Category Archives: Sunday Scene

SUNDAY SCENE: KATIE GINGER ON HER FAVOURITE SETTING FROM THE LITTLE LIBRARY ON CHERRY LANE

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I don’t think there’s a writer out there who doesn’t love libraries. Honestly, we just do! And it’s not just because we write books.

In an age when books are constantly pirated and stolen, borrowing books from your local library helps an author financially as we get a small payment for every book of ours loaned out (it’s currently about 10p, I think). But we also love them because we know the power of stories in bringing people together.

Books help us to feel less alone whether its diving into another world for some escapism when our own lives get rough or reading about an experience that we too have been through before, books give us a sense of connection and hope. But there’s also a lot more to them that sometimes goes unnoticed. Whatever your reading tastes or reason for visiting, libraries are crucial to our communities and my latest novel The Little Library on Cherry Lane is basically a love letter to these fabulous institutions, illustrating all the things they do aside from lending books.

Not only do stories connect with us on a personal level, but libraries bring people together. They help alleviate loneliness and give us an opportunity to connect with others. You only have to see the rise in parent and child groups, or community groups like ‘Knit and Natter’ to see how much people need to forge communities and friendship groups at a time when so much of our lives are lived online. For many older people, they are a lifeline and the only time they speak to people during the day.

In my novel, the local library in the tiny village of Meadowbank is under threat when a developer wants to buy the land and turn it into a housing development. Of course, there’s romance because that’s what I write but the setting simply had to be a library and Meadowbank library, like many others is at the heart of the village’s community.

My favourite scene comes quite early on when the new housing development is revealed to the local community, and we see the reaction of the village. There’s complete outrage from all those who love the library and even Elsie, the shy, quiet librarian can’t stop herself from speaking out (much to the chagrin of our handsome hero). She sees the value of the place for more than just the books it lends. The village is shocked by her visceral reaction but for the most part agrees wholeheartedly with her. There are of course a few people who disagree because otherwise there wouldn’t be any tension in the story!

I absolutely loved writing the back and forth between the two main characters where they’re batting away each other’s arguments. She’s surprised at herself and our handsome hero can’t help but find her attractive even though she’s trying to scupper all his plans.

If you haven’t taken a trip to your local library in a while, please do as soon as you have the chance. They’re wonderfully welcoming and I’m sure you’ll see for yourself just how many people use them to connect with others. Books are important, but so are the places that house them, and we must do everything we can to ensure that future generations get to visit these amazing places too!

 

 

If you’d like to know more about me or my books, you can find me here: www.keginger.com!

 

SUNDAY SCENE: LAURA R LEESON ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM THE VALENTINE RETREAT

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Twenty years ago, I spent time in California. As a naïve Brit, it was equal parts amazing and terrifying, and I remain fascinated by the diverse and nature of a society surprisingly different to our own. When it came to choosing a setting for my debut novel, Los Angeles seemed a natural choice – because rather like me, I wanted ex-pat Megan to find herself struggling to discover her place in an unfamiliar, challenging world.

Added to which, Megan is a survivor of a controlling relationship – what began as a fairy tale marriage to a high-profile, successful businessman has already disintegrated, so when she meets Jim on a weekend away at The Valentine Retreat, the last thing she thinks she’s looking for is romance.

The setting for a pivotal scene – where Megan tentatively looks to the future and begins to believe she might want it to include Jim – takes place in the hotel bar:

 

The pianist was in full flow as Megan entered the bar. His fingers moved across the keys with the kind of confidence only a seasoned professional possessed. The music he produced was quiet and understated, which was more than could be said for his shirt. The vibrant duck-egg blue and plum check of the fabric was highly visible under his beige linen suit, open at the neck and unapologetic.

Megan smiled. For the first time in such a long time, she felt a spike of anticipation about this evening.

The room was less populated this evening, the weekend buzz replaced by mellow groups seated at some of the low tables, visible through the waving fronds of the potted plants as she took a seat at the bar.

‘Hi.’
There was no need to turn, she recognised the voice. ‘Hi, Jim,’ she said as he shrugged his way out of his leather jacket. She looked more closely at his face. ‘What did you do?’
Jim’s hand travelled up, his fingers tracing over a small patch of damaged skin. ‘Would you believe me if I told you there were five of them and I took them all down single-handed?’
‘Um, no. Not really.’ Trying to appear serious, she couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement.
‘Damn.’ He grinned. ‘Cut myself shaving.’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘It didn’t, until I put aftershave on without thinking.’ He pulled a face then shrugged. ‘A bit of pain reminds me I’m still alive.’
‘Do you need reminding?’ She kept her tone light, but it was a genuine question. She had spent months wondering if she was still alive.”

