Author Archives: Jane Cable

SUNDAY SCENE: ALEX STONE ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM THE OTHER GIRLFRIEND

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The Other Girlfriend is my second psychological thriller set in Dorset. After a weekend away at Durdle Door ends in tragedy, Lizzie’s world falls part and she battles with anxiety and agoraphobia.

Agoraphobia is so often misunderstood and assumed to be a fear of open spaces, but, as Lizzie discovers, in reality it is so much more and any situation or place where it difficult to escape from can become a trigger for panic attacks.

 

My heart pounded and my legs felt weak, as though they would give way at any moment. All I had to do was open the front door, step outside and walk down the driveway to the car. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t difficult.

Except it was.

‘What are you standing there for?’ Mum asked, giving me a nudge forward. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

I side stepped out of the way, allowing her to pass. She cast a sideways glance at me before reaching for the latch and pulling the door open. I stared out at the world beyond the threshold. Somehow it seemed as though all the oxygen was slipping away through the open door. My breathing became laboured. Quick shallow gasps that didn’t satisfy my lungs.

I heard Mum sigh. The patience she was trying to hold onto was starting to slip. I had to get it together. I couldn’t fall apart in front of her. Not again.

I fought to regain control. But it wasn’t working.

Nothing worked.

The hallway dipped and swayed. Everything started to blur. Tears streamed down my face. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying. It was just a door. Just a driveway. I wanted to run away. To hide. But I couldn’t.

My feet were welded to the spot. I couldn’t move. Dark patches appeared at the edges of my vision. I was going to pass out. I could feel it.

‘Don’t start that nonsense.’ There was an edge of frustration to her tone. ‘We haven’t got time for it.’

I nodded, obediently, as a loud sob escaped. She was right. It was nonsense. I was being stupid. It was just the driveway. The same driveway I had walked down nearly every day for my whole life.

And yet somehow it was no longer the same. I was no longer the same.

Mum couldn’t understand. She’d tried. She was still trying. But the daughter she’d known had simply disappeared. All she was left with was this shell of my former self. Sad. Tearful. Panicked.

She couldn’t understand why. She couldn’t figure out how to fix it. How to fix me.

With every day that passed I became more reclusive and she became more frantic. My failure somehow became her failure. It was a mother’s job to keep her kids safe and well, that’s what she said. But she couldn’t make me well. Plasters and paracetamol wouldn’t work this time. Eighteen years of experience as a mother hadn’t prepared her for this.

Mum thrust smelling salts under my nose. I flinched as my eyes smarted. But I inhaled deeply. I took the little brown glass bottle from her and clung to it, wafting it back and forth below my nose as the darkness gradually faded into grey.

‘Just don’t think about it,’ Mum said as she hooked her arm through mine and pulled me forward, escorting me outside, while my body trembled and each breath rasped in my chest.

It had become her favourite phrase. I wasn’t even sure what it was I wasn’t supposed to think about.

I don’t think she knew either.

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: NATALIE NORMANN ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM SUMMER ISLAND

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When I was asked if I could write a contemporary romance set in Norway, I jumped at the opportunity. I didn’t have a story, but I knew the perfect setting.

I love islands, but I couldn’t make up my mind which one of my favourite places to use, and I ended up making my own fictional island. From that, came Summer Island with it’s quirky characters and the best part of Norwegian summers.

It was the perfect place for a romance between two people with broken hearts who think they have lost what they loved most.

Ninni Torp comes to her beloved island to heal from the biggest shock in her life, only to find there are bigger suprises in store for her.

I also had great fun dropping a big city boy in an unfamiliar environment. Jack Greene arrives from London to sell the farm he has inherited, and finds the experience more than a little strange.  Like here in this scene, where he gets into a rowing boat for the first time.

 

Jack looked at Frikk with a wary expression on his face. The dog looked back at him, ears up, tail down.

‘Are you sure he’s friendly?’

‘Are you scared of dogs?’ Ninni smiled at him.

Jack kept a watchful eye on Frikk. ‘No, not really. I’m not used to them, that’s all. We never had any pets. My brother is allergic.’

Ninni turned to Frikk. ‘Say hello to Jack, Frikk.’

The dog lifted a paw and Jack, after a moment’s hesitation, shook it. ‘That’s pretty good,’ he said and smiled.

Ninni laughed. ‘He has excellent manners. Better than most people, I think.’

She climbed into the boat, keeping it steady by standing with her legs apart. ‘Come on, Frikk, jump in.’

