It’s Jim Webster again, with another of his fantastical tales!
Let’s start with a photo…
Followed by a tale…
Getting Rich Moderately Rapidly Some people seem to drift into jobs that don’t really suit them. If they’re lucky then their lives get shaken up and they finally find themselves where they ought to be. Still it can be a traumatic experience and you end up hoping that it was worth the effort. I knew one couple who went through this process. Both were in jobs which they didn’t particularly like but weren’t quite sure how they could escape from them. One was Roa. She was a young woman who somehow ended up a downstairs maid. Even though it was a large establishments she found herself doing a fair bit of kitchen work as well. Many women quite take to the life and even look back on it with a degree of affection, once matrimony was whisked them away from it. Others frankly loath it and get out as soon as possible. Roa was trapped because whilst she didn’t like the job, her dislike wasn’t intense enough to drive her to do something about it. She was, after a fashion, courted by Erlman. His job was a little specialist. He was employed by a legal practice who would hire him out to householders worried about the honesty of their servants. Erlman would be sent to the household and would try and entice the servants into corrupt practices. If he succeeded the servant would be sacked. The problems became apparent when Erlman started to ‘test’ Roa as his contract of employment demanded. Firstly he was smitten with her. Secondly, when he suggested some minor peculation, Roa scolded him, not for his dishonesty but for his lack of imagination. Erlman had suggested she add a couple of bottles of wine to the order when the household wanted to top up their wine cellar. His cunning plan would be that they wouldn’t be missed when she spirited them away and they resold them. Roa pointed out that it would make far more sense to put in an extra grocery order. Rather than just have it delivered, tell the supplier it was for the family’s rural estate and so Erlman and her could hire a wagon, collect the extra and then sell that As I said, Erlman was probably more than a little in love with Roa at this point. So not only was he swayed by her genius, he also saw it as a way for him to get out of a job he disliked. Roa put in the order; Erlman collected it and then started a grocer’s business, selling produce from the back of a wagon. Obviously they couldn’t put too many extra orders on thehousehold budget because somebody would notice. Roa came up with the idea of putting in extra orders for other households as well. It was all quite informal, Erlman would present his list and whilst that was being fulfilled, then he would present a second, much shorter list. This he asked them to put on another account. He merely commented that as he was virtually passing the door of one establishment on his way to the other, everybody seemed to think it made sense for him to collect the extra. By sounding somewhat ‘put-upon’ he managed to convince everybody. The system worked remarkably well, they even bought their own wagon, pulled by two horses. Yet eventually the housekeeper in one of the establishments noticed that they seemed to be buying an awfully large amount of carbolic soap (one of Erlman’s best sellers,) and yet could never find any when they wanted it. Everything rushed headlong to an embarrassing climax. Roa was summoned by the housekeeper to the Master’s Study to discuss matters with an officer from the watch. She managed to slip away and ran to where Erlman should be to tell him that the game was up and they’d better flee. Alas when she found him, he was already under arrest. She was arrested and the pair of them were incarcerated awaiting trial. Their future looked grave. In such cases the city sells the indenture of the guilty party, and they labour in the Houses of Licentiousness, sorting through the eggs of shore clams in the great tanks, sorting male and female for immediate consumption or further growth. One is always cold and wet, and because the cost of food is deducted from your wages, one is probably hungry as well. Roa and Erlman were comparatively lucky. Lord Cartin was taking his condottieri east along the Paraeba to assist the cities of the upper river against the Scar nomads. These savages were raiding south of the river and Lord Cartin was contracted to put together an expeditionary force with some urgency. Obviously he had his own men-at-arms and crossbowmen, but he was desperately short of supply wagons. In Partann, one is never short of villages or towns from which to buy supplies. On the Red Steppe and in the foothills of the Madrigals there is no point in attempting to live off the land. Everything you need, you have to carry with you. So Lord Cartin bought Roa and Erlman’s indenture, on the understanding that their horses and wagon were included. They found themselves indentured as sutlers. They bought military and non-military supplies and attempted to make a profit selling them to the troops. It was not an easy role to take on. Making excess profits by overcharging your customers was dangerous. Lord Cartin disapproved, but even more to the point, so did the customers, and they were heavily armed and often belligerent. On the other hand Roa and Erlman soon realised that it was relatively easy to purchase their stock at very competitive prices. They merely had to ask Lord Cartin to let them have an armed escort when they went to restock, and the presence of a dozen truculent crossbowmen soon encouraged even the most avaricious wholesaler to reason. Still, it wasn’t what one would call an easy life. More than once, Scar raiders attempted to hit a small relief column they were part of. Erlman soon acquired a sword and a crossbow whilst Roa learned to drive a horse team with one hand, whilst fending off questing light horsemen with a whip held in the other. They finally paid off their indenture by presenting Lord Cartin with the ponies of three Scar braves who’d attempted to run off the wagon. Two had fallen to Erlman’s crossbow; the third had died under the wheels of the wagon, having fallen off his pony when entangled in the whip. Lord Cartin asked them to serve out the campaign for wages. This they did, before settling in Oiphallarian to set up a grocer’s business. Strangely enough I know met both of them after the siege of Oiphallarian. They’d both survived, Roa had brained a Scar warrior with a dolly peg, and Erlman had been appointed captain of one of the many militia companies which were formed to help man the walls. They were in Port Naain, buying a boat load of food to take to the stricken city. Just for old time’s sake, they managed to split the cost between the accounts of a dozen wealthy households who might not notice for months.
