Okay so I have succumbed to a new fandom. I adore the new Sherlock series by Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss. It is past its second series and while it remains inspired by the original stories, it puts a new twist on the tales.

As a long time fan of the original stories and of the series that flourished in the 1980s with Jeremy Brett in the lead, I wondered at this new version and how faithful it would be. Bang up to date and bringing a modern slant to the characters, with blogging and texting taking over from broadsheet articles and sending telegrams, the new Sherlock moves at a pace concurrent with 21st century living – fast and furious. There is a gentle acceptance of homosexuality, even in Watson’s insistance that they are not in a relationship and he is not gay. Sherlock noticeably neither confirms or denies this of himself.  Gatiss is himself gay, in a civil partnership with actor Ian Hallard, the man who appears briefly as Moriarty’s lawyer in the last episode, Reichenbach Fall. Inevitable, then, that there is allusion to this aspect of the Holmes/Watson relationship. Despite the fanfiction, these two men are friends, first and foremost, and so far they haven’t gone down that route. The deep and lasting friendship these two characters have is very prevalent and resists being made into something it never was in the books.

The new Sherlock for the 21st Century is Benedict Cumberbatch, quite frankly a very talented and striking man whose talent is seemingly only exceeded by his kindness. He sounds a really nice person, a perfectionist who appreciates those around him and always seems to have something nice to say about his co-stars.

Of course the grounding presence of Dr Watson in the form of Martin freeman is a perfect foil to Cumberbatch’s edgy, high-functioning, borderline-Aspergers Holmes. There is more to Dr Watson these days that meets the eye. If what has been revealed in canon is to be believed, then Dr Watson is a bit of an adrenaline junkie and were it not for the injuries he was invalided out of the army for, would be no doubt pursuing some extreme sport or other. As Sherlock’s brother Mycroft (expertly played by Gatiss himself) points out, Watson doesn’t fear the war, he misses it. To be an RAMC, experiencing the violent death and severe injuries from IEDs in Afghanistan day in, day out, he would be suffering some severe PTSD himself. There are some interesting articles written by trauma surgeons who served out there. one thing is certain. John loves the adrenaline rush. When Sherlock asks John is he’s seen action, the exchange goes like this -

Sherlock – “Seen a lot of injuries, then?… violent deaths?”
John – “Yes.”
Sherlock – “Bit of trouble, too, I bet.”
John – “Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime… far too much. “
Sherlock – “Want to see some more?”

Watson’s reply is very telling about his character and loaded with longing. Said with an eagerness that seems almost indecent, “Oh, God yes.” Seriously screwed up is our dear doctor. He even gets away with killing someone to save the man he’s known less than a couple of days.

Now, I am not one for forums as a rule but the Sherlock Forum has sprung up and has collected a little core of friendly folks with a similar interest. If you like the series, I suggest you give it a go.

I feel a marathon Sherlock/Torchwood/Doctor Who session coming on. After all, I have to have something to keep me interested until filming begins on series three early in 2013! 2013? I’ll never be able to wait that long… Oh well, I will still have the fandom community to keep me going.

Roll on 2013…

Happy New Year

Just to wish my readers, my friends and my family a Happy New Year and Season’s Greetings. I hope you all had a wonderful time and here’s wishing you all good health, love and prosperity for 2012.

Sad News

I learned today that one of my writing idols, Anne McCaffrey, has died at her home in Ireland on the 21st November, aged 85. The author of dozens of books, including the Dragon Riders of Pern series, the Crystal Singer books and one of my all time favourites, The Ship Who Sang, has been one of my favourite writers for decades. She was the first woman recipient of both Hugo and Nebula awards for science fiction writing and an icon of the science fiction and fantasy genre. I can blame my best friend for getting me hooked. She introduced me to the Pern series with Dragonflight in the early 1980s, closely followed by The Ship Who Sang.

Apparently Anne only started writing when she was 50 and my thought was always “well, there’s hope for me yet.” So I kept going and hoping and now I’m a published writer at 49. So, Anne, I made it, and you gave me hope that I would. I wish I could have thanked you for that.

She was a lovely lady, I was privileged to have met her at conventions more than once and even heard her do a heart-wrenching reading from the Ship Who Sang (there wasn’t a dry eye in the room) at World Con 1987 in Brighton. She was a wonderfully accessible guest, approachable and always appreciative of her fans. I learned a lot from that, always vowing that’s how I would be if I ever got to her exalted status as a writer; never to forget my fans, the people who got me there. Without the folks who buy our books, we authors are nothing, after all. A book tightly shut is just a block of paper, as the Chinese proverb goes. If nobody buys your books, they remain blocks of paper. Thousands bought your books, Anne, and deservedly so.

My friend reminded me of the time we got stuck in a lift with her, on the way, I recall, to that very same reading in a hotel in Brighton. The lift was at capacity but came to a halt between floors. When we were rescued (thankfully they managed to get the lift to the next floor so we could walk off) we were accused of having too many people in the lift and were counted off (we felt like naughty kids). It turned out that there had been the correct number of people (even if it felt like too many) but then someone saw the firelizard model on my shoulder and so he got the blame for being the extra weight, all six inches of him! I remember Anne appreciated the joke.

If I leave half the legacy to the writing world that Anne has left behind her I shall be more than happy and I don’t expect I shall even scratch the surface, but you never know. I keep hoping and working to that end. Who knows what the future will bring. May the Dragons keen for your passing, Anne, and I shall continue to read your books and introduce my own children to them.

Where ever you are, may the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be always at your back, may the sun shine warmly upon your face, and the rain fall softly on your fields, and, until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the hollow of His hand.