The dog looked at Jack, seemed to grin at him, and then jumped. Ninni grabbed him and lifted him to the front. She looked up at Jack. ‘Come on.’

Jack hesitated. ‘Are you sure that thing is safe?’

‘My word, you are a scaredy-cat. Don’t worry, if you fall while getting into the boat you can’t drown. That’s what the life jacket is for.’

She held out a hand, but Jack ignored it. Copying her, he carefully stepped into the boat, then sat down. He stretched out his hands and grabbed hold of the gunwale on both sides.

Ninni didn’t say anything. It wasn’t nice to make fun of someone sitting in a boat for the first time, no matter how hilarious he looked. He seemed so sure of himself on land and now he sat there, staring at the water as if it was going to attack him.

She sat down in the aft and pulled the cord to the engine a couple of times. It spluttered and then started.

The wind was coming from the south and the water was a bit choppy. The bow jumped on the waves and Frikk had a grand time barking at them.

Jack turned pale.

Ninni leaned forward. ‘Are you seasick?’

‘No.’ He shook his head, then turned a shade greener.

 

I can’t even express how much fun I had writing the two books in A Very Hygge Holiday: Summer Island, and the sequel Christmas Island.

SUNDAY SCENE: LIZ FENWICK ON THE HELFORD RIVER AS A SETTING FOR HER NOVELS

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I first visited the Helford River in June 1989 and it has held my heart since then. It has become my muse, or a major part of it at least. It is difficult to write about this part of Cornwall without reference to the river. It pulls you in as much as the moon pulls the tide in. My first six novels are set on both the north and the south side of the river and this coming Spring my latest novel, The Secret Shore, returns there once more, this time set in 1942. The protagonist Merry Tremayne was born on the south side on a farm just above Frenchman’s Creek. From her early explorations of the many creeks that feed the river she draws her very first map. This is the start of her life journey that many woman of her time did not and could not travel.

It was a challenge to look at the river through Merry’s eyes as I am so accustomed to viewing it through my own. But a setting only has true meaning when seen through the eyes of those viewing it. With each novel I have had to look at this familiar landscape and yet see it anew. In my debut, The Cornish House, it was fun to look at the area through the eyes of a stroppy London teenager. All Hannah could see was an empty landscape devoid of her former luxuries such as a decent latte and all she could smell was the air reeking of cow shit! Whereas Gabe in A Cornish Stranger experienced the area through the river’s sounds… the shrill cries of the wading birds at low tide and the soft wind in the Eucalyptus trees.

Merry is an Oxford geographer who doesn’t simply see fields and hills, but their structure, composition and development. She only notices their true beauty when she thinks of her mother Elise, an artist. It is Elise’s view which causes Merry’s analytical mind to stop every so often, enabling her to pause and see the elegance beyond the facts and figures.

Standing high on the plateau above the Helford, I watched the world change from the indistinct shapes of dawn to the defined ones of the day and I recalled my mother’s search for what she described as impossible light. It was the moment when the beauty was so sharp, so clear it hurt and broke into your mind and your soul giving everything new meaning. The only thing she had been able to compare it to was when she fell in love with my father. In that moment of understanding, her perception of everything changed.

When writing about landscape it’s important for me to be in my character’s mind because what the character sees also reveals her point of view. Does she pick out the light or does she notice how rundown things are? Victoria in Under A Cornish Sky sees the landscape through history and folklore whereas when Merry is on the river she experiences it quite differently.

This old canoe had provided Oliver and I with endless trips on the Helford and around its creeks while we pretended that we were travelling on the Amazon, or the Nile, or the Yangtze. The bending oaks and hollies had become far more exotic and dangerous.

The joy of writing is that with each book and each character I can take a fresh look at the landscape around me and discover something totally new. I appreciate it all the more for the experience.

 

 

www.lizfenwick.com

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: JAN BAYNHAM ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM HER NANNY’S SECRET

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My third book, ‘Her Nanny’s Secret’, is a dual timeline novel, set in wartime and the sixties in rural mid-Wales and Normandy. It involves secrets, forbidden love, loss, and hope. In the 1963 story, my main character, Annie, travels to France with Clara Pryce to whom she was nanny when she was younger. Clara’s father had been shot down over Normandy in June 1943. Now as an adult, Clara is keen to try to find out what happened to him and where he’s buried. My chosen scene in the novel is when Annie accompanies Clara to Ville de Roi, a town near where her father’s Spitfire fighter plane had been shot down. It’s her first day and I want to capture Annie’s reactions to French life, seeing it through the eyes of someone who had never been to France before.

