Wrists and self-promotion

I'm feeling rather pleased with myself. I took a week off work to get some writing done and to rest my wrists. The good news is they are feeling a bit better, so there is definitely some mileage in leaving the mouse and number keypad alone.

Having the extra time meant I could get some long-overdue jobs done. Like getting some business cards printed to take to America with me. I'm pretty pleased with the design, which was based on my website banner. And I am now completely in love with Vistaprint. It cost a tenth of what I thought it would to get these done.

Time for a break

Before you all moan at me, I know that I've been terrible in keeping up with my blog lately, but there is a very good reason for this. The RSI has been getting steadily worse and I now have it in both my wrists. Obviously, I am not doing what I need to do to let my wrists rest. So I've decided, that for at least a month, I'm only going to use the computer when absolutely necessary. So this means no blogging for a little while. I may try and post once a week, but only if I promise myself not to touch the mouse or keyboard and learn how to use my voice recognition software in Internet Explorer.

Apparently, I may be blogging with Trish Wylie on the Pink Heart Society during the RWA conference, so come and pay us a visit.

Now, you must all promise to behave yourself while I'm away!

RNA Summer Party 2007

Back from my holiday, but more about that another time. I scooted up from Devon by train last week to attend the RNA’s Summer Party. I must say, I was very nervous about attending this year's party because, as last year's NWS award winner, I had to give a speech. Last year, I didn't think I had a hope of winning the award, so I just didn't get jittery at all. This year was a different kettle of fish, as they say.

The first part of the evening was spent saying ‘hi’ to lots of people, including cyber friends from eHarlequin, Julie, Anna, Biddy and Carol and Phillipa Ashley (pictured right with you-know-who). Phillipa told me when I was chatting with her that she didn't think she had a chance of winning but had come to enjoy the party. "You never know," I said. "That's exactly what I thought last year."

And wasn't I on the money with that prediction, as she took home the Joan Hessayan New Writers’ Award! I'm keeping stum on the fact that she actually attempted to bribe Dr Hessayan with a curry shortly before the award was presented. Unfortunately, he was not part of the judging panel. I think he appreciated the offer, though.

Then it was time for my speech. Gulp. Funnily enough, I didn't feel as nervous by that point (maybe the champagne had helped) and it seemed to go down okay. Jessica, who was also shortlisted for the award, but was unable to attend, asked if I could post my speech. I'll do my best but, as I only had prompts on my cards, it's not going to be a word for word transcription, especially as I abandoned my first card and decided to wing it in my congratulations to Phillipa. (Me? Wing it? I hope you're as shocked as I am!)

I started off by congratulating Phillipa and recounting how she had told me she wasn't expecting to win (I left out the bit about Dr Hessayan and the curry– aren't I good?) and how I had warned her that she never knew, it could be her walking away with the award.

I filled everybody in on what I did with the prize money:
I was in desperate need of a new printer – especially one that printed straight!
I warbled on about my iPAQ and how great it was.
I also mentioned that I had splurged on an airfare to America to go to the RWA conference and attended the RITAs award ceremony.

Another reason receiving the award meant a lot to me was that my journey to publication was unexpectedly speedy – I found myself on a bit of a rollercoaster ride. I joined the RNA in 2005 and sent my first finished manuscript off to the New Writers’ Scheme looking for some constructive criticism. (I think I may have mentioned at this point that my exact words to my husband were: "I just want someone to say that my writing doesn't stink too badly".) Before I knew it, my manuscript had been sent on to Mills & Boon and within two months I had sold my first book.

It's the kind of first sale that every new writer dreams of but, once the euphoria had worn off, I started to panic. I had to do it all over again! I had to write a second book. People say that everyone has a book in them and it was at this point that my runaway imagination galloped off into the hills. What if one book was all I had? What if it had been a fluke? I was in the deep end of a new writing career and it was time to decide whether I was going to sink or swim.

Receiving the New Writers' Award was a bit like being thrown at lifebelt. It gave the something solid to hang onto and a huge confidence boost so that, when the writing was going badly, and I was really tempted to throw my laptop out of the window, I could look at the trophy sitting on my desk and say "I can do this". As time went on, I realised that these ups and downs – days when the words fly from the fingertips and days when, let's face it, they just don't – are normal, part of the rollercoaster life of a writer.

