VRWG Life of a Writer Series (#04) Tom Ireland

Name: Tom Ireland
What genres do you write in?
Poetry, short stories, travel fiction
Have you ever had any work published? If so, what and where?
Ten novels published on Kindle as eBooks and paperbacks. Short stories and poems in VRWG publications
Do you have a preferred place in which to write?
Gladstone’s, Theology room, second desk on the right at the top of the spiral stairs
Let’s talk about your muse. What/who inspires you to write?
Cake, preferably rich fruit with marzipan, and biscuits. Any biscuits. Coffee, double espresso
Tell us about your writing ambitions
Started the Malinding series as a short story which became an opening chapter which became a trilogy …  the idea was that sale of the books would finance GOES, a micro-charity which sponsors education for girls, and medical care.

Pulitzer prize would be good. Maybe sell a few more books? Generally sell one book a month.  Perhaps finish this pesky ghost story …

Who are your favourite writers?
Ransome, Conrad, Shakespeare, Thomas
What’s your ideal writer’s life? Go on, let your imagination run wild!
A small house in the Gambian village which is the basis of Malinding, not too far from the river, near our friends’ compound. Views of the market place and the river
Outside of writing, is there something else we should know about you?
An archbishop of Canterbury once held a door open for me

 

VRWG Life of a Writer series (#03) Debbie Mitchell

Name: Debbie Mitchell (writing as Deborah K Mitchell)
What genres do you write in?
Mainly paranormal/horror, although I have a crime novel as a work in progress, which may see the light of day at some point.
Have you ever had any work published? If so, what and where?
I have three novels, the Rose Tattoo trilogy, self-published on Amazon and other platforms, as well as Mortem – a short-story collection. I also have various bits and pieces included in Vale Royal Writers Group’s own anthologies. Oh, and I had a poem published in the Liverpool Echo when I was nine.

Do you have a preferred place in which to write?
I love Gladstone’s Library in Hawarden, and coffee shops.
Let’s talk about your muse. What/who inspires you to write?
I’ve had the writing bug since I was a child. My maternal grandad was a self-taught reader and writer, and he had ambitions to write a book which were, sadly, never realized. My mum also dabbled in writing, so perhaps the baton was just passed on to me through my DNA. I’m inspired to write by the world around me. I’m a journalist by trade, and there are so many real-life stories I come across that generate great ideas for works of fiction. Or, I’ve had ideas for stories that come from overheard snippets of conversation, or dreams, or even just a glimpse of a scene I’ve passed in my car. The muse can strike anywhere at any time from any source!
Tell us about your writing ambitions
My aim is to build a healthy catalogue of work and gain some traction in the world of indie publishing, so that I eventually make a decent living from it.
Who are your favourite writers?
John Connolly for the cool and clever way he combines horror with crime. Susan Hill for her wonderful ghost stories. Laurie Lee for his gorgeous descriptions of time and place. Also, Joanne Harris, Adam Nevill, Charles Dickens and George Orwell.
What’s your ideal writer’s life? Go on, let your imagination run wild!
I would rise willingly with the sun and take the dogs for a walk on the beach that my house overlooks, before returning for a morning of writing at a large desk positioned by a window facing the sea. I’d take a break for lunch, and stroll into the nearby town to my favourite café where the bohemians hang out. In the afternoon, I would Skype the Hollywood producers who’ve commissioned one of my books to make into a film, or converse with the commissioning editor at the BBC who’s interested in adapting my screenplay. There would be a bit more writing and admin work, before finishing for the day. In the evening, I would open my door to my writer/artist friends for a night of wine, food and conversation around a big, old oak table in my kitchen.