 

After living a lie for far too long, and desperate for honesty from others, this is the moment when Megan begins to believe in Jim. However, Megan’s past hasn’t finished with her, the hotel is not all it seems, and Jim is harbouring more than his fair share of secrets. Secrets which may cost them both a great deal more than their happiness.

In the time-honoured tradition of romantic suspense, The Valentine Retreat is a fast-paced and twisty novel, but at its heart lies the story of two people who just want to find someone to rely on, and trust with their deepest emotions.

 

For more information – please visit my website www.laurarleeson.com or search for me on social media @laura_R_Leeson

SUNDAY SCENE: KENDRA SMITH ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED

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I enjoyed writing one of my latest protagonists, Victoria, in my fourth book, Everything Has Changed. She’s been in a car accident and ‘lost’ six years of her life due to amnesia. When she wakes up in hospital, she remembers her children as adorable 10-year-old twins. They’re not. They are 16 and sulky. And her marriage is dangling by a thread.

Last thing she remembers is that she was a fun-loving mum. As she says, ‘where had the chaotic, popcorn-in-her-bra mum gone?’ Some parts of the book poke fun at who she’s become, other sections are more reflective.  I posed the question: what would it be like to be catapulted into ‘your’ future with no warning. Especially if you didn’t like how the ‘future’ was looking – and moreover, what if you didn’t like your new self very much? And (let’s turn up the heat) what if your husband didn’t like you. This is a scene just before a family gathering. Victoria is remembering a holiday in Greece and how her husband James used to feel about her. Will he ever feel like this again?

Victoria clasped the brooch tightly in her fist. The pin at the edge pierced her skin and she flinched. She was setting the table in the kitchen. James had given her the brooch when they were on holiday in Greece. Since she’d found those photos and that list, more had come back to her. ‘It’s beautiful like you’. It was a white pebble polished till it gleamed and there were tiny pearls surrounding it. She remembered the beach, Izzy and Jake had run into the waves and then come out and rolled in the sand. They must have been about five. And then James, holding a squealing twin under each arm, armbands bulging out the sides as he plunged into the water. She’d watched, her sarong gently flapping across her legs. There were flashes of vivid memory.

Life had been uncomplicated, hadn’t it? They loved each other. James was trying for a promotion and they were trying for another baby – or were they? It was a bit fuzzy. And then what? Had all the wet towels on the floor, the unanswered text messages, the late hours at the office, the headache of bringing up twins with two sets of everything from homework to nits – had that all seeped into the fibre of their marriage like rain soaking through a faulty roof, until the rot had set in?

Not us, she’d thought. The twins will never tell a counsellor, ‘Mummy and Daddy have fallen out of love.’ Or will they?

Victoria moved round the table and mechanically placed knives and forks opposite one another. The napkins, the salt and pepper, it was all new to her. Household items were a surprise every time she opened the cupboard.

‘You’re wearing the brooch?’

She abruptly turned round as James walked towards her carrying a dish of salad.  ‘Yes.’

He glanced at it and she stared at his jaw, at his shirt collar and tried to remember how many times she might have lain against the crook of his neck, crying sometimes, laughing perhaps, sharing a secret? Where had his passion for her gone? The spark? She could feel it, she couldn’t miss it, fizzing up inside her. What about him? She studied his mouth. It was moving. ‘Where do you want these?’ He stared at her.

 

Find out more about Kendra and her other books on Facebook at Kendra Smith Author and on Twitter @KendraAuthor

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: ROSIE PARKER ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM ONLY HUMMINGBIRDS FLY BACKWARDS

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I began writing this novel not long after my own brother had a motorbike accident leaving him brain damaged. It took me quite a few years and several novels later to be able to fictionalise and give this story over to other characters to breathe life and their own tale.

Only Hummingbirds centres around twins Ronnie and Jake, now grown with their own families. After Jake’s horrific accident the two families decide to go on holiday to Brittany.

Much of the action takes place on the beaches and sand dunes of two seaside resorts: a fictional one in Brittany (based on Beg Meil where I holidayed with my own family), and the Somerset one of Brean (where my brother and I went many times, as children).