I then thanked the RNA for putting a smile on my face for an entire year and wished Phillipa good luck, hoping she had a great year on the rollercoaster. I warned her that if she was as neurotic as I am she may have times when she was clinging on for dear life with her eyes shut, but I hoped that, more often than not, she was going to let go, open her eyes and enjoy the ride.

Free time? What free time?

I'm off on holiday for a week, visiting Devon, the setting for Her Parenthood Assignment. With wonderful timing, the proofs for English Lord, Ordinary Lady have arrived on my doorstep this morning. I think I might have to take them with me. Grrr.

It's certainly going to be a working holiday. I'm taking my laptop so I can carry on with the current work in progress, and on Wednesday I'll be catching the train back up to London for the RNA's Summer Party. If you see me there, say hello, and please don't heckle my speech after the New Writers' Award is given out!

More about the journey

I've been thinking about my plot board in the last few days and wondering why I feel the obsessive need to mess around with cards and pins and a cork board. I do have a stationary fixation –I always had to have my felt tips in rainbow-coloured order at school – but it's more than that.

At the beginning of a book, when the ideas are flying round and I have no idea of which ones are going to work and which ones are going to get axed, I find it very handy to pin these "flying" thoughts down before they flutter off into the atmosphere, never to be seen again.

However, once I have passed the halfway point in the book, I hardly ever look at my plot board again. Maybe by then the choices have been narrowed down and that helps me keep the picture of where the book is going in my head. I also think that maybe my plot boarding is more to do but the process than the finished result.

Somehow, the journey of pinning those little cards on the board and organising my thoughts galvanises me to write and helps me make sense of the scraps of ideas that come to me in the middle of the night, while I'm walking to work and especially in the bath. Where do you get your best ideas?

Plot Board revisited

Okay, I know I said I was going to block a bit more on the Hero's Journey, but before I get into that I'm going to go off on a tangent and talk about my plot board. I'd kind of half-decided not to use it with the current book, but then I read India Grey's blog post (see "Glamour Hangover" ) mentioning it and I thought I would give it another go.



Basically, I'm the sort of person that thinks in pictures. I'm much better at retaining information if I can see it, for example, written down, or if I can visualise it somehow in my head. If I receive complex information only by listening, I often miss or forget some of it. Perhaps this is why I am absolutely awful at remembering names and much better at remembering faces.

Anyway, when I was first starting to try and write a novel, someone somewhere suggested writing the numbers 1 to 20 down on a page and putting the main plots points from your story on the list. I found that approach useful in helping me guage at which point in the story some of my ideas should go, but every time I changed my mind about what was going to happen I had to scribble it all out and start a new list. So I decided to make use of a spare corkboard and some index cards I had tucked away in my house.

Every time I do a plot board, I take a different approach, trying out new things. Here are my original posts (post 1 & post 2) about it. Since then I've tried reducing the plots cards to one central row by snipping the cards in half. It was great to see the flow of the story from the top of the board to the bottom, but I found I didn't have enough room at the edge of each plot card to put all my little "idea" scraps of card. So, this time I've come back to the original format with two rows of full-size index cards containing the main points of my plot. I’ve also messed around with the colour scheme – inspired by the fact I was starting to run out of large pink cards!

White cards – on these I write the central plot points. For my latest book, the first one reads "Fern's friend challenges her to say yes to every question she is asked for a week". This leads to Fern being roped into doing a charity bungee jump because she can't say no, so the next cards reads (not surprisingly) "Fern is tricked into doing a bungee jump”. As you may be able to see if you look closely at the photogrpah, at the moment I know what's happening in the first act and the third act but the middle bit of my story is scarily blank. Whoops.

Pink & blue cards – one of the most important things I use my plot board for is for mapping out the hero and heroine's character arcs and working out what they are feeling/struggling with at each point in the plot. I used to do this all on the same coloured cards, but this time I decided to use pink for the heroine's and blue for the hero's.

Yellow cards – these are my little flashes of inspiration. It could be a point about the character or a possible idea for the plot, the little details that come to me every now and then that help flesh out the story. I tend to use these more for an idea to do with a fixed point in the story, for example: "Josh suggests doing something dangerous and Fern is proved right".