VRWG Life of a Writer series (#02) Debbie Bennett

Name: Debbie Bennett
What genres do you write in?
Fantasy/sf/horror as Debbie Bennett, plus crime & thrillers as DJ Bennett. Why two names? They’re different markets with different readers – but enough similarity to cross-pollinate for the right readers.
Have you ever had any work published? If so, what and where?
I’ve been selling short fiction for over 20 years to women’s magazines and anthologies and I’ve won and been placed in many competitions. I’ve also got 7 novels in print and I’ve recently started dabbling in script-writing with a commission for a Dr Who spin-off set of short films which were released on DVD in 2017. I’m also script-writing for a local community radio play project – think The Archers but darker …
Do you have a preferred place in which to write?
My study in my old house! Sadly, we sold up, cleared the mortgage and downsized nearly 18 months ago and now I have a corner of the dining room, which isn’t ideal. My request to Santa this year is for a good quality set of of noise-reducing headphones, though I doubt they will completely drown out whatever rubbish my husband is watching on tv.
Let’s talk about your muse. What/who inspires you to write?
I’ve always written. Since the age of about 9 when I was reading Brave New World and then moved straight into Heinlein and Wyndham. They didn’t have YA books when I was a teenager, so I haunted my local library and devoured all those plain yellow-covered Robert Hale science-fiction hardbacks. And tried to write like them too. My early efforts were unreadable but I still have them somewhere.
Tell us about your writing ambitions
It’s all about the money! Nah – money would be nice – I’d be able to give up the day job, but really it’s all about validation, isn’t it? I was lucky enough to have a good agent way back in the when, which at least gave me the self-confidence to continue writing, but I’d like to know that people like what I do. I’d like to get more into script-writing too – or at least get my work onto the screen. Recent films The Ritual and The Silence come from novels written by people I know from the convention circuit; so many others have novels under option or even in production, and I love fellowing their stories on Facebook and wishing it was me …
Who are your favourite writers?
Ooh that’s a hard one. I was inspired by fantasy writers like Susan Cooper (The Dark is Rising is simply awesome), Louise Cooper’s Time Master trilogy and pretty much anything Storm Constantine has ever written. I’ve met and shared much alcohol with Louise and Storm and admire them both hugely.

Books I buy in a heartbeat as soon as they are up on pre-order on Amazon? Matthew Reilly for one. Lad-lit – guns, fast cars, silly plots, implausible chases, bigger guns. His books are littered with exclamation marks, badly-constructed sentences and unrealistic ideas – but that man can write. He can have you on the edge of the seat, wondering what’s going to happen next, and he has the ability to sketch a character in a few lines. I’d read his laundry lists, I really would.

What’s your ideal writer’s life? Go on, let your imagination run wild!
Much as it is now, but without the day job. If I had enough money not to worry about the return on investment in our current house, I’d put an extension on the back with a quiet study for me – but otherwise, why change what isn’t broken? Apart from maybe the chance to attend my own film premiere!
Outside of writing, is there something else we should know about you?
My claim to fame is I once asked Stephen King to dance. And yes – I do mean the Stephen King, at a private and very exclusive London party to which I had a personal invitation! But otherwise I’m pretty boring. Married, one adult child and a penchant for a bottle of wine and the local pub quiz every Thursday evening.

You can find out more at http://www.debbiebennett.co.uk

 

VRWG Life of a Writer series (#01) David H Varley

VRWG Life of a Writer blog post questionnaire

Name: David Varley

Q. What genre/s do you write in?

A. Poetry, horror, fantasy and science fiction      

Q. Have you had any work published? If so, what and where?

A. Nowhere terribly glamorous! I had a few bits and bobs published in a local magazine when I lived up north, but since moving to Cheshire I’ve only managed to have a novelette, The Unknown, published by a small indie publisher. It’s being released in a physical anthology soon!

Q. Do you have a preferred place in which to write?

A. I do most of my writing directly at my home computer, but I always have a notebook on me in case inspiration strikes. On nice days, I like to go out into the countryside to find somewhere quiet and beautiful to sit and make notes.

Q. Let’s talk about your muse. What/who inspires you to write?

A. A fiendish need to transcribe the things in my head on to paper for fear that they will otherwise fill up all the available space in there.

Q. Tell us about your writing ambitions.

A. I would love to write something novel-length, but I would also settle for getting a few more publications under my belt.

Q. Who are your favourite writers?

A. Too many to mention, but if pushed I would endlessly extol the virtues of Tolkien, Borges, Lovecraft, Le Guin and Pratchett.

Q. What’s your ideal writer’s life? Go on, let your imagination run wild!

A. A comfortable study looking out on acres of woodland under gently falling snow, a roaring fire in the grate with a happy cat stretched out before it, some light music drifting on the air, a well-stocked drinks cabinet, and absolutely no need to go out to the day-job!