So welcome back to Port Naain. This blog tour is to celebrate the genius of Tallis Steelyard, and to promote two novella length collections of his tales.
So meet Tallis Steelyard, the jobbing poet from the city of Port Naain. This great city is situated on the fringes of the Land of the Three Seas. Tallis makes his living as a poet, living with his wife, Shena, on a barge tied to a wharf in the Paraeba estuary. Tallis scrapes a meagre living giving poetry readings, acting as a master of ceremonies, and helping his patrons run their soirees. These are his stories, the anecdotes of somebody who knows Port Naain and its denizens like nobody else. With Tallis as a guide you’ll meet petty criminals and criminals so wealthy they’ve become respectable. You’ll meet musicians, dark mages, condottieri and street children. All human life is here, and perhaps even a little more.
Firstly;- Tallis Steelyard, Deep waters, and other stories.
More of the wit, wisdom and jumbled musings of Tallis Steelyard. Discover the damage done by the Bucolic poets, wonder at the commode of Falan Birling, and read the tales better not told. We have squid wrestling, lady writers, and occasions when it probably wasn’t Tallis’s fault. He even asks the great question, who are the innocent anyway?
And then there is;- Tallis Steelyard. Playing the game, and other stories.
More of the wit, wisdom and jumbled musings of Tallis Steelyard. Marvel at the delicate sensitivities of an assassin, wonder at the unexpected revolt of Callin Dorg. Beware of the dangers of fine dining, and of a Lady in red. Travel with Tallis as his poetical wanderings have him meandering through the pretty villages of the north. Who but Tallis Steelyard could cheat death by changing the rules?
If you want to see more of the stories from the Land of the Three Seas, some of them featuring Tallis Steelyard, go to my Amazon page at
Today, I am delighted to host fantastic author Jim Webster as he is going on a tour of the Blogosphere for his new release, The Plight of the Lady Gingerlily.
Without further ado, I shall pass you over to Jim!
We shall start with a photo, and the story that was inspired by it!
Delicate work A casual observer might have assumed that Benor Dorfinngil was in a good mood. He had a spring in his step and might even be whistling a merry tune. There was good reason for his high spirits. Things were going rather well. He had funds. Admittedly he’d ended up giving two of the ten alar coins to Shena, on the grounds that the costs entailed in purchasing a dress might well come within the definition of legitimate expenses incurred during the investigation. On the other hand, he’d been firm with Tallis. Benor couldn’t see why Tallis needed compensating for the strain of looking after innumerable grandchildren. Given that the alternative would have been accompanying Shena to purchase a dress, Benor felt he’d taken the easy option. Once she’d accepted the coins, Benor had mentioned the name, Salat Wheelstrain, to her and Shena had, in good grace, promised to ask around. Another of the coins had been broken into a most commendable quantity of small change and Mutt was using this to marshal his array of watchers. If the two sisters left the house their movements were tracked and their conversations overheard by a collection of inconspicuous and apparently innocent children. Benor had been surprised just how much activity Mutt could command for a comparatively small outlay. Now he was intent on seeing Faldon the priest. As Faldon had been the instigator of the inquiry, Benor felt that it was only right that he occasionally reported back on what had been achieved. There was the problem that Faldon was disinclined to support anything to unethical, but Benor felt he could gloss over some matters. There was also the hope that Faldon would keep his eyes and ears open and might even have something to contribute to the investigation. When Benor arrived at the house he found Faldon sitting out in the street enjoying the afternoon sun. Unwilling to accept payment for cutting the hair of passers-by, Faldon tended to be paid in kind. Obviously, somebody had gifted him a bench of solid but inelegant construction, and this was set against the front wall of the house. Faldon sat on it, but when Benor appeared, the priest moved to one end to allow the younger man space to sit down. “So how are things progressing?” Airily Benor said, “I now have the two women watched by experts.” “Hopefully we shall be ready if she makes a move against the child.” Faldon shifted his position on the bench as if his comment had left him uncomfortable. Then he changed the subject, “So what do you know about Jorrocks Boat Yard?” “Well, they bought a lot of very poor quality second-hand timber. Also it appears Minny thought it important that Santon handled the Jorrocks Boat Yard account for Raswil Muldecker the usurer.” “What do we know about the yard?” “I’d never heard of them,” Benor admitted. “But then I thought to ask Shena. They are one of the smaller yards. Old Yalla Jorrocks had a good name, his son, Belan, wasn’t a bad boat builder, but by all accounts, he wasn’t the cheapest and apparently you had to keep an eye on him or corners were cut. Of the current generation, Ardal is in charge and he is, apparently, the person to go to if you’re planning an insurance swindle or want something doing that isn’t particularly legal. The smugglers tend to deal with him.” Faldon asked, “So would it be worth having a look at the yard?” “It could be. But I doubt they’d welcome casual visitors. I suspect I’d have to look round at night.” Hesitantly Faldon asked, “Would you like me to come with you?” Surprised Benor said, “Certainly, it’s good to have support, but it didn’t strike me as the sort of thing you’d want to get involved in.” “I’m feeling a bit guilty,” Faldon admitted. “I dumped this job on you and haven’t really done a lot to help.” “Fair enough. If Mutt can spare the time I’ll get him to come as well. Today has been overcast so it looks like we’ll get a dark night.”