Green cards – these I've used for theme and general points that have relevance throughout the whole story, for example: "Fern finds it hard to live in the moment; Josh finds it hard to do anything but."

I'll probably change it all around next time I do it, but I'm glad I persevered with it for this book. It helped me get a clear idea of the story in my mind as I started to write and I find that scribbling down little ideas and character details and pinning them on my board often sparks my imagination and I come up with even more ideas.

Bom chicka wah wah

My husband and I have been together for almost 20 years now (the anniversary of our first date is at the end of this month) and he can still make me laugh so hard I can't even breathe.

Last night I was tidying up the bedroom when he returned from the bathroom (clothed, I might add) and presented his newly-shaven cheek to me. I made the appropriate appreciative noises because, lets face it, who likes being kissed and sandpapered at the same time?

"No!" he said, looking offended, "I was waiting for something else."

Now, I had noticed that he smelled of more than plain old soap and water, and then said, "Where's the song?". The penny dropped. He'd obviously used some of the Lynx bath gel he got in his Christmas stocking the year before last. I'm not sure which countries the Lynx (or whatever it is called where you live) ads are shown, but take a look at this and you'll know what I'm talking about.

I laughed so hard I almost passed out and then, just because he's daft and funny and put has up with me for almost two decades, there was only one thing left to say...

I did a rather convincing rendition, even if I do say it myself.

The hero's Jounrey - revisited

Last week I was ticked off by Liz for not posting on the rest of the hero's journey. They were two reasons why I trailed off on blogging on the subject. Firstly, Her Parenthood Assignment had just been released and I wanted to blog on the background ideas, characters and setting. Secondly, I was having a bit of a love/hate thing with the hero's journey as I revised the current work in progress.

I had used it to help plot out English Lord, Ordinary Lady and, although I had tried to apply the principles to both the external and internal journeys, I'd ended up with too much plot. I had wanted to explore the relationship between the heroine her daughter more, but had run out of room, as the book had already gone in 2000 words over the 55,000 word limit.

It took my clever editor to point out that I should just cut a lot of the first few chapters and replace what I cut with scenes to up the emotional story (lots of forehead slapping went on at this point). The first three chapters had, quite frankly, been a huge pain in the bottom ever since I'd started writing the story. I had written them and rewritten them and rewritten them and I still wasn't getting it right.

The backstory contained there was relevant to the present day, but just needed trimming in favour of scenes that tapped into the emotional heart of the story. I learnt a good lesson in writing for the Romance line editing this book: never ignore the emotional hotspots in your book. In fact, if you can find an emotional angle that you haven't explored deeply, you need to do so. Mine it. Milk it. But not so much it becomes melodramatic. Easy to say, harder to do in practice.

Anyway, before I get all excited about another new book I'm reading, I thought I would finish blogging about the hero's journey. Here is a recap on the steps of covered so far with a link to the relevant posts here (start at the bottom of the page and work upwards):

• The ordinary world – the hero's ordinary life before they embark on the adventure that is to follow.
• The call to adventure – the trigger or catalyst. The moment when something happens to change the hero's life and throw them into a state of turmoil, forcing them to take action.
• The refusal of the call – the adventure is going to test the hero to his very limits. He is right to hesitate. He may even refused outright until the stakes are raised and he is forced to go on willingly forward.
• Meeting with the mentor – preparation for the quest may come in the form of a person to help and train the hero.
  

I'm at the beginning of a new book & going to ask myself the questions for each of these steps again, but this time I've learned my lesson. For a short romance, it's important to keep tightly centred on the hero and heroine and their emotional journey and that's what I'm going to map out this time – and try to keep the external plot in the background.

Gardens of Delight

The family and I had a day out in Kew Gardens on Sunday. I'm desperate to set a book there but, as yet, the right characters and the right situation have not popped into my brain. Watch this space...

Anyway, there are some wonderfully romantic locations within the boundaries of the gardens. The fantastic Victorian glasshouses are probably one of the first things someone thinks of if they know anything about Kew Gardens. The Palm House is full of exotic plants and little sprinklers mist the air to keep it hot and humid. Could be a good location for a romantic clinch! Things might get hot and steamy in a completely different manner...

I have a couple of favourite spots around the gardens. I've been waiting for two years to see the wisteria that winds around a large iron gazebo in flower. On Sunday I got my wish. It looked truly stunning with the lilac petals dripping from the creeper inside and out of the metal structure.

