of belligerent.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I lean against the bonnet of the car, feeling irrationally annoyed that he can’t fix the problem. It’s irrational because I’m fully aware that some problems seem beyond our powers to fix.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Umbria was meant to provide an opportunity to find out if we could recapture something of the compatibility and affection that used to exist between us but, thus far, things aren’t working out that way: by the time we’d acquired the hire car and set out on the road to Spoleto it was pitch dark and we missed the sign post indicating the turn off to the hotel and then, when we located it, discovered that there’d been a mix-up with our booking and, until the next morning when it could be sorted out, we were relegated to a rather utilitarian annexe.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> We'd dragged our cases along a rutted path without exchanging a word and, similarly, prepared for bed. Once upon a time, a sense of humour might have gone some way to lightening the mood, but humour seemed to have deserted us.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I lay down on the bed and I thought that it wasn’t always like this, remembered holidays in the past, holidays which pre-dated four-star luxury, holidays on the cheap: in tents and boats and bed and breakfasts. We’d been happy then. And though those times could never be recaptured, given what had happened since, surely it wasn’t impossible to achieve some sort of harmony, surely what had been broken might be mended?<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> And then I thought about the vase, sole heirloom, handed down to me by my grandmother; not a particularly attractive object but, Michael, discovering its provenance, had had it valued and been pleasantly surprised by what it would be expected to fetch at auction.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">With a young child in the house, we thought we’d put it out of harm’s way, high up on a shelf in the kitchen, but one day Danny was bouncing a ball rather too exuberantly, the ball hit the vase, the vase toppled over and hit the tiled floor and broke into several pieces.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Danny, aware that he shouldn’t have been playing with a ball indoors in the first place, burst into tears. I comforted him, telling him that the vase could be glued together. Seamlessly, I’d thought, but it wasn’t so: the cracks were apparent and maybe it was the wrong sort of glue because eventually it fell apart and was, finally, consigned to the dustbin.</span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I lay on the bed in the rather dingy hotel annexe, feeling very sorry for myself and remembering that irreparable damage and wondering whether Danny had actually been the glue that held Michael and me together, and now that Danny was gone we could not ever be mended.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span></div></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> We are practically baking in the sun when, after what seems like a thumb-twiddling eternity, we spot a car approaching. “At last, the cavalry!” Michael exclaims. But the car contains not an overalled mechanic but a young man and a pregnant girl.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> It slows. The man leans out of the window. “You have a problem?” he asks.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Michael, who’s been playing solitaire on his mobile phone, switches it off and looks up. “You could say that,” he replies gloomily.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “Maybe I can help?”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> The young man has a pronounced southern American accent and its relaxed intonation somehow manages to suggest that he isn’t making any claim to superior mechanical skills.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Michael shrugs. The young man gets out of the car and while the pair of them bend over the offending wheel, his companion – wife, presumably, since she’s wearing a wedding ring – tells me that their names are Rick and Melissa and they hail, originally, from Texas but, for the last year, Rick, who’s a microbiologist, has been attached to the university in Rome, and during this, their vacation, they’ve rented a villa.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “Just along there,” she says, indicating the road on the left that winds up the hill.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Her husband stops fiddling with the jack and says,“Pretty sure they’ve given you the wrong one. Guess you’ll just have to wait for the man.” Melissa calls across to him. “Why don’t they come up to the house and wait there? At least they’d be in the shade. And they can always call and tell the mechanic to ring when he gets near.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> We make a few, obligatory, polite protestations but the prospect of shade is irresistible so Michael makes the call and we gladly accept their kind offer.</span></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span></div></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> The views from the terrace of their villa are stunning. We sip ice-cold drinks under the canopy of a verandah wreathed in vines while we look out over a green valley and glimpse, in the distance, a blue haze denoting the margin of a lake. There isn’t another human habitation to be seen. Melissa refreshes our drinks. “It was the tranquillity that attracted us,” she says. “All that you can hear are the different bird songs and, in the evening, some very distant church bells.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “It’s so peaceful,” Michael says. “Blissfully far from the madding crowd.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> But I reflect that we’ve relied on the madding crowd – or other people, at least – these last few years to act as a buffer against the prospect of spending too much time alone together.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “Space!” says Melissa, making the appropriate expansive gesture. “That’s why I like it so much here. I can breathe!”