Saturday, 19 November 2011

When to change?

The above is a link to my first book. It contains a Book Streamer that allows you to read the first 15 pages for free. Please use your arrow keys to move down the page! It also has a button on the right that allows you to rate and review. The same goes for my latest effort  and that link is below.

Link to my latest 5 star review on Amazon

I have been pondering change over the last couple of days. To change what? - you may ask. Well two things really. Firstly, the Travel Tales that I have been recounting and secondly where Patrick Steele is going in the third novel 'The Biter Bit'. To deal with those factors in reverse order!
I have reached a point in the story where there are a variety of options but the crux is, do I kill my lead character off, (what power!); or have him injured, or does he win through? That is what a writer has the power to do with imagination but by also using forethought one must consider the reader and even ones own future in writing. Have I reached a point where I want to change genre perhaps. Well this is a decision only I can make!

The Travel Tales have been a joy to me allowing a nostalgic gaze backwards in time but I don't want to bore my readers. The point of them is to provide descriptions of places and experiences that may be useful in ones writing. Ok! You've persuaded me - here goes!

Travel Tale

Having been to France on a few earlier trips with friends, me and the family set off on our own one year. Now the style of holidays is important at this point. When visiting France the format had been to book a gites for a couple of weeks and then to take two or three days getting there stopping in small provincial hotels, that were usually quite inexpensive, and enjoying the culinary efforts of the proprietors. Over the many years and excursions made I cannot remember one where we failed to find a surprisingly good place to stay, however, there have been some strange spots!
We were not far into Normandy having left the ferry at Calais when it was time to start looking for an overnight stop. We pulled into a very small town of Crecy that, from previous visits, I knew had three hotels and eventually we chose the oldest and cheapest. Was it a good choice?
Centuries before this place had probably been a coaching inn as, after ascertaining that there were rooms available, we were directed through an archway at the side of the building to park the car in the cobbled yard. That was where things became a little strange. The rickety double doors were slammed shut by a man who, and I apologise for the cruelty as I have no proof, seemed to be the village idiot who had control of a no less deranged and ancient Alsatian! The dog was so old it could hardly walk but it could bark!

The building was old and there was a considerable amount of peeling, wooden cladding on the outside walls and once through the door into what was the bar/restaurant that smelled of French cigarettes, similarly aged floorboards. The decor was overall dingy and when Madame came to direct us to our rooms she was as equally decrepit but in a more startling way. An elderly woman with a slight stoop wearing an apron, she was also the chef, but must disturbing of all her head sported a bandage of large proportions. It was wrapped round her head, covering one eye, and there were tufts of her greying hair protruding through at various points! A strange sight! As it turned out she had recently been involved in a car accident. She did have a strange manner about her which was compounded by the fact that my French was not brilliant and I assumed she was just a little over friendly. The children were scared!

We were shown our rooms after we had agreed that we would be eating in the hotel that evening. In those days that was how it worked! The rooms were unremarkable, functional and spotlessly clean but the doors didn't lock!
We were the only people staying and there was no choice on the menu as with many such hotels. Madame produced a culinary success and we relaxed with a fine red wine. Then it was time for bed. We said our good nights and ascended the creaking staircase, walked a long the dimly lit corridor to the two end rooms on the right. We instructed the older girls to push a chair under the door knob so that no one could enter their room and we did the same. There were various creakings and groanings as the old building settled down for the night and the occasional barking of the dog, but we had an uninterrupted night's sleep.
We left after paying a tiny sum for the experience but vowing to pay a little more the following night!

God Bless

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