The night was as dark as Benor hoped. Mutt met them just outside the yard. He’d insisted on doing a private reconnaissance first. When they met he led them down a narrow lane between two boatyards leading to the estuary. The yards on either side of the lane had tall fences made of a mixture of second and third-hand timber; in various states of decay. As they got close enough to see the water glinting in the estuary, Mutt stopped. “This bit is rotten; I got through. You two can follow me.” Luckily both men were slender and wiry; a more thickset man would have had trouble. Still, by the time they’d pushed through, the hole was noticeably larger. They entered the yard behind a pile of timber. Fortunately, it hadn’t been piled against the fence, probably because it was unlikely that the fence could support the weight. The three of them crept out from behind the pile of wood and into the open. The entire area seemed to be a haphazard collection of piles of timber looming out of the darkness. Benor led the way. He could see something against the skyline which looked like a boat on the stocks. He stopped and listened. There was no sound, just the noises of the city in the background. He stood up. Quietly he said, “I think we can walk. There doesn’t look to be anybody about.” Cautiously the other two stood up. Mutt hissed, “I’ll go to the right a bit, see if there’s any sign of anybody over there. There’s some sort of hut near the gate in.” Benor nodded and made his way towards the boat. Faldon moved off to the left, “There’s a pile of something over here.” Benor kept his eye on Mutt, the boy disappeared around a pile of wood, but there was still no sound. He waited but the boy didn’t come back, so he’d obviously not found anything. He moved forward and as he did so there was a ripping sound and then a scream to his left. He spun around and Faldon wasn’t there. Hastily he dropped down onto his hands and knees to make himself less conspicuous and crawled in the direction of the scream. Suddenly his hands touched canvas. Quietly he said, “Faldon?” From below him came Faldon’s voice. “Down here. I went through the canvas. The ground here is stone slabs!” Benor reached out, found a torn end, and tore it further so he could see down. Below him, he could see the pale blob of Faldon’s face. Mutt appeared next to him. “What ‘appened.” From below Faldon commented, “There’s a boat down here.” Benor explained, “So Faldon’s fallen through the cover over a dry dock.” “Well get ‘im out. There’s a hut over there with a light in the windows. I heard the scream, they might of.” Benor reached down. “Can you grab my hand?” Faldon tried to stand up. “I’ve damaged my ankle.” Benor tried to estimate the depth. “Is there a ladder, I don’t fancy the drop.” “Yes, just along there.” Benor tried to see in the direction Faldon was pointing. There might be something. He tore the rotten canvas and made his way in that direction. Yes, there was a ladder. “Mutt, I’ll go down and help him up, you catch him.” At the foot of the ladder, Faldon was waiting; he’d used the ladder to haul himself upright. Slowly and with Benor taking the weight, he climbed the ladder. “Get on, someone coming.” Benor put his shoulder under Faldon and pushed the other man out of the hole. As he did so a rung, rotten with age, snapped and Benor fell onto the next which also snapped. At this, he tumbled back into the hole. Mutt repeated, “Someone coming.” “Get Faldon hidden, I’ll hide down here.” “If they find owt, I’ll let ‘em chase me.” Benor looked round for a hiding place. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the light. There was a boat here; perhaps he could hide inside the hull. He scrambled up the rope tied to the side, dashed across the deck and lowered himself over the combing and into the hold. In there it was dark. He stood completely still and listened. A voice said, “Telled you there were someone. The sheet’s torn.” A second voice said, “Better go down and look then.” There was silence then a curse. “Watch the bluidy ladder, it’s knackered.” “Here, stop moaning and I’ll pass you down the torch.” Suddenly there was a hint of light inside the hull. Obviously, some of the planking hadn’t been caulked yet so light was coming in between them. Benor glanced around; he could make out the mast, seated in a block fastened to the keel. He moved and stood behind that. From outside he heard, “Nobody out here.” “Then look inside the boat.” “Waste of time.” “Why, had you got something more interesting planned? Look inside the boat.” Benor heard muffled cursing then there was the sound of booted feet on the deck above him. Suddenly there was light streaming in through the hatch. Benor pressed himself against the mast. Now with more illumination, he could see something strange at the stern of the boat. There was some sort of box. From outside a voice said, “Well are you going in?” “If I am you can bluidy well come up here and hold the ladder.” Benor looked around desperately for a better place to hide. The box at the stern was the only possible place. He made his way carefully to the stern. He paused briefly. There were two large timber planks, curved to match the curve of the hull. There was one on the port side, another to starboard, and they appeared to be fastened to the timbers of the hull. For some reason, the two planks were linked, across