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> We converse for a few moments about the delights of our surroundings but then I notice that she’s grimacing and her knuckles are tightening and whitening on the arm of her chair. “Are you all right?” I ask. Gradually, she releases her pent-up breath, nods her head. “I think Junior’s destined for the football team if the strength of the kicking is anything to go by.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I’m thinking back to my own pregnancy and I certainly don’t recall that a kicking baby caused any sort of sensation that could be accurately described as pain.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I am startled from reverie by the first few bars of The Ride of The Valkyrie which is the ring tone on Michael’s phone. I watch the expression on his face changing from expectation to annoyance. After a few abrupt sentences he terminates the call and turns to the<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">rest of us, arms outstretched, palms upward, to emphasise his disbelief at what he has heard. “It appears,” he says, “that the only available mechanic has been diverted to another breakdown which is blocking a main road somewhere, so we can continue to wait for heaven knows how much longer or, if we can get ourselves back to Acqua-whatever-it’s-called, pick up another car. We could call a cab, I suppose …”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Rick interjects. “Nonsense,” he says. “I’ll run you there. It’s not far.” He turns to Melissa. “You’ll be all right?”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “Of course,” she replies. “Catherine and I can talk babies.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Which we do, for a while, discussing her pregnancy and her plans for the birth. “Do you have children?” she asks and I’m just about to answer when her face contorts and she emits a cry, holding herself rigid as if to stifle the pain. Her eyes are wide, unblinking. She bites her lip, clutches herself in the area from which the pain is emanating. I realise that what she is experiencing has nothing to do with the energetic kicking of a confined baby and everything to do with the contractions that precede that baby’s entrance into the world.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“When are you due?” I ask her. She relaxes as the pain subsides and says, “Not till September.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> We look at each other. “Ring Rick,” she says, handing me her phone.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I ring Rick. I ring Michael. There is no response from either of them and I remember that Umbria is a region of mountains and sometimes it is impossible to get a signal. Melissa gives another cry and I frantically try to remember all those television programmes featuring babies being born, the sort that are up-close and personal, sparing no gory detail, but all I can think of are stupid clichés about boiling kettles and fetching towels. Melissa looks at me pleadingly. “Breathe,” I say. “Just keep breathing, slowly, deeply. It will be fine.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">She starts to pant. “It’s too soon,” she says, “much too soon.”</span></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span></div></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> By the time I’ve managed to make contact with Rick and Michael, the ambulance has arrived and is conveying us: myself, Melissa and the tiny little baby, to the nearest hospital where they have a specialist neo-natal unit.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I think I managed to do things more or less as they should have been done because she cried and I believe that’s very important: the first cry. I try to ascertain her condition from the paramedics but their acquaintanceship with the English language seems comparable to my lack of fluency in Italian. They just make soothing noises while taking Melissa's pulse or measuring her blood pressure. In between these ministrations I squeeze her hand and attempt to reassure her, tell her that babies even more premature can survive these days, given modern medical interventions. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">***</span></div></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Rick phones later that evening. He says that the baby is holding her own but that the next few days will be crucial. Michael tells him that we’ll call into the hospital tomorrow. Meanwhile, is there anything we can do to help? Not really, Rick says. All we can do is wait and hope.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Michael relays the gist of the conversation to me. “I just feel so helpless,” I say in response. “Well you shouldn’t,” he replies. “If it weren’t for you …”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> He puts his hand on my shoulder and leaves it there long enough for me to detect a gentle pressure. It’s an unusually tender gesture. “Get to bed,” he says, “you look shattered.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> It’s due to nervous rather than physical exhaustion so I don’t sleep particularly well. Nor, it seems, does Michael. We’re both out of bed at an hour when most holidaymakers would be expected to be still deep in slumber and after a fairly perfunctory breakfast we head for the hospital.</span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Rick and Melissa are sitting together in a small ante-room. They look as though they've been there all night. Without preamble, Rick says, “There’s a bit of a problem with her lungs but the medics say she’s got a good fighting chance.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Michael looks at him, at his white, strained face, his dishevelled appearance. “You need a bit of a break,” he says. “There’s a bar along the street and we’re just at the end of a telephone should you be required.