As she and Clara approach the town, ‘the sea sparkled like a mirror in the afternoon sun’ to the left; ‘coves and inlets surprised her around each bend’ in the road. Once parked, they wander through the streets, eventually choosing a pretty crepêrie where they can have lunch.

La Belle Epoque was situated down a narrow, cobbled street branching off from the main square. Outside, tables, covered with red-and-white tablecloths, and bentwood chairs were placed along each of the two large windows. Ornamental fruit trees in brightly glazed pots separated each table.

‘Is it warm enough to sit outside, do you think?’ asked Clara.

Just being able to sit out in the fresh air to eat is a new experience for Annie. A real treat. None of the cafés in Pen-y-Rhos have outdoor seating.

They sat down and studied the menu. Annie had never seen such a choice and couldn’t decide from the images between a savoury galette filled with ham and cheese, topped with a fried egg, or, to satisfy her sweet tooth, a crêpe, oozing with cooked local apples and whipped cream.

Clara laughed at her indecision and Annie wondered if her eyes were as wide as she felt them to be.

Back home, pancakes are only eaten on Shrove Tuesday and then always with lemon juice and white sugar.

Later in the scene, they come to a central square where a group of elderly men are playing a game Annie hadn’t seen before.

‘Pétanque,’ said Clara. ‘It’s very popular in this part of France.’

They found a bench and watched the game in progress. One man threw a small white ball onto the dusty gravel, a ‘jack’ Clara called it. In turn, each player threw a larger silver coloured ball, a boule, as close to the jack as they could. The men became more animated as the game went on especially when someone’s boule knocked another’s further away from the jack.

‘Every village will have a square for pétanque. Can you see how earnestly the old men take the game? You must never disturb a player when they’re about to throw.’ Clara laughed, waving a finger.

Clara explains to her that even the smallest village in France would have a square and a town hall, a mairie. Annie can’t get over how many cafés and bars there were in one place.

Pretty window boxes adorned the upstairs windows and scarlet summer geraniums and tumbling blue lobelia gave a blaze of colour.

During the rest of her time in France, Annie is to encounter many more new experiences. In the search for Clara’s father, she could never have imagined the outcome of the visit. Keeping her secret for over twenty years is justified at last.

 

https://janbaynham.blogspot.com

 

EVA GLYN’S HIDDEN CROATIA: ON TOP OF MOUNT SRD

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Anyone who’s been to Dubrovnik will quite rightly question why I would call Mount Srd hidden Croatia. After all, it stands proudly four hundred metres above the city, a wall of rock protecting it from the outside world.

But that’s the point; we see it, but how well do we know it? The majority of visitors who actually venture up there do so by cable car, to admire the spectacular views for half an hour, perhaps drink a coffee, certainly take any number of selfies, then head straight back down again.

To discover Mount Srd properly you need to hike, bike (neither recommended in the height of summer), take the bus, or even better book a knowledgeable driver or small group tour. Because it’s what the majority don’t see that is so very fascinating.

To say we got lucky with our choice of driver is an understatement. We were staying in Cavtat along the coast so decided booking a car was the best option, and I’d ‘met’ Dubrovnik 4 U Transfers on Instagram so chose them. Kresimir is an absolute gem with a knowledge of, and a passion for, his city rarely seen in the UK. But then in the UK we haven’t had to fight for our homes.

To me that’s what Mount Srd was all about. It was certainly the focus of my visit there. I was in Croatia to add the final touches to my research for next summer’s book, where one of my main characters is a veteran of the Siege of Dubrovnik and I wanted to visit the Homeland War Museum in Fort Imperial that sits on top of the mountain.

But there was somewhere Kresimir wanted me to see first. The village of Bosanka that had been raised to the ground by the aggressors (Serbian and Montenegrin troops) during the autumn of 1991. Of course much of it has been rebuilt, but there are some ruins left amongst the trees, and a roadside picture board in Croatian and English, making sure that visitors understand what happened here.

In fact almost the whole of Mount Srd was taken. Everything except Fort Imperial and that was to make all the difference to the survival of the city below. How it held out against all the odds on 6th December 1991 is a miracle in itself, but that is a story for a few months hence.