the hold, by a rope. Benor carefully stepped over it. It appeared to be bar-tight. Then he saw that running from this rope was another rope which led unto the box. Hastily Benor ducked under the second rope and climbed up into the box. It appeared to be full of canvas. Frantically he burrowed into it and lay there. Now whoever was holding the light was obviously in the hold. Benor could see it coming in through the gaps between the planks of the box. “Still see nowt.” A third voice said, “Well happen it’s because there’s nowt to see.” The second voice replied. “Then stop wasting time and let us search the rest of the yard.” The light grew dimmer. Benor lay utterly still in the darkness. He listened to men cross the deck and drop down onto the ground. He then heard somebody cursing the broken rungs of the ladder and finally he was alone in the silent darkness. He lay there, still listening; in the far distance he could hear voices but couldn’t make out the words. Carefully he pulled a stub of candle out of his belt pouch. Then he took a match out of its tin and with the small pliers provided by the manufacturer, crushed the bulb at the end of the match. It flared into flame and he hastily lit the candle. Then he looked around. He found himself lying on neatly folded canvas in a box that was comfortably large enough to hold him and the canvas. When he looked, the back of the box was the stern of the boat, but it seemed to be hinged. Why would you want to get out of a boat under the waterline? Also, why was there a rope sewn to the canvas and disappearing out through a hole in the hatch? Was it a drogue to slow the boat down or assist steering? He climbed out of the box and lowered himself onto the bottom of the hold. He stepped over the taut robes. If the drogue was released into the water, it would pull on the cross rope, but the planks fastened to the sides of the hull would take the strain. That didn’t make a lot of sense. If asked to build something like this, he’d have fastened it to the keel, or even to the block in which the mast was seated. These were more substantial pieces of wood, and capable of taking the strain. He made his way to the entrance hatch. He climbed up the ladder and onto the deck, shielding his candle with his hat lest the light be seen from outside. He walked silently across the deck and lowered himself over the edge, dropping down to the ground at the stern of the boat. From the outside the hatch was visible and it had a length of rope dangling from it. He shook his head, puzzled, and made his way along the side of the boat. A third of the way along, he came to a plank running vertically up the side of the boat. He held the candle nearer to it, lifting the hat slightly with his other hand to let more light shine on the hull. This plank seemed to be bolted to the plank inside the hull as if to ensure the strain was spread across more of the timbers. He looked at them carefully. They were freshly nailed, but the more he looked at them, the more incredulous he became. He then looked round the dry dock. Stacked against the side of the dock there were some more planks. These had obviously come off the side of a boat; you could see the nail holes where they’d been fastened on. Now it wasn’t uncommon for a boatyard to replace ships timbers, but these were in excellent condition. They’d obviously been taken off the hull and replaced by wood in a very poor condition. At this point, Benor remembered what he’d heard about the yard buying a lot of very poor quality second-hand timber. The only thing that made sense was an insurance fraud. The crew could wait until they were out at sea; get all sails set and then abandon ship. They would then pull on the rope at the back of the boat so that the drogue deployed and very rapidly this would put too much strain on the hull and would tear in two large areas of planking. Benor guessed that the water pouring in through the great gaps in the hull would sink the boat within minutes. He stopped and thought about it. It was a bit fussy and involved a lot of planning, but there again; it could be done perfectly safely by the person doing it. He continued along the side of the boat. At the bow was a nameplate. He raised the candle to illuminate it. The Flower of Partann. A shout from somewhere in the yard brought him back to the present. Somewhere out there was Faldon who needed help. Swiftly Benor snuffed out the candle and climbed the damaged ladder, avoiding the broken rungs. There were raised voices and angry shouting near the gate. He couldn’t imagine Mutt could have got Faldon to the gate on his own, so he made his way back towards the way they’d come in. He’d not passed the second pile of timber before he heard a soft voice saying, “Benor, this way.” He ducked down behind the woodpile. Faldon lay there waiting for him. “Mutt has gone to get Tallis; he reckons it’ll take two of you to move me any distance.” “How’s the ankle?” “Probably broken.” “Right, so which way will Tallis come?” “Mutt said to go to the hole we came in through.” ”Right, I’ll try and get you there.” Benor helped the other man to his feet and Faldon threw an arm over Benor’s shoulders. The priest’s inability to put his left foot on the ground slowed them considerably, and Benor kept looking over his shoulder towards the main entrance. “I hope Mutt got away.” ”He said