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> At first he protests but Melissa urges him to go along with the suggestion. “Catherine will keep me company,” she says and, when they’ve left, she calls for a nurse and, suitably attired in mask and gown, I accompany her into the adjoining ward where the baby lies in her incubator, all manner of tubes and drips and wires attached to her tiny frame.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “We’ve been told,” Melissa says, gazing at all this apparatus, “that this is one of the best baby units in the country.” She says it twice as though, if she keeps saying it, it will prove to be indubitably true. She looks at me. “You know, I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I shake my head. “No need for thanks. I wasn’t much help.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “You didn’t panic and you helped to keep me from panicking. I’d read all the books and been to the classes but that doesn’t really prepare you for when it actually happens. It’s experience that counts, isn’t it? You seemed very assured. I guess you have children of your own?”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> The baby's fist is opening and closing, attempting, perhaps, to clutch on to life. “Child,” I reply. “I had one child.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Longed-for. We thought that it would never happen, had almost resigned ourselves to childlessness, and then it did, though we were told that it was unlikely to happen again.</span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> That didn’t matter. Danny was enough, beautiful Danny, a composite of our best features, our most desirable qualities, who gurgled and smiled from day one. He had a mop of black curly hair and bracelets of fat around his wrists and ankles, and then he began to grow, a big-eyed fledgling. He kept a frog in a teapot and he had an imaginary friend called George who was responsible for all the acts of naughtiness that occurred. He disassembled every mechanical toy that we bought for him because he wanted to know how it worked. We thought he was destined to become an engineer like his father.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “What did he become?” Melissa asks. We’re sitting in the ante-room and a kind nurse has brought us coffee.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “He didn’t become anything,” I say eventually. “He was killed crossing the road six years ago.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> It was the first time, the very first time he’d been allowed to come back from school alone. Just one road to cross. “I’m not a baby,” he’d said. No one else in his class, he said, had mummy accompanying them.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Sometimes, these days, when passing school gates, I see all the mothers drawing up in their cars to collect their children and the guilt comes flooding back.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Melissa takes my hand as I took hers the previous night. “Tell me about him,” she says.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I close my eyes, try to encapsulate Danny’s brief existence. He was sunny-natured, almost all of the time, bursting with pride whenever he achieved a gold star or successfully assembled an Airfix kit or managed to stay upright on his bicycle without Michael holding on to the back of the seat. He hated: having his hair cut, trying on new shoes, being obliged to wait. Crazes came and went: dinosaurs, football posters, astronomy. He was full of zest and curiosity, full of life, and one afternoon we sat in a hospital waiting room just as I am doing </span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">now and after what seemed like forever a doctor came to tell us that it had taken only one false move for all that zest, curiosity and exuberance to be extinguished.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I realise that I’ve talked more about him in these last few minutes than I ever did, even to Michael, especially to Michael who simply closed up, turned in on himself, after it happened.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “I need to talk,” I tell Melissa, “even after all this time, but Michael thinks that talking about it simply prolongs the agony.”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> Melissa stares into the middle distance. “People cope with things differently,” she says. “Rick, like your Michael, doesn’t believe in dwelling on things. I’m like you, I need to unload. But we have to respect other people’s strategies, otherwise …”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I’ve contemplated the otherwise for some considerable time. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> We hear footsteps approaching along the corridor. Michael precedes Rick into the room. I look at him and I realise I still believe that, somewhere, somehow, submerged beneath everything that’s happened, we do still love each other.</span></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">***</span></div></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “She’s a fighter,” they told Rick and Melissa. And she continued to fight, clinging on, improving daily, until the afternoon when, back in rainy England, I received a phone call from Melissa telling me that she was well enough to be taken home.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> And now we’re packing to go back to Italy for her christening. She's to be called Catherine, after me, and we're to be godparents, Michael and I. There will always be a special bond, Melissa says.<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> I feel a kind of excitement. It seems like a new lease of life. I can look forward to photographs and letters. We’ll Skype, perhaps even visit when they return to the States.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Meanwhile I consult Michael about my godparent outfit. “Will it do?” I ask. “Do I look all right?”<br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “You always look all right,” he says. And I sense that, rather than it being a knee-jerk response, he’s starting to see me again, properly. What happened in Umbria has had an effect, on both of us. I’ve realised that his anguish was and is as real as my own; it’s just that our ways of grieving are different. We've both realised that if we don’t begin to understand that, then the rigidity of our respective stances might mean the end of our relationship. And if the first move has to come from me, well, so be it. Life, and love, are too precious to waste for the sake of mere intransigence. And though we’ll continue to mourn Danny, we can also contemplate a celebration of Catherine.