Once inside, you are half-hidden from the world outside and the air is thick with the scent of the flowers. A low wooden bench curves around one side of the gazebo – the perfect place for a romantic moment.

I've also been waiting to see the bluebells in flower in the conservation area. There is something very English about the carpet of bluebells under leafy oaks, dappled sunlight drifting through their branches. A great setting for one of those lazy, time-stands-still romantic walks.

And just in case you're getting overwhelmed with all this loveliness, I thought I'd finish with a photograph of me in my Royal Botanic Gardens rain poncho/groundsheet. I brought it along to sit on while we had our picnic and my nieces managed to persuade me to model it for them. It's amazing what a giggling pair of teenagers can persuade you to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I'm not going to even mention the cartwheels...

New Cover

I'm off to Kew Gardens today with the family, but while I'm gone leave you with the cover of my August release, Break Up to Make Up. I think this is my favourite cover so far.

Although Nick and Adele's story has a tragic undercurrent, the cover really epitomises Nick's cheeky personality and how happy they can be when things are going right for them. Of course, when the story starts they haven't seen each other for almost a year and neither of them is sure whether they are 'separated' or just having a really long cooling off period after a massive fight...

Romantic Novel of the Year Awards Lunch

I had a great time at the Savoy yesterday they Romantic Novelists' Association’s award lunch yesterday. Two prizes were given out: the Romantic Novel of the Year and the Romance Prize (for shorter Romantic fiction). And since I was told off (twice!) for not blogging much recently, I'm going to give you all the details whether you want them or not!



I met my writing buddy Liz Fenwick for a drink (non-alcoholic, thank you very much) and a chat before we went to the Savoy. Liz is moving away soon (sniff!) so it was good to have a chance to catch up before she disappears off to some far-flung place on the globe. We walked through the park to the River Entrance of the Savoy and discovered we had to dart through an obstacle course of sprinklers along the way. Thankfully, we made it to our destination without getting watered.

Once we got there, the posh shoes went on, the all-encompassing handbags (now containing comfy, not-so-posh shoes etc) got checked into the cloakroom and we went in search of the bar. I was very relieved to hand my New Writers' Award trophy back. I had been terrified I would either lose it, forget it or squash it and for ever be in the RNA's bad books. Let's just say I've been having a few scatty moments in the last fortnight and it is not impossible that either one, or all three, of the possibilities are mentioned could happen to that trophy while it was in my custody.

We sat down to lunch (I really feel that, since we were at the Savoy, perhaps I should say "luncheon") at 12:30 p.m. The ballroom there is beautiful. Huge chandeliers hang from the ceiling and there were candles on every table. The walls are the colour of clotted cream with ornate plaster moulding in white. And all around the room are what look like doors which are in late with mirrors to reflect the light. Definitely the grandest place I've ever had lunch.

On the menu was:

• Onion and tomato tart tatin with orange and melted goat cheese.
• Stuffed breast of chicken with wild mushrooms, potato cakes with almonds, mousseline of spinach (more about that later), baby winter vegetables.
• Treacle and raspberry tart with vanilla ice cream.
• Savoy blend coffee and petit fours.

I was sitting next to Natasha Oakley, who was nominated for the Romance Prize for her wonderful book "Accepting the Boss's Proposal". We chatted about the joys of Magic Knickers and wondered what on earth mousseline of spinach was. We weren't even that sure when the main course arrived. I'm tempted to believe it was a smudge of green stuff that was underneath my chicken, but Natasha was sceptical.

The Romantic Novel of the Year went to Rosie Thomas for her book "Iris & Ruby ". The judging panel said it had been a very hard decision, but had settled on this novel because of its emotional intensity.

The guest speaker was Dame Tanni Grey-Thompson DBE, wheelchair athlete. She has 11 gold Para-Olympic medals and has won the London Marathon six times. Not only is she is a very accomplished sportswoman, but she is an avid reader. She said when she was asked to be on the judging panel for the Romantic Novel of the Year she expected the books to be of the sort that made up maybe 25% of her reading. She was surprised to find that actually it was more like 95% of the sort of books she usually readsa , and it opened her eyes to what a broad genre Romantic fiction is.