The fort was built by Napoleonic troops, a long, low slab of the grey-gold rock of the region, almost blending into the hillside beneath it. Even now much of it is in a semi-ruined state, but a number of rooms have been turned into a museum where visitors can learn about the Homeland War. And if you want to understand Dubrovnik and its people, you have to understand what happened here thirty years ago.

There was a sepulchral silence as we wandered through the barrel-vaulted rooms, stunned by the images of destruction displayed on their walls. The museum tells the story more or less chronologically but it is the images that hit home the hardest; iconic sights in the city below in ruins or in flames, the faces of the refugees. You don’t have to read a word of the commentary. You just have to look to understand.

But deeper understanding comes from talking to someone who lived through the conflict and Kresimir shared his memories freely. For the first time I knew what it had been like to live in that city under siege; no power, little water, even less food. People dying around you.

After our visit to the museum he took me out to the viewpoint, where there is a memorial to 6th December 1991 and a Croatian flag. I watched him take a photo of it, his pride heartfelt and genuine. To me, that said it all.

SUNDAY SCENE: ANGELA BARTON ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM SPRING BREEZE

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I love the freedom of writing fiction. I construct imaginary buildings and places, create characters, invent stories for them and decide how they’ll react to the obstacles I put in front of them. I forge their relationships, decide who they’ll fall in love with and I determine their outcome. But over the years as my writing has evolved, I like to include real events from history, real people who were alive at the time of my story, and real objects. In Spring Breeze, Irène Némirovsky and Picasso make appearances and interact with my characters, but my excerpt below is about an object.

A great deal of responsibility comes with including actual people or objects in a book. Research has to be thorough and accurate, then entwined into the storyline without sounding like a history lesson! I never enjoyed history at school. Every time I was given homework is was to learn a seemingly endless list of names and dates. I wanted dramatic stories, heroes and heroines. I wanted adventure, romance and excitement. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I became a writer. Now I can make my own stories whilst adding a touch of realism and history to them.

My protagonist in Spring Breeze is Matilde Pascale. She used to work in an auction house before the German invasion caused its closure. Forced into working for the enemy at the Jeu de Paume museum in Paris, Matilde discovered an object she’s been asked to log; a priceless artefact from history. Imagine the scene. Matilde has been led to the basement of the Jeu de Paume museum where the Germans are storing looted valuables: jewellery, antiques, paintings, ornaments etc. It’s gloomy, lit by dim bare light bulbs, it’s eerily quiet except for the faint echoes of footfall on the floor above her, and she’s alone in the vast storage room.

 

Kneeling, Matilde placed her notepad and pen on the floor. Whatever could it be? She touched it. It felt solid. She peeled back its wrapping and saw material that had been rolled tightly. She found one end but it was too heavy to unroll. She followed a fold, running her fingers along its length and gradually teasing out the material until she had enough to fold it back. Slowly she peeled back a corner to reveal embroidery. The workmanship was exquisite, in vibrant colours and Latin inscriptions. The material felt like linen and smelt musty, like walking into an old church. Looking closely she could see that it had been sprinkled with moth powder. She unfolded a little more: a horse, a man with a sword, arrows. The figures were immediately so individual and so identifiable that her mouth fell open. Her eyes, now wide with wonder and horror, took in what lay before her on the floor.

It was the Bayeux Tapestry.

Matilde knelt reverentially before the giant roll of fabric and pulled on her gloves. She gently laid her palm against the cloth, leaned forward and smelled it. A frisson of awe forced her to close her eyes and wonder at the history this tapestry had seen. It had been associated with such bellicose men as William the Conqueror and Napoleon Bonaparte. It had survived the French Revolution in the 18th century and withstood examinations and transportations.

 

www.angelabarton.net

 

CARIADS’ CHOICE: SEPTEMBER 2022 BOOK REVIEWS

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Lynne Francis’ A Maid’s Ruin reviewed by Susanna Bavin

This thoroughly engaging and enjoyable story follows the fortunes of young Molly Goodchild, a dairymaid whose life is one of unrelenting hard work. She dreams of better things, but this doesn’t mean she isn’t a practical person, well versed in the demands of everyday life and family responsibilities.

I was enormously fond of Molly. She is a naturally strong character who shows both determination and tenacity in the face of adversity, but at the same time, her youth and inexperience make her vulnerable. I found her utterly believable and I rooted for her all the way.

This emotional and dramatic story is set in Georgian times and Lynne Francis has filled the pages with period detail and beautifully written descriptions of the various settings. A lot of research has gone into this book, adding vibrancy, immediacy and depth to the telling.