</span></span></div><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-21815027210838154972023-06-01T19:16:00.001+01:002023-06-21T16:18:01.499+01:00Read the 1st Prize winner 2023 - Dancing the Dead Leaf Charleston by Abigail Williams<h2 style="text-align: center;"> Dancing the Dead Leaf Charleston </h2><h2 style="text-align: center;">by </h2><h2 style="text-align: center;">Abigail Williams</h2><div><br /></div><div><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p><div style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Agnes had never liked this time of year. All the leaves falling, the skittish wind. They had meant to repaper his room, get rid of all the model aeroplanes he had spent so many hours glueing and painting, but then there had been the news about Freya and their engagement and there hadn't seemed much point. She had known even then that he would never come home to live. He would have joined the firm as a clerk, she supposed, worked his way up. The war put paid to university of course.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> A branch scratched the window. Every fresh gust pushed it this way, then pulled it back. It was like fingernails, someone trying to get in.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> She liked to pretend that he had died in spring. That he succumbed to injuries in a walled garden surrounded by English nurses in crisp white aprons, the sun winking through shed-skin apple blossom. The Captain's visit had shattered that idea of course. The diamond scar on the back of his hand, the way his eye skin hung loose around its socket as if his elastic had gone.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'He was a g-good chap,' the Captain had stuttered, holding out that foul and stinking wooden box and she'd wanted to screech at him to keep it away. She didn't want the war here in her house. They burnt it all: the suffocated socks Agnes had knit and sent to him, earth pressed into every gaping stitch. The shameful diary. The half empty bottle of spirits when they had never kept alcohol in the house. Cracked. It was all cracked. Her Nathaniel had been sheet glass and Passchendaele had cracked him open. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Sorry to disturb, Mrs Stuart.'<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'What is it, Ruth?' The girl chafed like new shoes even after a year. The agency said there was no one else, girls just didn't want to enter service any more.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'The Algernon-Smythes've sent their apologies. They can't come this afternoon.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Thank you, Ruth.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Also, Cook says the bird's bad and is there anything you'd like her to make instead?'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Agnes pressed her eyes shut. The branch scratched at the window. Mathers would have known how important today was, how everything had to be just so. She would have known not to trouble the mistress on a morning like this, especially when she was sitting in His room.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Has Cook any cheese? If she can rustle up an interesting board we won't need the bird.'<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Still Ruth hovered. She couldn't feel that the room didn't want her here, all that youth frothing up and spilling out. 'Cook wanted me to ask if you're sure about the drinks. She said she could make some hot apple punch with a drop of rum...'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Agnes's eyes snapped open. 'It's not a party.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">The cloud lifted shortly before lunch. The pavements were still black with rain but their puddles split white sky into dazzling shards. Women laughed as they splashed across the tramlines, hands clutching their cloche hats to their heads, the fronts of their sack coats flapping.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Whoa!' The dray horses bucked their heads, and one of the women whooped, flashing her wide smile and the driver leered at them through his whiskers.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> So many necks in the shops, newly bared and blue-ish pale, bent over the vegetable stalls. Agnes imagined all the hair that had been grown since birth, long enough to kiss the clefts of their lower backs, miles of the stuff scattered and strewn across the floors of hairdressing salons. Thank God for Freya, she thought. So steady. Eight years today since he had left them. No time at all, in the land of the dead.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> They'd lived on tenterhooks at first, knowing he was out there. Scouring the casualty lists with a magnifying glass for his name. And they had been wary of each other too; the marriage ring a tight fit for three. But his name didn't materialise and the two women started to relax. There had been long nights in front of the fire, needles clacking, Freya spilling all her hopes for the future and Agnes admiring their shape and glitter. She sometimes wondered if that was why. If God believed that they had stopped caring enough, taken his safety for granted. Her boy. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> A car honked. Agnes hadn't realised she'd stepped into the road.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">The church boomed with silence. Beeswax and ghosts. No one needed it now, in the same way the spritiualists were going out of business but Agnes liked the place empty, the way the huge vaulted ceilings carried the sky. She relished the narrow pews that hurt her thighs. She sat a while but she could only conjure corners. A chipped tooth. A protruding ear. There were footsteps, and the fragments of him scattered.