The Romance Prize was awarded next and it went to Marrying Max by Nell Dixon, published in the People's Friend Story Collection. Nell was flabbergasted and overjoyed all at the same time. She really hadn't been expecting to pick up the prize, as she had written the only non-Mills & Boon in the bunch. I was really pleased for her. Nell is a lovely lady and she deserves every bit of her success.

Time flew by and before I knew it things were winding down. I managed to say "hi" to fellow new M&B authors Heidi Rice and India Grey before everyone drifted off in separate directions. I had a quick drink and a chat at the bar with some of the M&B editors. By then my feet were screaming and I gave in and got my comfy shoes from the cloakroom. Bliss. As an added bonus on the way to making my feet go "ahhh", I met Julie Cohen and her adorable son in the cloakroom. I've read a lot about him on her blog and it was nice to meet the famous young man in person. He certainly is a cutie.

The day ended up with a bit more "socialising" in a pub close to the Savoy. I must admit, I wimped out and went home early, leaving the drinking to those who had more stamina than I, but it was great to chat to people I'd seen in passing all day but hadn't had a chance to speak to.

Now, after a very glamorous and social day, I'm back to my normal writing life – no makeup, a tracksuit and no one to talk to but my voice recognition software. Yes, the writer's life can be solitary, but when we get together we know how to party.

Finally!

It’s almost time to give my trophy back. Last May I received the RNA’s Joan Hessayon New Writers’ Award for my first book, Blind-Date Marriage. As well as the huge confidence boost and the prize money, I got to keep a lovely little silver trophy for the year. And finally I have somewhere nice to display it! A couple of days ago, we had a fireplace put in and now I have a mantelpiece! Look!

The trophy looks a bit titchy, but I don’t care. It’ll have a place of honour for the next few days until I have to package it up and send it back to the RNA in preparation for the next recipient.

For a list of contenders, check here.

Catching Up

Okay, I know I've been completely neglecting my blog recently, but I have a really good excuse or two. Honest.

First of all, it's been the Easter holidays and, with the kids off school, it's been really hard to get anything done. Secondly, I had a complete panic about my books for the second round of RITA® judging, which went astray in the post and almost didn't make it before the deadline. We're not going to talk about how many times I woke up at 4 a.m. in a cold sweat thinking how tragic it would be to final but not be allowed to go further in the competition because my books arrived late.

So, it's time to catch up:

Winners of my competition are:

• Ray-Anne
• Marcy
• Donna

If Marcy and Donna (yes, you, Ms Alward) can email me at fiona@fionaharper.com with their snail mail addresses the books will be on their way shortly. You can also let me know if you would like a UK edition or a US edition. The only difference is being the covers and the print size – the UK version has larger print.

A Celebratory Competition

Thank you to everybody who stopped by my blog to congratulate me on my RITA nominations! I've made up my mind and I'm planning to go to Dallas in July. I'm busy trying to calm down about it all, I really am, but the adrenalin rush just keeps on going... In the meantime, I thought I would run a little competition.

I'm having lots of fun with my voice recognition software. Most of the time it's really accurate, but occasionally it fouls up – normally when I talk too fast (Who? Me? Never!) or don't speak clearly enough. I've also discovered it's a really bad idea to try and dictate when you have the hiccups!

Here are some examples that have made me giggle:

• "send an e-mail to my editor" became "send an e-mail to my head"
• "Hi Meg" became "hind legs"
• "She rummaged in her bag" became " she vomited in her back"
• "hiccups" (see above) became "he cuts"
• "I'm an auntie" became "I'm a Nazi" (I promise you, I'm not - although my children may have something to say about that...)
  

So, my competition to win copies of my current release Her Parenthood Assignment is to guess what I actually said when my voice recognition software wrote the following:

"... half a chocolate muff in wrapped in a paper Soviet."

E-mail me at fiona@fionaharper.com with your answers and I'll pick three out to win a book! Closing date is 6th April. I'll announce the winners and collect addresses then.

Latest news

Each year the RWA (Romance Writers of America) holds a contest for romantic fiction called the RITAs. I kind of see it as the Oscars of the romantic fiction world. I could be wrong about that, but it seems to be the biggest, glitziest do there is.