Confessions of a Notebook Addict – by Debbie Mitchell (August 2019)

Hello. My name is Debbie, and I have a problem. A compulsion. An all-consuming, bank-balance draining, undying, death defying love of … stationery. Gah, why couldn’t it have been something normal, like sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll?

I can’t remember when it started. Back when I trained as a journalist, perhaps, and I first got my hands on a spiral-bound reporter’s notebook. Y’know, the cheap stuff.

From then on, the habit began to (pun alert!) ‘spiral’ out of control. I progressed to mid-level fixes; drawn, like a wasp to a jam jar, to the stationery aisles of supermarkets, and to shady High Street dealers such as Ryman and Paperchase. Inside these dens of iniquity, these palaces of paper, I found myself craving sparkly, pretty notebooks with butterflies on the covers, or ones with inspirational quotes written inside, and others with motivational titles on the front telling me to Seize the Day, or to Write Some Words. And, oh, the sheer pleasure of finding one with a pocket at the back to put bits of paper in!

Nothing comes close to the unbridled joy of discovering a paper pocket at the back of a notebook. Really, nothing.

Soon, I craved the hard (backed) stuff and found a dealer who supplied premium quality goods. The pure, uncut, they-even-come-with-matching-ribbons, delight that is the Leuchtturm 1917. Ach, the range of colours (the Nordic Blue is to die for), the choice of lined or dotted or squared or plain pages, the index, and of course, the matching ribbons. As an added extra, you can even buy an attachable pen loop. Ecstasy.

Oh, the bliss. The rapture. The rush of pleasure through the veins, the pupil dilation, the dry mouth, the sweaty palms one experiences when finding a new notebook to add to the collection.

But, you see, my problem has grown so out of control that I now have a large collection of notebooks which are only partially written in, and others, rotting in a cupboard, that haven’t been written in at all and will probably never experience daylight ever again. I start one, all excited to be filling those pages so full of promise, but then the next shiny one in Nordic Blue comes along and the previous one is abandoned to the stationery abyss. The secret stash.

 

And then there are those that are just too beautiful to be sullied with the rubbish that emanates from my pen. The crème de la crème. The top of the tree.

Take, for example, the two hand-crafted notebooks I bought from a most charming little shop called Il Prato, in Venice. They’re far too perfect to taint with anything other than unicorn tears, quite frankly. Heck, if Shakespeare himself came back from the dead, found himself in Northwich struck with the muse and in need of some parchment to write upon, verily begging me to hand over my Venetians, I’d tell him to do one. No one gets to defile my Italian quaderni.

 

So, there you have it. My dirty little secret is out, aired in public for ridicule and contempt. Please, don’t judge me too harshly. And, that’s just the notebooks. Don’t get me started on the pens…

A blog! A blog! My kingdom for a blog! (July 2019/October 2016) LG

Most months go without a response to the call for help when it comes to producing a blog, and it peeves me because if nobody volunteers then I have to come up with something. And because I’m (a) tired of this happening (b) not inspired to write anything new and (c) would enjoy reading something from somebody we haven’t heard from before, then I’d like to re-publish an old blog from October 2016, which includes an explanation of how you can contribute.

BLOG

As usual in our group meeting, if things don’t go as expected then our fall-back plan will probably fall over too. All the planning and nomination at the beginning of the year seems to go right out of the leaded windows if the usual crew aren’t manning the bridge. Except for Marian of course, who, after failing to nudge somebody into volunteering for captain Bob’s chair, toughed it out and manoeuvred us through our fractured, staccato opening to a relieved finale. A finale where I literally forgot to pay my dues to the stand-in chair (double-bubble next time Marian and keep the change!)

It was during this meeting that I somehow accidentally volunteered myself to be the blog master. And after a number of interim promotions I can now be officially recognised as the Blog Buddah. Those of you that have access to the VRWG Facebook page will already have seen my invitation to send your blogs, but I’ll give you the gist of it again here …

It became apparent during the process of finding a volunteer blogger for October that I noticed people were showing something of an interest but were put off by the technical aspect of it – the passwords, log-in etiquette, posting rules and all round electronic frippery that surrounds the dark arts of navigating the interweb.