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Reverend,' Agnes said. 'I have the orders of service for this afternoon.' She held out thick sheets of creamy card bordered in black. 'I thought that if we stuck to the old favourites everyone might join in.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Of course, Mrs Stuart.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> He didn't meet her eyes, she noticed. It happened often, these days. It was as if she had dirt on her nose, or too much rouge. Her mourning dress of course; out of vogue when everybody else had moved on.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Are you expecting many?'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Agnes dipped her head. 'Fewer than last year, unfortunately. Mrs Marston is ill. Mrs Quentin is away. There will be my household. Freya Wilson of course. Her mother, Mrs Wilson. The Judge.' She lifted her chin. 'Between us we should make it worth your while, Reverend.'<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> He rubbed a knuckle.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Are these the flowers?' Agnes nodded at the white lilies, their heads already rimmed in brown.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Ah, yes! The WI ladies never miss a Tuesday.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> It was a small stone pellet in her heart. Flowers nearly a week old. When he had given so much.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">The sun strengthened while she was inside the church. She emerged to white dazzle: light glinting off windshields, exhausts misfiring. Life just galloping, galloping. Where was the solemn gentle clop of the carthorses? The sleepy buzz of conversation? Everywhere there was jazz, see-sawing bows, screeching trumpets. Cigarettes, pale shoulders, dimpled knees. No one picking up their responsibilities any more. No one getting on with things, quietly, uncomplainingly. Agnes wanted to get home, back to Waldron, with its strong beams and routines.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> As she slipped through the door she caught the sound of Cook and Ruth in the kitchen and she had a sudden desire to be with the other women. Quiet industry. That's what she needed.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Music spilled into the corridor. They didn't hear her nudge the door open.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'No! Like this...'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Ruth's vowels were broad as the Calder valley bottom that had created them. Cook had one fist on her hip, her pinny all floury, big grin across her meaty face. Ruth held her palms up, rotated them one way and then the other. She swivelled her toe inwards, kicked up her other foot. She had taken her shoes off. She was loose-hinged and wild.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Even here, in her own kitchen, there was to be no peace from the world.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Oh! Sorry, Missus.' Ruth scrabbled for her shoes. Cook turned her back and started rolling out pastry with her marble pin as if she had never been involved.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">'I'm sorry to call on you out of the blue like this.' Mrs Wilson, Freya's mother, was serene in duck egg blue. 'My dear, are you quite all right? You look terribly pale.'<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Agnes did feel a little faint. 'Please. Sit, won't you?'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Mrs Wilson was a small car of a woman, reassuringly bulky in her boiled wool. Agnes always thought she looked more like a farmer's wife than a judge's. She waved away the plate of biscuits Agnes offered. 'It's a bit delicate, I'm afraid. It's Freya. She's. Well, I'm afraid she won't be coming this afternoon. And neither will I. Freya didn't know quite how to tell you.'<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Time, that strange elastic stuff, slackened and slowed. It felt like an age between each tick of the grandfather clock. Agnes felt incredibly hot all of a sudden.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Freya's made a new friend. A very nice young man. Peter Samson. Actually, they're engaged to be married.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Oh!'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'So you see,' she opened her hands so that Agnes could see her palms, 'we didn't think it would be appropriate for us to come to Nathaniel's memorial. You do see?'<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> There they were, two women on different sofas. Mrs Wilson with a husband, a daughter and a son-in-law. Soon they would be joined by plump little babies. Mrs Wilson would be able to rest her cheek against their warm round calves. Rub cloves on their gums. All of life over again. On the other sofa it was just Agnes. Bernard had passed very early. Then Mother. Then finally Nathaniel. She felt them slip from her hand, all the strands she had clutched so tightly, the tail ends of memories.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Oh.'<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Mrs Wilson breathed in, dug into her handbag. 'She wanted me to give you this back.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Agnes knew what it was without looking. It was her grandmother's sapphire pendant, the most precious thing Agnes owned. She had given it to Freya not when she got engaged to Nathaniel, but so many years later, after he'd died, when the girl had spent weeks just getting Agnes out of bed. Reminding her to breathe. And now she was gone too, the daughter she'd almost had.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> The pendant, in its scuffed leather box, felt heavy. Agnes, on the sofa, felt heavy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> She looked up sharply, aware of Mrs Wilson's pity crawling her skin. She expected the woman to rise now that her work was done. She would dust Agnes's humiliation off her skirt, go back to her family. 'Eight years on and still grieving,' she'd say. 