there were other holes he could get through.” As he glanced back, Benor could see light moving in their vague direction.” “Down, we’ll have to crawl this bit.” On hands and knees they made their way behind the pile of timber screening the hole in the fence. A voice shouted, “Right, now search this bluidy yard properly. Cover every bluidy inch of it. That kid must be somewhere and he probably wasn’t alone.” For the next half hour Benor watched the lights working methodically around the boatyard. More lights appeared as reinforcements were called in. “I think I better help you through the hole.” “What about Tallis?” Benor bit his tongue and then said, “Tallis can look after himself. If the worst comes to the worst I can get you down to the Estuary and into the water.” “I’ve never tried swimming with a broken ankle.” “There’s a first time for everything. Don’t worry, I can support you and we’ll let the current carry us away from here.” “Where will it take us?” “That’s just an embarrassing detail; away from here is the important bit.” Faldon fell silent and Benor helped him wiggle through the hole. Then on hands and knees they continued down the narrow lane towards the beach. By the water’s edge Benor said quietly, “I’ll go back to the hole. If Tallis gets here soon we might be able to go with him.” Benor stood in the dark for what seemed like hours. The searchers were getting closer, at some point they would reach the hole in the fence. Then he heard another noise, footsteps. Somebody was coming down the lane. In the gloom he could see several men who appeared to be carrying something. Ahead of them was Tallis. “Where are you Benor?” Benor hissed, “Keep your bluidy voice down.” Tallis turned round. “We’re here. Put the chair down.” He turned back to Benor, “Where’s the casualty.” Silently Benor pointed down the lane to the estuary. Tallis nodded, “This way chaps.” Benor looked on with astonishment as a two-person sedan chair with four chairmen made their way past him. He would have sworn that a lady smiled at him out of the window. He grabbed Tallis. “What in the forty-seven hells is going on?” “Mutt found me at the house of the Widow Handwill. It was she who pointed out that a sedan chair was the obvious mode of transport, and that the presence of a lady would help maintain decorum.” “Will it?” Benor asked, his tone indicating disbelief. “If not, the presence of four sturdy chairmen will,” said Tallis with an air of absolute confidence. “And then there’s Mutt.” “Why, what’s he doing?” “A diversion, listen.” There were shouts from in the boatyard. Benor ducked down and looked through the hole. There were flames at the far end near where he’d assumed the offices were. “He’s set fire to something?” The sedan chair came back past them, the bearers were grinning. Benor saw two faces smiling at him through the window. “Coming?” Asked Tallis, “or do you want to spend the night here?”
I’m sure you’ll all agree that was a fantastic story! But what about the book, time for Jim’s input…
Here’s the man, himself!
I’ve thought long and hard about blog tours. I often wonder how much somebody reading a book wants to know about the author. After all, I as a writer have gone to a lot of trouble to produce an interesting world for my characters to frolic in. Hopefully, the characters and their story pull the reader into the world with them. So does the reader really want me tampering with the fourth wall to tell them how wonderful I am? Indeed given the number of film stars and writers who have fallen from grace over the years, perhaps the less you know about me the better? Still, ignoring me, you might want to know a bit about the world. Over the years I’ve written four novels and numerous novellas set in the Land of the Three Seas and a lot of the action has happened in the city of Port Naain. They’re not a series, they’re written to be a collection, so you can read them in any order, a bit like the Sherlock Holmes stories in that regard. So I had a new novella I wanted to release. ‘Swimming for profit and pleasure.’ It’s one of the ‘Port Naain Intelligencer’ collection and I decided I’d like to put together a blog tour to promote it. But what sort of tour? Then I had a brainwave. I’d get bloggers who know Port Naain to send me suitable pictures and I’d do a short story about that picture. It would be an incident in the life of Benor as he gets to know Port Naain. Except that when the pictures came in it was obvious that they linked together to form a story in their own right, which is how I ended up writing one novella to promote another! In simple terms, it’s a chapter with each picture. So you can read the novella by following the blogs in order. There is an afterword which does appear in the novella that isn’t on the blogs, but it’s more rounding things off and tying up the loose ends. Given that the largest number of pictures was provided by a lady of my acquaintance, I felt I had to credit her in some way. So the second novella I’m releasing is ‘The plight of the Lady Gingerlily.’ It too is part of the Port Naain Intelligencer collection.
So we have ‘Swimming for profit and pleasure’
Benor learns a new craft, joins the second-hand book trade, attempts to rescue a friend and awakens a terror from the deep. Meddling in the affairs of mages is unwise, even if they have been assumed to be dead for centuries.