Anyway, yesterday I got a phone call from America, telling me that Blind-Date Marriage had finaled in two categories: Best First Book and Best Traditional!

I would like to say I received the news with consummate grace and professionalism, but unfortunately I can't. I yelled "no way!" down the phone. Classy, huh?

Now I'm trying to work out whether I should make the trip to Dallas to be at the awards ceremony in person. Should I?

Her Parenthood Assignment: the Setting

And now for my favourite bit – the setting of Her Parenthood Assignment. South Devon is a popular tourist spot, full of holiday cottages and hotels. It's not hard to see why. The scenery is stunning: rolling hills, dramatic coastlines and chocolate-box villages.

The lovely town of Dartmouth is mentioned frequently in the book as it is the nearest real town to my fictional setting. This is the view from Dartmouth over the river to Kingswear.

I've been visiting the area for more than 20 years, first on family holidays (my father had a boat moored in the River Dart during my teenage years) and now to visit family who have moved down there.

The first location in the book, where Gaby finds herself on the wrong side of the river, is based on Greenway Pier. It was a favourite spot of another writer – Agatha Christie owned Greenway, a fantastic white house on the hillside. It's now owned by the national trust and open to the public.

When I wrote the opening scene, I had an idea that they should be a bell to call the ferry. When I went searching for pictures of the area in my local library, I discovered there was actually a bell on Greenaway Pier. A fact I had long forgotten but had reached out of my subconscious when I started to write. I wonder what else is tucked away up there that I've forgotten about.

The village of Lower Hadwell is based on the real village of Dittisham on the banks of the River Dart, just across the river from Greenway. It has a horribly steep hill – so bad you have to turn round and walked backwards to stop your calves aching when you get near the top. I spent many happy hours on the pontoons catching crabs with fishing lines baited with strips of bacon and now when we visit, my children do the same.

As for the Old Boathouse, it's a fictional house, based on a real cottage I saw on a flyer for English Country Cottages, a holiday-home letting company. Click here if you want to see the details. I'm almost tempted to rent it for a week and live in Luke and Gaby's house. It is actually in Stoke Gabriel, further upstream from Dittisham. In my imagination, I made it larger, further away from the town and with a jetty out front. Initially Gaby was going to be called Emma but, after I found the picture of the boathouse in Stoke Gabriel, I changed her name to Gabrielle. It seemed fitting.

Her Parenthood Assignment: the heroine

I'm sorry to say that I can't post a picture of Gaby here. I only have a fuzzy idea of what she looks like. Although, if I saw a photo that matched my vague idea of her, I'd know it in a second.

She describes herself as ordinary. She has brown, not-sure-what-the colour-it-wants-to-be hair and brown eyes. And when Luke first sees her, he thinks of her as being pretty ordinary too. I see her as having a kind of quiet beauty. The sort that creeps up on you bit by bit until you realise the person standing in front of you is actually quite stunning. The fact is, as Luke gets to know her, the beauty of her warm and giving personality shines out and captivates him.

Gaby is escaping from the wreckage of her marriage to super-controlling, city-slicker David. Since childhood she's been the person other people have wanted her to be. She described her old life as like being as suburban version of Frankenstein's monster. She looked the part, with all the right pieces in the right places, but somehow the spirit was missing.

She arrives in Devon, a super-nanny sent to help Luke Armstrong with his troubled daughter, Heather. The last thing she needs is to get involved with another controlling man who just can't seem to keep a lid on his temper. However, as she becomes embroiled in Heather and Luke's lives, she empathises with Luke for the horrors he must have endured in prison and starts to see glimpses of a wonderfully warm and caring man underneath the gruff exterior.

But, as they reveal their feelings for each other, Gaby's old insecurities surface and she starts to unwittingly sabotage their relationship. If you want to see Luke and Gaby in action, pop over to my website and read the excerpt here.

Her Parenthood Assignment: the hero

Luke Armstrong is prematurely turning into a grumpy old man. But then again, he's got a lot to be grumpy about. He spent five years in prison after being wrongly accused of his wife's murder and now he's been set free on appeal he's trying to rebuild his life with an 11-year-old daughter who can't even bring herself to call him anything but "Luke".