'Needs to pull herself together.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Mrs Wilson did stand but she didn't leave. A weight sank into the cushion next to Agnes's own. And then Mrs Wilson's large, capable hand was on top of hers.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'You know, Freya's been feeling wretched. She's terrified that this will mean she loses you, and you've been a second mother to her these past few years.' Mrs Wilson looked around the sitting room, everything exactly where it should be. 'It'd do her a power of good to see you. I don't suppose you'll come for supper? After everything is over. We could introduce you to Peter.' Mrs Wilson leaned forward. 'You know, we all loved him, Agnes.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">She rolled this thought around her head during the quiet hours of the afternoon. Of course, the vicar cancelled – a sudden death in Crossgates, terribly sorry and all that. Agnes heard Cook slap down her wooden spoon in exasperation. Had they loved him? If they had loved him, how could they leave him? Abandon him among the craters and gravestones. Set him down along with all the other dead things, allow him to moss, to lichen.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> The shadows in the garden cast long dark fingers. She watched them reaching for the kitchen garden wall. She imagined flesh hands clutching at duck boards. Sucking mud. Eventually the shadows melted into each other and then into the night. Agnes closed her eyes. There was nowhere to be. Nothing to do.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> And then suddenly, he appeared, without her asking. Fully formed, almost tangible. Glorious perfect images. Not in his creaking uniform, but a lad, with scabbed knees and bruised shins, and his face just starting to man. She could – oh! – she could smell him. His faint scent of sweat and the French lavender soap she left by the bathroom sink. She closed her eyes. She could almost feel the softness of his child hair on her face. She daredn't move, barely breathed, in case he noticed her there and left again.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> As soon as he was old enough to play out on his own, he had rarely been at home. He used to burst in like a gale, boots clattering, mud everywhere. He was shifting tides, pulled by this delight or that discovery. She had been so proud of him, this Boy being such a good example of himself. When he fell from a tree and came home with a split head, she had been horrified but proud. Proud of the scar that it left above his right eye. Proud that he was a daredevil. He had made her swim when they went to the seaside, screaming at the North Sea cold of it. It was Nathaniel who decided when they ought to have a picnic, always wanting to drive the horses himself. And when Bernard died – heart attack in the middle of the Roundhay Park – it was as if he grew up overnight. He had insisted on holidays after, just the two of them, tramping around the Lake District.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> He had taught her to be brave. She had forgotten that.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> <br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">She knew it was the right house, even though she had never been inside. Nathaniel could barely keep its name from his lips: 'They love charades at Carstairs.' 'They've a telephone at Carstairs.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Carstairs was where his other life happened.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Laughter spilled over the driveway. It wasn't yet cold, just damp, and someone had raised a sash. Three voices spoke at once, then a roar of laughter. The squeal of a trumpet playing on a gramophone, the chinking of glass.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Agnes smoothed out her green dress. The colour, her first in eight years, felt loud as a firework and Ruth hadn't helped, the way her jaw had dropped.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Very nice, Missus,' she'd said, marble-eyed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Now that she was here, she wasn't sure. She touched a hand to her hair in its plaited bun, fussed at the seed pearls on her clutch. She had just about decided to leave when the front door opened. The flare of Mr Wilson's match lit up his face.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Good Lord! Mrs Stuart! Agnes – come in, won't you? Dorothy, Dot! Someone here to see you.'<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> The house wasn't what she had expected. She'd imagined Tiffany lamps and dark corners, rows of leatherbound books, not colonies of shoes scattered over the floor by the front door, a collection of humorous walking canes in the umbrella stand. She hadn't anticipated the carpet on the stairs would be threadbare – 'No point changing it, not while we've got the dogs' – or the console table to be jostling with keys and candle stubs.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Agnes!' It felt like there was genuine pleasure under Mrs Wilson's surprise. 'I'm so glad you've come. I wasn't sure you would.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> And then there was Freya: lovely, beautiful Freya. Too young to be tied to a ghost, Agnes could see that now. The girl crept up, put a palm to the underside of her bobbed hair.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Do you like it?'<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Agnes imagined those long tresses tumbling to the salon floor. She remembered brushing it through in the quiet days when Nathaniel hadn't been gone long. Such an intimate thing, her hand resting on the crown of Freya's head, individual hairs lifting with static to the brush as though they were old friends greeting each other.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'It looks wonderful.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Freya's face relaxed. 'Oh I'm so glad you like it. It's so freeing. My neck is wonderfully cool. And I don't have to spend hours a day brushing and braiding, I can just get up and go.