And we have ‘
The Plight of the Lady Gingerlily
No good deed goes unpunished. To help make ends meet, Benor takes on a few small jobs, to find a lost husband, to vet potential suitors for two young ladies, and to find a tenant for an empty house. He began to feel that things were getting out of hand when somebody attempted to drown him.
You all know I am a HUGE Amanda Prowse fan and I was honoured to have been asked to review some of her recent releases, Anna and Theo, two books in a mini-series entitled One Love Two Stories, and was delighted to discover there was a third book joining those two, about a third character from the story, How To Fall In Love Again (Kitty’s Story).
A couple of months ago I was asked if I’d like to be sent an ARC (Advance Reader Copy) of Amanda’s new release, and well, obviously it was going to be a YES!!!!! Along with the promise of a review and a date set for the official Blog Tour, my copy came winging its way to me.
When Rachel Croft wakes up on her family’s boat in Bermuda, it’s to sunshine and yet another perfect day…until she goes to wake her seven-year-old son, Oscar. Because the worst thing imaginable has happened. He isn’t there.
In the dark and desperate days that follow, Rachel struggles to navigate her grief. And while her husband, James, wants them to face the tragedy together, Rachel feels that the life they once shared is over. Convinced that their happy marriage is now a sham, and unable to remain in the place where she lost her son, she goes home to Bristol alone.
Only when she starts receiving letters from Cee-Cee, her housekeeper in Bermuda, does light begin to return to Rachel’s soul. She and James both want to learn to live again—but is it too late for them to find a way through together?
It took me a bit longer to read, but that has nothing to do with anything more than the fact that it is term-time now and teacher exhaustion hits fast! But this book has been with me all the time so I could squeeze in a few pages here and there, wherever possible.
Are you ready with your tissue box? No, well then, if you want to read this book, you need to be prepared to be assaulted by a wave of emotions hitting you hard.
Amanda Prowse has done it again. With powerful words and descriptions, she sucks you into the lives of a couple who are going through the toughest time of their life.
Rachel and James are living an idyllic life in the Bahamas with their seven-year-old son, Oscar – until he disappears one day, from their boat.
Sitting in a home, far away from their loved ones, this story takes you through the journey of emotions of a couple torn apart with grief and disbelief.
Is he still alive?
Has he been taken?
Was he dead?
They begin to be a burden upon each other, rather than a support, leading Rachel to run away back to her British home in Bristol, to be near her own family and best friend Vicky, leaving James to deal with the grief in his own way.
Rachel finds solace in the words of her beloved Bahamian housekeeper, Cee Cee, who herself suffered a loss, and writes poignant letters filled with hurt, hope and honesty.
I can’t tell you what happens at the end, you need to read it yourself, but be prepared for a rollercoaster of a read, as you really feel the emotions of a mother coping with the loss of a child, and a husband and wife trying their hardest to deal with the cruellest challenge parents could ever have to.
What are you waiting for? Go, read it!
Star Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐(⭐) If I could give it six stars, I would
The Coordinates of Loss by Amanda Prowse is out now, published by Lake Union and available to purchase here:http://amzn.eu/d/9RDjJIT
About the author: I have to tell you, Amanda’s story reads like one of her own books, there is joy, sadness, suffering and success in her own life – no wonder she is the most amazing writer, with such a wealth of experience behind her! I have heard from Amanda about her journey to become a published author too and she is just inspiring!
Amanda Prowse is one of the UK’s most prolific and loved storytellers with global sales of 6million copies and legions of loyal readers (me included!.) Based near Bristol, Amanda is the author of 25 novels and novellas, with books sold in 22 countries and translated into 12 languages – no mean feat when you consider her first novel was only published in 2012. (There’s hope for me yet then!)
A passionate reader since her first visit to the local library aged 6, Amanda would read everything and everything and – armed with her precious library ticket – would spend hours reading Enid Blyton, Anna Sewell, Judy Blume and Nina Bawden, while scribbling short stories of her own. As time passed, she moved on to the more risque delights of Lace, The Thorn Birds and A Woman Of Substance; gritty, emotional stories that would inform her writing. (Mandy, we share the same taste in reading material!)
A powerful storyteller and a master of the addictive plot, Amanda wasn’t always marked out for literary success – for one, she hated school! Born in 1968 in The East End Maternity Hospital, Stepney to young parents, Amanda’s mother was a model for Mary Quant in the ’60s and her father was an engineer for Ford. One of four children – and the only girl – Amanda moved around a lot in her childhood so often felt misplaced. She also suffered from a congenital pelvic defect that went undetected until she was 9 years old and from the age of 11 to 18 underwent numerous operations, spending a lot of time in hospital. Reading became her friend and it was while attending school in St. Albans that an inspirational English teacher – Mr Green – recognised her talent and encouraged her to write and read more widely
Eager to make money, she started work in her late teens and after a series of eccentric flatshares – one with a drag queen and a shoplifter – she went to live with her Nan and Grandad in Dagenham working her way through a number of jobs, trying to figure out what she wanted to be when she grew up!