If the problem was the electronic hurdle then the solution is to remove that hurdle, and that’s how we got to where we are now.

The new blogging approach is much easier than last time – for you at least – because you only have to do what you’re all obviously good at … writing. You write the blog, you send the blog to me and I post it on the VRWG website. The very website you’re looking at now.

In an ideal world it would be great if you wrote them and sent them as they pop into your head, so don’t worry about the timing of the meetings because I’ll be making sure they go up on the VRWG site at the right time. In a side room of the same ideal world there would be a blog cache, a digital fortress of blogs that we can call on at any time for the reading populace so don’t be put off if you have one ready and it’s a month before the next meeting – just send it so you can feel as smug as I do after providing the last two – but only if this counts as a blog … which it doesn’t because it isn’t

The general rule for blogging is that it doesn’t have to have any semblance to anything that happened in the meeting. It’s really your chance to ramble on a subject that tickles or infuriates – or both if tickling infuriates you. It can even be a short piece you’ve been working on that you might not have a use for.

So, write it, send it and I’ll post it. It really is as simple as that.

Send it to this address and I’ll do the rest vrwgblogger@outlook.com

The Car Turned by the Church – Gladstone Moments

Carolyn O’Connell
The car turned by the church
inside a brass tray

reminded me of the craft and the man
who loved literature.

The sun scrolled over the statues
as we commenced to write

laughter filling the silences of our creativity,
occasional applause,

and the walls seemed to imbibe our words
to mingle with others

who had written in rooms before us.

Food was collected refreshing us
with talk,
tethering our tasks of creativity, bonding

freeing words inscribed
strong as the oak tables – the books we breathe upon –

a cartoon of him has watched
listened to us with blessing.

Stephanie Acton
The car turned by the church
and through the dappled shade of the trees,

the entrance!
The crunch of gravel, pleasing to the ears

as the library rises to view.

The oversized table, fit for a banquet
dominated the room –

Though not my style, if ever
I were to dance on a table, it would be my first choice.

How mighty the tree to have made it must have been!
I pictured it, in its former life; branches tussled

by the breeze

as the leaves flit and glow in the wakening rays
of the sun.

David Varley
The car turned by the church,
inside the brass tray waited expectantly, a receptacle for thoughts and feelings.

The tranquillity is intimate,
working deep within the brain, “drawing out ideas so gently

that they seem not new
but old things half-remembered

into which fresh life is breathed by good companions.
Ideas and visions flit like motes in a sunbeam,

a movement slow but urgent, ready to be born in this companionship of silence.
How fitting that new words flow forth

in the presence of old stones,
no sound but the susurration of pen on paper.

Stephen B. Morrissey

We gathered around the table,
thirteen together to celebrate,

later on we became twelve.
Was that a sign in keeping with the place?

The theology of Jesus walks the corridors
building our faith or permitting us to challenge the cause.

A Gospel choir might well help us out.
So, if you see Selina again, please give her a shout.

Mark Acton 2019
The car turned by the church
inside the brass tray existed,
somewhere the tense changes.   Changed!

The high-backed, brown leather chairs lean back against the walls,
staring in at the writers’ pencils and pens
busily scratching away at the paper.

Shoulders hunched, heads down, faces contorted, lips pursed or tongues out
one hand rested on the notepad or the side of the head
while the other scribbles away.

There is rhythm in the markings
life in the words
but it is a separate life from all that is outside the room.

They don’t have to make sense.

The message can change from the brain; down the arm
to the hand and the pen and onto the page
and it can change again on reading

But each word reminds us
of a time or a place or a person or a feeling
or a taste.

It’s the last exercise of the day;
the last chance to say what needs to be said;
the last chance to move someone, scare someone, make them laugh;

the last chance to be moved by someone else.

Home time is approaching
and I’ve still not had any cake.
I’m not sure how Tom’s got through the day.

I want to fill this page.
I want to fill every page.
I want to go home and say, ‘look at how much I’ve done!’

But, mostly, I hope it inspires me to do some more.

This could be the start of something big
but I suspect it’s just a blot on nothing at all.

It was fun while it lasted
but now I’m going to grab one of those chocolate biscuits
and put my writing career to bed until next time.