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'That must be delightful, dear. And you must be Peter I think?'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Agnes held out her hand. She knew she mustn't let it tremble, mustn't let the smile flicker for a moment. This was the fulcrum on which the future might be built because, suddenly, it was terribly important to Agnes that the Wilsons let her in. That she might come back again. She had been parched, she realised. Desiccated.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> He was a handsome man. Older than Freya. He shook her right hand with his left in an awkward little motion and she saw that his sleeve was pinned up above his elbow.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Stuart.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> The piercing pain in her heart lasted only for a moment because this wasn't a replacement for her boy. This was a man with his own wounds, quiet and steady. Soon be a partner in Watkins & Adams, Mrs Wilson murmured as she passed Agnes a drink. And he wasn't stealing anything. Eight long years she had kept the poor girl in thrall to her dead son, the weight of grief dragging behind them like grappling hooks catching onto every rocky memory.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> After supper there was dancing. Agnes said yes to a small sherry. She watched Freya's dress bounce and cling, saw her smile. She could almost feel Nathaniel beside her, laughing at something Mr Wilson had said, rising to flip the record on the gramophone. He would have grabbed her hand. 'Come on Mater, can't have you sitting there like a wallflower.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'May I have the pleasure?'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> Mr Wilson had a grey handlebar moustache and his broad frame disguised a wide middle. The words 'I don't dance' bubbled around in Agnes's chest but it was so lovely and warm in here, and her sherry-limbs were liquid and she shimmered like lake water in her green frock.<br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'I've no idea how to Charleston, I'm afraid. The last dance I learnt was a foxtrot.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> 'Never mind, old thing. We'll hash it up together.'<span class="Apple-converted-space"> <br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> As Agnes reached out to take Mr Wilson's hand, she felt the air alter. A waft of lavender and North Sea salt drifted over them, wisps of laughter, and then it was gone and the plain smells of autumn came flooding in through the cracked window. Damp ground and bonfire smoke. Humus and flesh. Earth dressing itself in broken leaves so that all of life could start again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-56021926311303233692023-05-30T11:24:00.003+01:002023-06-10T11:51:15.346+01:00Short Story competition winners 2023<h2 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;">Competition Winners 2023 </span></h2><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We are delighted to announce the winners of this year's Exeter Writers Short Story Competition:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>1st Prize - Dancing the Dead Leaf Charleston by Abigail Williams</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>2nd Prize - A Lease of Life by Kathleen Conlon</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>3rd Prize - The Curfew by Jane Miles</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As the only Devon entry on the shortlist was our winner, the Devon Prize has been shared between the following longlistees<span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b>;</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b style="color: #2b00fe;">Jenny Giel </b>with <i>My Sister and the Bird Boy</i> and <b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Jass Tabris </span></b>with <i>For all the caged & warm birds</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Congratulations to all our winners. The stories will be published one by one over the coming week and watch out for interviews with our winners coming soon.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We can now also put names to everyone on our short and long lists:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><u>Short List: </u></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><u><br /></u></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Slightly Off-Mint - Rose Yates</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Revenge is Sweet - Ian Cragg</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">A Lease of Life - Kathleen Conlon</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dancing the Dead Leaf Charleston - Abigail Williams</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">My Best Friend Chloe - </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Curfew - Jane Miles</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lest We Forget - John Savage</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Three Point Turn - Emily Howes</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">C_a_ Cof_ _ _ - Stephen Lorriman</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Long List:</u></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><u><br /></u></span></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 32px; margin: 0px;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">My Sister and the Bird Boy</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> - Jenny Giel</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 32px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The Other House - Jacqueline Molloy<br /><span lang="EN-US">Slightly Off-Mint - Rose Yates<br /></span>The Eye Generation - Lisa Collingwood<br /><span lang="EN-US">Hedgerow Delights - Catherine Knoweldon<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">Revenge is Sweet - Ian Cragg<br /></span>For all the caged & warm birds - Jass Tabriz<br /><span lang="EN-US">Dying Teddy Bears - Peter Hankins<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">A Lease of Life - Kathleen Conlon<br /></span>Dancing the Dead Leaf Charleston - Abigail Williams<br /><span lang="EN-US">Ssenippah - Ian Murch<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">My Best Friend Chloe - Bethany Wren<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">The Curfew - Jane Miles<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">Lest We Forget - J S Savage<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">Three Point Turn - Emily Howes<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">C_a_ Cof_ _ _ - Stephen Rajbhandaraks<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">Farmhouse supper - Robert Campbell<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">The Visits - Clare Palmer</span></span></div></span></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-47397674564837241272023-05-10T18:25:00.000+01:002023-05-10T18:25:25.668+01:002023 Competition Shortlist<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><b> The shortlist for the Exeter Writers Short Story Competition 2023 is;</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">(in no particular order)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Slightly Off-Mint</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Revenge is Sweet</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A Lease of Life</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dancing the Dead Leaf Charleston</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My Best Friend Chloe</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Curfew</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lest We Forget</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Three Point Turn</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">C_a_ Cof_ _ _</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Congratulations to everyone who made it this far.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Please feel free to celebrate on social media BUT please don't mention which one is yours yet as we read and judge the stories 'blind'.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Keep your eyes peeled - we expect to announce the winners in early June!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></div>Exeter Writershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07681211048689100303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-27124889805198621402023-04-23T17:25:00.003+01:002023-06-21T16:18:36.994+01:002023 Short Story Competition Long List<h1 style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"> The Long List</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">of the 2023 Exeter Writers </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Short Story Competition:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Congratulations to everyone who made it this far!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Please feel free to shout about it but don't mention which one is your story yet as we read all entries 'blind'.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">In no particular order, the long listed stories are:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-weight: 400; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">My Sister and the Bird Boy</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-weight: 400; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The Other House<br /><span lang="EN-US">Slightly Off-Mint<br /></span>The Eye Generation<br /><span lang="EN-US">Hedgerow Delights<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">REVENGE IS SWEET<br /></span>For all the caged & warm birds *<br /><span lang="EN-US">Dying Teddy Bears<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">A LEASE OF LIFE<br /></span>Dancing the Dead Leaf Charleston<br /><span lang="EN-US">Ssenippah<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">My Best Friend Chloe<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">The Curfew<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">Lest We Forget<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">Three Point Turn<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">C_a_ Cof_ _ _<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">Farmhouse supper<br /></span><span lang="EN-US">The Visits</span></span></div></div></h1><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Please don't be downhearted if your story didn't make it this far. We had a LOT of entries (over 400!)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Keep your eyes peeled for the short list in early May...</span></div>Elizabeth Duciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11746520881833058618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1057761738568537765.post-87136987417118935772022-12-01T06:58:00.005+00:002023-06-21T16:19:05.318+01:00Competition Now Open<p style="text-align: justify;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSbU8PKqyPyiTw0u5N5mE8D7JpBpxBOWUlREfxD1BQ---1_6D6QJCiYHvBrzhvDU1OGtyae5UWQnuolducAar-W1-tKsa6XrVDFODzG1AWLynSiq_m3-DIio1xJ5jtSHjTDRZtpGWfMFqKkwWy8FbkFGFgSzFLMljD-6iwOfm4lx94h3D91Qd6vs7xEQ/s986/Poster%20final.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="657" data-original-width="986" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSbU8PKqyPyiTw0u5N5mE8D7JpBpxBOWUlREfxD1BQ---1_6D6QJCiYHvBrzhvDU1OGtyae5UWQnuolducAar-W1-tKsa6XrVDFODzG1AWLynSiq_m3-DIio1xJ5jtSHjTDRZtpGWfMFqKkwWy8FbkFGFgSzFLMljD-6iwOfm4lx94h3D91Qd6vs7xEQ/w438-h292/Poster%20final.png" width="438" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;">Our 2023 Short Story Competition is now open. And this year we have increased the prize money once more. Two years ago, we raised the first prize to £700. This time around, the second prize is £350 and the third prize is £200. Plus we have an additional £100 prize for the best story by a Devon writer. That's a magnificent £1350 in the prize pot.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;">You have until 28th February to get your story in. But three months will be gone in the blink of an eye. So why not <a href="https://www.exeterwriters.org.uk/p/short-story-competition-2021.html">check it out now</a> and get writing those entries.</p>Elizabeth Duciehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11746520881833058618noreply@blogger.com0