Against the odds with her medical history in 1996, Amanda gave birth to her son, Josh. With her parents helping to look after Josh, Amanda continued to forge a career, travelling the world to set up offices in Chicago and Europe for a data analytics company. It was then that Amanda met the love of her life, Simeon Prowse. A single dad with a son of his own, they met at the school gates and before long, became a perfectly blended family with Ben becoming a much-loved brother to Josh. Happy and more settled than she had ever felt before, life was about to put another obstacle in her way when Amanda was diagnosed with cancer. A timely wakeup call, she left her job and set up an interior design shop in Bristol whilst starting to write.
Saddled with debt and struggling to keep things afloat, Amanda wrote Poppy Day and, on the 11th November 2012, her life was changed forever when she was approached by a leading literary agency and her first publishing deal was signed.
Since then, Amanda’s rich imagination and prolific writing talent has seen her write over 20 bestsellers with millions of copies being sold across the world. She often writes for 15 hours a day and sees her plots like moves in her mind that she’s compelled to get down on paper. These heartfelt human stories have made her one of the most successful female writers of contemporary fiction today and she has become a regular interviewee in TV, radio and in print.
Amanda’s ambition has always been to create stories that keep people from turning the bedside lamp off at night; great characters that stay with you and stories that inhabit your mind so you can’t possibly read another book until the memory fades. She is also a passionate supporter of military charities and those that support women’s causes and holds regular ‘Evenings with Amanda’ events as fundraisers for her chosen charities.
I was even featured on Amanda’s website if you fancy a read! Just click here!
Please allow me to invite fantastic poet and word-master, Balroop Singh to my blog on a blog hop for her new poetry book, Timeless Echoes.
Might I add a quick apology here to Balroop… somehow all the info for her blog hop ended up in my spam folder and I missed the date I should have scheduled this post! Oops! I was mortified! But all is rectified and here is the promised post!
Book Blurb: Certain desires and thoughts remain within our heart, we can’t express them, we wait for the right time, which never comes till they make inroads out of our most guarded fortresses to spill on to the pages of our choice. This collection is an echo of that love, which remained obscure, those yearnings that were suppressed, the regrets that we refuse to acknowledge. Many poems seem personal because they are written in first person but they have been inspired from the people around me – friends and acquaintances who shared their stories with me.
Some secrets have to remain buried because they are ours
We do share them but only with the stars
The tears that guarded them were as precious as flowers
Soothing like balm on festering scars.
While there are no boxes for grief and joy, some persons in our life are more closely associated with these emotions. Their separation shatters us, their memories echo, we grieve but life does not stagnate for anyone…it is more like a river that flows despite the boulders. When imagination and inspiration try to offer solace, poetry that you are about to read springs forth.
Half of what we say are lies although they might be considered true, but truth with one’s self is an accepted bundle of lies except for those rare moments of self-realization. These lines right at the start of Timeless Echoes, ‘Each moment is precious, we try to cage it within our heart, where it perches in perfect rampart, embalmed by memories,’ reveal how this book is a healer, promising to lay bare the ills of the soul as it soothes, cleanses, and nurtures; instilling in us a will to learn and live without fear, and a will to not hurt others: ‘Why can’t our hearts feel the hurt we hurl at others?’
Balroop’s new book is a steadfast repudiation of those ills that we painfully hide under the covers of our flesh to present the polished exterior as truth. This magnetic collection of poems highlights our precious human lives with all their varied emotions and imposing relations: the lives often blinded by the strictures of the self-made duplicity, an excessively common phenomenon. ‘Listen to your heart, my friend. It knows you well,’ she writes.
I treasure these ‘forgetting fragile facets of love, facade of fading memories, echoes of dwindling love, is all I have now, yet love echoes refuse to subside’ believing that love echoes are soul-launched signals, ready to hug our pretenses to forge a divine assimilation because the struggle has always been with the self that we excommunicate to build up a wall, which obscures the travails plaguing the core. And finding a path to the core is the cure since there’s no villainy in the soul.
As Balroop proclaims ‘love is such a strange emotion, it gives less, it claims more…the facade of love is so delusive,’ I concur how our infirmities require urgent banishment, more pressing now than ever. And once I’ve made peace with the self, ‘the dark corridors are like meadows, they glow with my presence.’ Yes, without an iota of my own falsehoods plaguing me.
Mahesh Nair
Balroop Singh
Author Bio:
Balroop Singh, a former teacher and an educationalist always had a passion for writing. She is a poet, a creative non-fiction writer, a relaxed blogger and a doting grandma. She writes about people, emotions and relationships. Her poetry highlights the fact that happiness is not a destination but a chasm to bury agony, anguish, grief, distress and move on! No sea of solitude is so deep that it can drown us. Sometimes aspirations are trampled upon, the boulders of exploitation and discrimination may block your path but those who tread on undeterred are always successful.