Au revoir, my friends.
See you soon.

Shauna Leishman
The car turned by the church
inside the brass tray
glowing a greeting,
seating deeply in a soft chair

nearest the bookshelf, lamp nearby
pluck a book from the shelf;
while the kitchen offers hot drinks
cold cuts, creamy custards, gingerbread men.

Library shelves, dark brown wood grain
artful scaffolding, lofty space
peace descends, the books sit heavy
full of words, ideas, stories, notes of meetings;
history, science, drama sounds of life
silently waiting, waiting to be seen
the sun beckons, out into the garden
in back, wander around.
There’s a graveyard, stones reflecting in one line
a full life, some dates lived.

All my time’s here have been full of companionship.
I’ve been spoilt, don’t want to come alone:
 I can do alone in my own home.

After a day shut away from the world
the car turns back out of the little lane
back into the fuss and fury
back into the cares and duties.

The day is done.

Marion Smith

the car turns by the church
inside, the brass tray –

heads up; we listen for guidance
repeat, and repeat again,

mix colours, exchange birds
pass three to the left, four to the right.

Heads up, we listen again
abandon the guidance and write on.

Weaving, twisting, turning
considering our preconceptions,

taking the songs of others
like building blocks to make new structures

marrying word together
their offspring forming a new song –

I wonder what the grand old man
would think of our mental meanderings

would he smile or shake his head
in disbelief.

Mac Carding

The car turned by the church
inside a brass tray, waiting for silence

gathered in the Anwyl Room, the Vale Royal Writers Group
bicker and banter

eventually playing with colours in words
teal blue sea, vivid purple murder,

recounting first impressions of the Gladstone Library
then drawing stories from the lyrics of songs.

The group converges around specific chosen words
twist-dreams and Strut-strolls its stuff,

around a polished wooden table, so big that
thirteen can comfortably sit with

their A4 notebooks and pencils scratching
to write up their day.

Careful, considered pieces and humorous sketches,
imaginative tales and poetic description
have all been heard in this writing space –

this inspirational place

Tom Ireland
The car turned by the church.
Inside the brass tray waited

for donations, relief , hope
and an early sunrise saw

the old man and a wheelbarrow
hurrying through the streets

of the concrete town while
the sly slut strolled by.

The broken cross waited as
the down-graded day dawned

the car turned away,
searching for another destination
salvation?

The maypole dancing kingfisher
dies.

Joyce Ireland
Turn by the church inside, the brass tray
sleeping with books is heaven on earth

reading, researching, writing the words;
choosing a salad and glasses of wine

croissants for breakfast, tea by the pot
prayers in the chapel or just a quiet thought.

Strangers to meet, later their friends
clerics in mufti the Chaplin is John.

The Staff ease your way, the interns are young,
fresh faced and clever they work all the week

small bursaries are theirs and they learn all the ropes
we work in the library or snooze in the lounge.

 

Liz Leech
The car turned by the church inside, the brass tray
we meet where a candle used to sit

the Anwyl  Room exudes people’s thoughts – prayers
we’ve come, each other to inspire

our brains to the fore.

The volumes on the library shelves
send a tingle through their spines

they beckon to delve in “books”
to take our pens and write

beyond the twisted stairs.

Bill Webster
The car turned by the church
inside the brass tray
then beyond the Alwyn Room
friends gathered there.

An exercise with cards
five blank then filled –
the colour of the sky
the colour of the foreground

a bird, a bird and an event.

Cards pass from hand to hand
the first four positions left
the second is where it breaks down
the Queen of Chaos casts her spell

hilarity reigns!

Coffee and cakes, we sit
around a table too small
we are challenged arriving at a place
for the first time, laying preconceptions to waste.

Lunchtime already,
we have two tables a more comfortable fit
unless you’re a vegan
who does not like mushrooms –
chocolate pudding in chocolate sauce
sets us up for more words

inspired by song lyrics
but still I don’t know
what to get a nudist for Christmas!

Word paints follow
choose one from each list
one short and explosive
the other slower, more thoughtful
contrasting words combine to inspire!

Now we are here
we reflect on the day

a poem written together
synthesising impressions
for posterity …