This novel has twin timelines (early 1970s and late 1980s), twinned places (West Country and Brittany), and focuses on twins Ronnie and Jake (before and after their marriages). When the two families decide to holiday in Brittany secrets begin to surface. Will Ronnie’s marriage survive, will she succumb to the charms of Xavier, and will she get her impossible wish?

Some of the story is shown in flashback and some in the form of letters. Below is part of a flashback from when the twins were young and on a day trip to Brean.

‘Howzat!’ cries Dad, not bothering to keep a note of triumph out of his voice.

            ‘Aw,’ says Jake, dropping his cricket bat.

            ‘Not fair. You should have bowled underarm,’ I shout at Dad. But the wind carries my voice up and away, just as it had sailed the ball plop into Dad’s hand.

            ‘What?’ he calls out.

            ‘Oh. Never mind.’

            I glance over to where the cars are parked at the edge of the dunes. Brean Sands is long and flat, the beach damp and hard from drizzle and high tides. When you swim in the sea, you get covered in brown stuff. We’re never too sure if its silt from the Bristol Channel Estuary, or sewage from neighbouring Weston Super Mare. I wonder if Mum is getting out the sandwiches yet. There’s no sign of her.

Our neighbour Beryl waves from her deckchair which is parked next to Slimy Bob’s Hillman Minx. Both her and stupid Marilyn sit with floppy sunhats. Marilyn is ill, and I once thought it’d be like in the book Heidi, with me tending the sickly Marilyn, but I soon discovered being Heidi is much overrated.

            ‘Come on Veronica!’ Dad beckons to me with large gestures. ‘Look lively. It’s Jake’s turn to bowl.’

I’m still fielding.

            Jake runs up to the crease Dad has made in the sand with his bat, and bowls – overarm – and wide.

            ‘Bad luck, lad. Try again,’ shouts Dad, as I fetch the ball then throw it to Jake, who rubs it on his groin – like real cricketers do. He pounds up to the crease, bowls, and this time Dad hits it. High high up into the sky only to disappear into the dunes.

            ‘Six!’ shouts Dad. Showing off as usual. I half run, half walk to fetch the ball – my brown Clarks sandals plodding on the sand. Dad is a member of Clifton Cricket Club: Jake and I are only ten. Which tells you all you need to know about Dad’s competitiveness.

            The wind off the sea is quite strong, but I can hear a soft laugh from behind the next dune.

 

I write romcoms under my own name of Rosemary Dun – this novel I’ve used a pen name – Rosie Parker.

https://www.facebook.com/RosemaryDunAuthor

 

 

 

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: ELAINE EVEREST ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM HER WOOLWORTHS GIRLS BOOKS

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Having (so far) written ten books in ‘The Woolworths Girls’ series I thought long and hard about a favourite scene from the series. My mind kept straying to Alexandra Road in Erith, Kent, where many of my characters either live or visit. Why is it so special to me? It is because I not only set the series in the town where I was born and lived for so many years, but because it was also the road where I lived when first married in 1972. Writers are told to write about what they know, and I certainly made the most of that!

Although I set my books in the past it was easy to imagine number thirteen in times gone by as the road had changed very little externally since 1903 when the houses were built. The four terraces of bay fronted homes may now have new families living in them and so many mod cons, but the ghosts of the past linger on. As a young bride I was told stories of the people who first lived there, and what happened during the two wars. Even though I was not writing novels at that time I adored these stories, as well as the gossip and tittle tattle, with some linking to my own family. I discovered two great aunts had lived at the top end of the road during the 1920s, and a couple only a few doors up from my house had a son who had been in the army with my dad. Across the road another neighbour informed me she had been ‘courted’ by my dad… It was almost as if my family had turned into my own saga! My only thoughts whilst living at number thirteen was that I’d really liked to have experienced the WW2 years living in the house as it survived apart from a wonky wall in the hall which occurred after a bomb dropped nearby in 1940.

These days I devour any information about people who once lived in Alexandra Road. Fortunately, with being able to use Facebook, local groups have popped up where we can chat about our school years and living in the area of Slade Green and Erith. I’ve heard from three women who all lived in number thirteen at different time. I even chatted with the lady whose father had laid the awful multi-coloured floor tiles in the living room during the 1950s that were still there in 1972. What grabbed my attention most was the talk of street parties to celebrate, the end of wars, coronations of different monarchs, royal weddings, and our own much loved queen’s anniversaries. Alexandra Road won the best decorated street in the South-East in 1977 for Queen Elizabeth’s silver jubilee and I was there and part of the history of the road. I recall how every house was adorned in silver foil scrunched along the guttering, courtesy of a local meat pie factory. How sheets were dyed so we could make bunting that hung across the road between every one of the seventy-five houses.  It was a grand street party with trestle tables up the road and children in fancy dress. Not having children to dress up, my three dogs wore red, white, and blue ribbons attached to their collars.