When I started writing Her Parenthood Assignment Luke looked a little bit a cross between Rupert Penry-Jones, who plays Adam in Spooks (MI5 in the USA) and actor Jeremy Sheffield. As the book developed, Luke took on his own identity within my head and have not been able to find a picture that matches him exactly, but the guy on the front cover is pretty close!

Five-star review

I've just discovered that Her Parenthood Assignment received a five-star review at Cataromance. Here's a snippet:

Her Parenthood Assignment is a well-written tale which will tug at your heartstrings and tickle your funny bone with its captivating blend of dramatic scenes, hilarious one-liners and potent emotional intensity.

Obviously, I'm rather chuffed about this. If you want to read the whole review click here.

The missing prologue

This is the prologue to the second draft of 'Her Parenthood Assignment' which was cut in the final round of edits:

‘They’ve reached a verdict.’

Luke Armstrong peeled his gaze from the floor and looked at the uniformed man standing in the doorway. For weeks he’d sat in the courtroom and watched it all play out. Witnesses fidgeted, jurors frowned, lawyers attacked and counter-attacked, but none of that mattered now. It had only been a prelude to this moment.

So much hung on where the scales of justice finally tipped. His and Heather’s lives would be defined by the clipped reply of the jury foreman. They had to make the right decision. His wife’s murder could not go unpunished.

He felt strangely numb as he navigated the network of corridors that led to the courtroom. Why wasn’t his heart punching against his ribcage, his adrenalin levels in the rafters? There was only a sense of inevitability, like the eerie calm of a deserted beach waiting for a storm.

The future was no longer his to command. But then, it never had been. Not since the moment Lucy had been found in that hotel room.

The hotel room.

Just that thought alone should send a tremor through him, but there was nothing. Not a blip. He’d seen the glossy pictures of the crime scene, heard every grisly bit of medical evidence countless times over. It had taken on the surreal, impersonal quality of those late night forensic shows he used to enjoy so much.

He’d become desensitised. He’d had to. ‘Till death do us part’ was supposed to have referred to when they were old and grey, not when they when they were barely halfway there.

All that mattered now was his daughter. Heather needed every scrap of his love and strength if she was going to make it though this. He would have to be her rock while she grieved; he could do his own later when she had come to terms with the loss of her beautiful, vibrant mother.

The spectators' gallery of Courtroom Two was packed. Every seat in the high-ceilinged, panelled room was filled. All except the judge’s chair and the twelve empty spaces to his left. Seats reserved for the seven men and five women would decide the fate of his shattered family.

A plain door on the left creaked and an usher appeared. Every head in the courtroom swung round.

The jury were here.

Their faces had become as familiar to him as actors in his favourite television dramas. For weeks, day in, day out, he’d studied them. He didn’t know where they lived or what they filled their days with, but he felt like he knew them. He’d even given them nicknames.

The shuffling and whispering in the gallery hushed as they filed in. They weren’t in their usual order. The woman he’d labelled “The Redhead” led the way. The fact she’d been made foreman had to be a good omen. Not that he believed in any of that stuff. He used to laugh at Lucy when she’d read her horoscope. But he was desperate, and he’d cling to any sign of hope.

It seemed to take an age before they were all seated and the judge entered and started talking. The words were just background blah. All the time he kept his eyes on the Redhead, trying to gauge her secret.

Would her answer be one word, or two?

And then he heard the clerk say, ‘Would the defendant please rise?’

It took him a few seconds before he realised that was his cue to move. His legs didn’t seem to want to work, but somehow he hauled himself to his feet and looked the judge straight in the eye. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He was innocent, had said so all along. The Redhead believed him, he knew she did. He’d seen it in her eyes when he’d given evidence.

But now she wasn’t looking at him, none of them were, and he didn’t know if this was a good or a bad sign. He didn’t really hear what the clerk said next, because he was waiting for her to look up, waiting to see that look of understanding in her eyes. Then he’d know he was safe, that Heather wasn’t going to lose both her mother and father in the space of a few short months.

‘…and have you reached a verdict on which you all agree?’

‘Yes.’

‘And on the count of murder, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’

The world stopped spinning. Luke certainly stopped breathing.

The Redhead tore her gaze from the court official and looked at him, her eyes filled with pain and sadness. She seemed to plead with him to understand. And he did.

A split-second before her lips moved he knew what she was going to say and his knuckles whitened on the rail in front of him.

‘Guilty.’