When turbulences hit, when shadows of life darken, when they come like unseen robbers, with muffled exterior, when they threaten to shatter your dreams, it is better to break free rather than get sucked by the vortex of emotions.
Balroop Singh has always lived through her heart. She is a great nature lover; she loves to watch birds flying home. The sunsets allure her with their varied hues that they lend to the sky. She can spend endless hours listening to the rustling leaves and the sound of waterfalls. The moonlight streaming through her garden, the flowers, the meadows, the butterflies cast a spell on her. She lives in San Ramon, California.
Thank you Balroop for all the amazing information on your new book. I have read many of Balroop’s poems via her blog, and she has an amazing way with words, the imagery she creates is fantastic!
Please, buy this book, read and review it! We all know how much genuine reviews mean to our Indie author friends!
A few short months ago, a dear blog pal of mine, M.J. Mallon, better known as Marje from Kyrosmagica blog, published her first ever eBook: The Curse Of Time – Book one – Bloodstone.
I’m not jealous or anything, but sitting there looking at my 17-year-old WIP, I am always in awe of my pals getting things finished, and to publishing stage!
Anyway, MJ (Marje’s alter ego as she loves Superheroes!) spent a long while researching her facts and locations for this book, and the time came in August 2017, to press publish.
I was honoured to host her on her first blog tour too! Read more here.
Her blurb reads as follows:
Fifteen-year-old Amelina Scott lives in Cambridge with her dysfunctional family, a mysterious black cat, and an unusual girl who’s imprisoned within the mirrors located in her house. When an unexpected message arrives inviting her to visit the Crystal Cottage, she sets off on a forbidden pathway where she encounters Ryder, a charismatic, but perplexing stranger.
With the help of a magical paint set, and some crystal wizard stones she discovers the truth about a shocking curse that has destroyed her family’s happiness.
I was finally able to read it the other week, and as a relative newcomer to YA fiction, I found it intriguing.
It took me a short while to get into the swing of the story, but once I was there, I really enjoyed the tale.
Drawn into the life of the main character, Amelina, you are quickly whisked off into a world filled with supernatural happenings, people in mirrors and crystals. Lots of crystals!
There is an element of change evident in Amelina as the book progresses, showing her development as a person who is capable of having a huge effect on those around her, as she learns of the powers she has had bestowed upon her.
I didn’t like Ryder… not that you are really meant to. Ryder is someone who she meets, and who influences her negatively. The fact that I didn’t like him shows that his character was written well within the story.
Over all, a book brimming with supernatural happenings, a mysterious cottage and a family problem that needs solving.
And now, this month actually, the paperback is finally ready to be unleashed to the public, with some exciting additions, in the form of some illustrations of key characters in the book by the extremely talented Carolina Russo.
The artwork below will be included in the paperbacks, but in black and white… how exciting to find a fellow artist to imagine your characters for you!
I know you are clamouring to hear more about Marje, so I’ll hand over to her…
I am a debut author who has been blogging for three years at my lovely blog home Kyrosmagica: https://mjmallon.com. My interests include writing, photography, poetry, and alternative therapies. I write Fantasy YA, middle grade fiction and micro poetry – haiku and Tanka. I love to read and have written over 100 reviews: https://mjmallon.com/2015/09/28/a-z-of-my-book-reviews/
My alter ego is MJ – Mary Jane from Spiderman. I love superheroes! I was born on the 17th of November in Lion City: Singapore, (a passionate Scorpio, with the Chinese Zodiac sign a lucky rabbit,) second child and only daughter to my proud parents Paula and Ronald. I grew up in a mountainous court in the Peak District in Hong Kong with my elder brother Donald. My parents dragged me away from my exotic childhood and my much loved dog Topsy to the frozen wastelands of Scotland. In bonnie Edinburgh I mastered Scottish country dancing, and a whole new Och Aye lingo.
As a teenager I travelled to many far-flung destinations to visit my abacus wielding wayfarer dad. It’s rumoured that I now live in the Venice of Cambridge, with my six foot hunk of a Rock God husband, and my two enchanted daughters. After such an upbringing my author’s mind has taken total leave of its senses! When I’m not writing, I eat exotic delicacies while belly dancing, or surf to the far reaches of the moon. To chill out, I practise Tai Chi. If the mood takes me I snorkel with mermaids, or sign up for idyllic holidays with the Chinese Unicorn, whose magnificent voice sings like a thousand wind chimes.
About the author: I have to tell you, Amanda’s story reads like one of her own books, there is joy, sadness, suffering and success in her own life – no wonder she is the most amazing writer, with such a wealth of experience behind her! I have heard from Amanda about her journey to become a published author too and she is just inspiring!
But I Smile Anyway... 