Looking back, it is the road I remember most, and recalling the stories I wove around the lives of the families behind the lace curtains in those bay windows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: SUSAN GRIFFIN ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM SCARLETT’S STORY

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Scarlett is a character from my novel The Amethyst Necklace, and was the first person to appear in my head when I was thinking up the plot for the book. However, as that book progressed, Scarlett soon became a larger and more colourful character than I had anticipated, with her own heart-breaking story overshadowing the dual-timeline book.

However, she was a pivotal part of the novel so I kept her in and decided to give her a smaller role to play in the book. That was when realisation dawned. Scarlett had to have her own novel, so that she could spread her wings, and tell the readers of The Amethyst Necklace her own story. And Scarlett’s Story, the book, was born.

After suffering the loss of her mother and siblings to the Spanish Influenza Epidemic, Scarlett’s father returns from the war in 1918 a changed man. The shock of this and her recent losses, gives Scarlett the strange gift of second sight, where she experiences dreams and visions of what might happen in the future. As a child this is frightening and something to be kept hidden, and when her father dies soon after his return from the trenches, Scarlett is left an orphan at only 10 years old.

Scarlett has experienced a difficult life, but with courage and determination she claws her way to a comfortable lifestyle. It’s not one, though, that’s true to her nature, and when she finally falls properly in love, with all the joy and heartache that brings, she comes to realise where her real values lie.

This excerpt from the book is my favourite chapter, where Scarlett realises that the man standing in front of her is the handsome stranger in her dreams.

Then it happened. As we locked our gaze defiantly, each of us it seemed was unable to look away. And as the seconds ticked by, I began drowning in those hazel eyes. With a jolt I realised that this was the man I’d been dreaming of for years, the man who in my dreams had loved me more than life itself.

Breaking the spell, Frankie tore his eyes from me and shook his head vigorously. Then, turning on his heel, he hurried back through the hallway, leaving me gasping for breath and wondering what exactly had just happened.

As Frankie reached the door, he spun around and glared back at me. ‘Women like you don’t know what harm they’re doing!’ he bellowed, before striding angrily down the footpath and banging the back gate shut behind him.

This is the point in the novel where Scarlett understands she may have been mistaken in her search for the comfort of material possessions in her life. And later in the book when she thinks she’s lost Frankie, after his plane is shot down over enemy occupied France, she is heartbroken.

With Scarlett’s Story I wanted to give Scarlett a difficult journey, a mission to become someone of importance, even though she was from lowly beginnings. This was a challenge she rose to and overcame, and once she had accepted love into her life, she went from a child who had nothing, to a woman who had everything.

As is so often the case in life, what we think we want and what we really need, are two different things entirely. And when Scarlett fell in love for the first time, she soon realised it was love that she had been searching for all along.

 

 

https://susangriffinauthor.com/

 

 

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: PENNY HAMPSON ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM A PLETHORA OF PHANTOMS

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One of the perks of being a writer is being able to put one’s characters in dangerous situations and coming up with believable ways in which they can extricate themselves. A favourite example of mine occurs in my book, A Plethora of Phantoms, because it marks the point where my main character starts to become the man he wants to be.

Aristocrat Freddie Lanyon is not your typical hero; he’s reserved, doesn’t enjoy being the centre of attention, and is head over heels in love with Bath antique dealer Marcus. Sadly, Freddie thinks he’s blown his chance for love because he’s too timid about coming out. Marcus has gone missing, so, urged by Marcus’ distraught sister, Freddie stays the night with her in Marcus’ flat above the antique shop. Unfortunately, a quiet night’s sleep is not what Freddie gets.

Woken in the early hours by the sounds of a violent scuffle in the street outside, Freddie spies Marcus being assaulted by two thugs as they attempt to gain entry to the shop below. Freddie telephones the police for assistance and is instructed to remain where he is, but this is an instruction that Freddie chooses to ignore – it would be a pretty dull story if our hero did nothing at all.