This is the coming-of-age story at its best.

 

Sandy Barker’s The Dating Game, reviewed by Jessie Cahalin

What happens when a journalist goes undercover on a reality show?

I absolutely loved The Dating Game. Abby is a wonderful character guiding the reader through her hilarious observations of the world of reality television. This smart, witty character exposes the micro-politics behind the scenes. This is a romance novel with so many twists and turns you’ll be dizzy, and you’ll giggle your way to the end. Besides entertaining me, this was an astute observation on reality TV culture. The novel is jam packed with wit, sensitivity and humour. I could not put this novel down! A perfect beach read, and I wanted to book a holiday in Sydney by the end.

 

Jules Wake’s The Wednesday Morning Wild Swim reviewed by Carol Thomas

This was a fun, feel-good read with a cast of wonderful characters. I enjoyed the setting and the unfolding romance between Ettie and Dominic. There was plenty of humour; I even laughed out loud at times. I loved Ettie for her moments of candour, albeit she was also prone to the odd little white lie. The characters were from a broad age range, leading to realistic and funny interactions and a community feel. I enjoyed the blossoming friendship of the wild swimmers and getting to know what spurred them to need their swim. It was also great to check in with returning characters from The Saturday Morning Park Run, a book I also greatly enjoyed. While I was a little unsure about the set-up for the penultimate scene, I welcomed the happy ending. Overall, it is escapism that will make you smile!

 

Josie Lloyd’s Lifesaving for Beginners reviewed by Jane Cable

There was nothing I didn’t love about this book. How often do you read that in a review, but it isn’t a phrase I use often and I really mean it.

The stories of the five women who meet on Brighton beach to swim during the pandemic are wound seamlessly together to make a cohesive whole. Maddy, whose marriage and Instagram-perfect lifestyle have fallen apart; Helga the elder stateswoman who refuses to accept the limitations of her advancing years; Claire, the wife and mother who feels she has become invisible; Dominica struggling with grief; and Tor who is afraid to tell her family about the woman she loves.

This is a book about the power of friendship and the ability to move on. There is no one central shared ‘quest’ and really no central character. Their stories blend and twist together in such a powerful way I found it impossible to put down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Devika Shallivan’s tips for first time writers of erotica genre

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Don’t be stumped: Most writers do not even attempt to write erotica as they are lost as to how they would write it? What words they would use? Whether a sex scene is good or bad? How would a reader react? Previously written books may be for a previous generation. You can write something new and unique.

Sex scenes aren’t about sex only:  A good sex scene is about the exchange of emotions, not bodily fluids. There can be emotions from rage or desolation to exultation, tenderness, or surprise.

Increase your vocabulary according to your book era: If you are attempting to write contemporary sex scenes try to find current slang or words. If you are trying to write in the Georgian or Victorian era then know more about the words current at the time. You can very easily do this by googling words and finding which centuries they were used.

 

Show the exchange of emotions:  The best way to show exchange of emotions is by dialogue, expression or action. Dialogue is by far the most flexible and powerful tool a writer has. What people say reveals the essence of their characters. A good sex scene is usually a dialogue scene with physical details.

Use all senses: Many writers and authors use only sight and sound. You can make a vivid scene by including smell, taste, touch.

Do not use ambiguous words: Do not leave too much to imagination. Try to fill in the blanks in the mind of your reader.

Use appropriate trigger warnings : If your story includes violence, sexual harassment, sex trafficking, coercion, rape, make up sex, sexual assault, childhood sexual abuse, sexual fantasy, BDSM, fetish, etc put appropriate trigger warnings.

These stories need to be written and be heard rather being labelled as pornographic or too rude.

Get Feedback: If you are writing a sex scene and are unsure if it would be something your readers would like. Join a writers’ community or group who would be happy to tell you what works and what doesn’t work.

As a writer or author write your story and have a distinct voice. Tell your story!

 

Devika Shallivan Services: https://www.facebook.com/rgrprt/services

Resources

Wikipedia: Erotica Genre
Game of Thrones – George R. R. Martin (1996) Books
Bridgerton – Julia Quinn  (2000) Books
Nymphomaniac Volume I (2013) Film
Nymphomaniac Volume II (2013) Film
Fifty Shades of Grey (2015) – E L James
Sex Education (2019) TV Series

As with all articles in Frost, the opinions expressed are the contributor’s own.