Tiptoeing swiftly down to the first-floor kitchen and pausing only to pick up something heavy – a sharpening steel – Freddie carried on towards the ground floor entrance of the flat. The bolts slid back silently. The sound of muffled voices told him that the street door had been breached and the intruders were attempting to gain entry to the shop.

            “Hurry up!” A harsh voice ordered.

            There was a groan. Freddie knew it was Marcus. Anger rose in his chest.

            “Key in the bloody number or I’ll hammer you again and you wouldn’t want me to spoil that pretty face of yours, would you?”

            Another voice chipped in, “You’d have thought he’d had enough when we smashed his fingers. Must be something really special in that safe of yours, eh, Spender?”

            Freddie took a deep breath. Now was not the time to hesitate. He had to take them by surprise.

            Clutching the steel in one hand Freddie flung the door open and charged forward with a roar, but instead of aiming high he went low, landing a heavy blow across the legs of the assailant who had Marcus in a stranglehold. The guy screamed as his limbs buckled and he crumpled into a heap on the floor, freeing Marcus. Freddie leapt on to the thug’s back, determined to keep him immobile until the police arrived, and watched as Marcus slid to his knees making choking sounds. Bracing himself for an attack from the assailant’s accomplice, Freddie looked up to see this guy staring open-mouthed with terror, not at him, but at something behind him.

            The crook’s mouth opened and closed but there was no sound as he slowly backed away.

            If Freddie didn’t know better, he’d have sworn that this ugly customer had seen something awful, not just a bloke in pyjama bottoms wielding a steel.

I loved turning Freddie into an action hero. Seeing Marcus being threatened with violence galvanises him into doing something out of character to save the day, although he does have a little supernatural assistance – this is a ghost story, after all.

I had great fun with Freddie, especially in this scene where he changes from being a quiet man to action hero.

 

To discover more about my action-filled romance stories visit my website: https://pennyhampson.co.uk/

 

 

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: CLARE SWATMAN ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM BEFORE WE GROW OLD

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It’s so hard to pick a favourite scene from any book, so for this, I’m plumping for the very first scene in my latest book, Before We Grow Old – partly because I like it and partly so I don’t give anything else away! In this opening scene, Fran and Will bump into each other by chance in a busy London cafe – and the last time they’d seen each other had been 25 years before, when they’d been teenagers in love. Here’s the moment they meet:

The next few seconds were a scramble of wiping the table and floor, and apologising and stammering. Which is why it took me so long to actually look at the man who’d accidentally bumped into me in this busy café. I noticed his mop of expensively cut blonde hair first, peppered with streaks of grey and tousled into subtle spikes. Then I noticed his smile: the friendly mouth and glistening white teeth, followed by his sparkling blue eyes, which lit up as he looked at me.
‘Oh…’ I stammered, and almost fell into my seat, my mouth open like a goldfish.
‘Fran?’
‘Will.’ I stared at him for a moment too long.  ‘I – do you want to sit down? I think it’s dry now.’ I looked at him again and indicated the seat opposite me as my stomach rolled over. ‘If you have time, of course.’

I enjoyed imagining what it might feel like to suddenly be confronted by someone who you’d not only loved so deeply, so obsessively, but who had hurt you so badly when they’d upped and left that it had affected you for the rest of your life. It’s not necessarily something that you would think about every day, but the way something like that makes you feel definitely has an impact on the way you see things, and the way you react to people. There’s always a before and an after to any kind of heart-breaking moment, and I really wanted to get it right.

I enjoyed imagining how awkward Will and Fran might both have felt after Will bumped into her, and left hot chocolate dripping all over the floor; the realisation that they knew each other, that they’d loved each other once. I wanted to capture how Fran might have felt such a conflicting range of emotions, from excitement to shock to anger to embarrassment, all within the space of just a few seconds. And although I wanted them both to feel awkward at first, I also wanted to let them have a conversation, to talk to each other – and they do just that, even if they end up skirting round what they really want to say. Here’s where I think it sums it up best:

I blew across the top of my hot chocolate, watching as the cool air skimmed across the foamy surface. Okay, so he’d decided not to talk about the past. That was fine with me. More than fine, in fact. That was good. It was too early to be raking over old ground. Besides, what would be the point?

And yet my hands still gripped my mug so tightly that my knuckles turned white, as the words I wanted to ask him hung in the air between us, unsaid.

I hope this makes it clear that there are lots of things that are unsaid between them – and that this is the launchpad for the rest of the story!

 

www.clareswatmanauthor.com