Most of all, may there be dragons, lots of them.

God bless and thank you.

 

Remembrance Sunday

At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.

On this Remembrance Sunday I wanted to blog today to say thank you, thank you to all those who risk (and have risked) their lives on a daily basis in the name of peace.

Different conflicts demand different approaches. Sometimes it takes strength to back down and compromise. Sometimes one cannot compromise, and it takes strength to take up arms, and sometimes one needs to find a way to lay them down again and that, too, can be hard. However, such is the nature of human beings that it seems we will always be fighting and compromising and negotiating and demanding and discriminating and hating and loving and supporting and tearing down.

We are emotional beings. Both hatred and love come easily to us. On a personal level then, conflict is inevitable somewhere down the long road through the journey of our lives. We disagree with our loved ones, our friends, our employers, our co-workers, customers, acquaintances and complete strangers. We have our likes, our dislikes, things that please us, things that anger us. The trick is to know what is important, with any of it. What is worth upholding our principles for and what is worth letting go. Sometimes the letting go is harder to do.

I also want to say thank you to anyone who has supported a friend recently too. Friends are a network we rely on, the people who support us when we have been in conflict, armed or otherwise. Some of my friends and family have been in their own personal conflicts and I have tried to be there for them, knowing only too well that it is a hard thing to do to watch someone you love suffer and to be that rock that their personal waves need to break over. Remember that sometimes, too, the smallest gesture is often the most important.

To those who stand to protect what they believe in, to those who negotiate and compromise in the name of peace, to those who help the victims of conflict, not to mention those who stand fast at home and keep the home fires burning, as the old phrase goes, you are owed many, many a heartfelt thank you.

In this last year we have seen dictatorships overthrown and terrorism raising its ugly head once more. Our troops  are still overseas and more war dead are flown home. We have seen the town of Wootton Bassett given royal status after its citizens turned out on a regular basis to honour those British soldiers whose bodies were repatriated via the airfield nearby; just ordinary people standing in tribute to the sacrifice of those who are making their final journey home. Ordinary people doing something because they feel it is the right thing to do. I say thank you for that too.

My books, as you probably know, have a WW2 theme. They have given me the chance to contribute to the memory of those men who fell in the line of duty and those who made it back damaged, but alive. Due to those books, I have been able to contribute a little to the Help the Heroes fund as well as a deserved contribution to the long-overdue memorial for Bomber Command that I hope to see unveiled next year.  If you want to contribute, then go to Help for Heroes website and find out what they do (link below) and the Bomber Command website too, if you feel inclined.

http://www.helpforheroes.org.uk/

http://www.rafbombercommand.com/master_welcome.html

One thing I would add. If you disagree with our soldiers fighting abroad, then please get angry with the government, not with our armed forces. Make your opinion known by all means, but aim it at the right people. I am sick of hearing people complain and disrespect the soldiers and airmen and sailors when it is not their fault where they are sent and what orders they are given. They signed on the dotted line to lay down their lives of necessary in defense of this realm of ours. Would you do the same?

Wear your poppy with pride and remember our war dead, remember their sacrifice as an impossible-to-repay gift. A man none of you may have heard of (I certainly hadn’t), John Maxwell Edmonds (1875 – 1958), an English Classicist, is credited for having written a famous epitaph in the allied war cemetery in Kohima. In 1944 during World War II the Battle of Kohima along with the simultaneous Battle of Imphal, was apparently the turning point in the Burma Campaign. These words will sign off my blog on this Remembrance Sunday more eloquently than I can.

” When you go home, tell them of us and say, for their tomorrow, we gave our today. “

Lest we forget.

Thank you.

My New Cover and Release Date

Here’s the new cover for my new novella, Life Begins at Forty. Painted by Paul Richmond of Ohio, USA, in my opinion he’s captured the characters of Jack and Ifan perfectly and chosen a wonderful moment from the book to focus on. See the link below or to the right to check out his website and take a peek at his cheeky cheesecake boys, his own take on the pin-up girl portraits of the 1950s.

http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com/

This is a sequel to Per Ardua, set six years later. A new decade has arrived, it is 1950 and a brave new world beckons but a poison pen targets the Welsh community Jack and Ifan call home and suddenly their relationship is threatened with exposure. Can they weather this attack? Will it split them asunder or make them stronger? Find out on the 12th October.  Click the picture on the left, the one in the sidebar, to go straight to the book’s page at Dreamspinner Press to order. It will retail at $4.99 and is currently available as an e-book only.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?cPath=55_297&products_id=2554

A Time to Mourn

I don’t want this to sound too depressing, but a friend of mine recently lost a close relative and is finding it hard to deal with. It is, so far as I know, the first time she has lost anyone close. I remember losing my mum’s aunty in the same way. She was the first to leave (from the close family that I grew up in) whose death actually registered with me. I was old enough to feel it. My uncle had died when I was 13 but I saw him rarely and he wasn’t as close as she was. He was only 45 when he died but even at the end of someone’s long life it is often still hard to accept. I guess, knowing she was 90 and had lived a long life, it made it a little easier to know she was gone to her rest having had a ‘good innings’ but she hadn’t done much with her life beyond caring for her aging mother. She never went anywhere, she didn’t travel. If she saw the other side of town she was doing well. She had never been abroad, never married, never had children, never even had a relationship. I think she might have been engaged at one time but had broken it to look after her mother. She was the eldest girl and that’s what you did in those days. She had been in service when she was younger, worked for Marks and Spencer when it was starting out as the Penny Bazarre. Her life had narrow horizons but if she wasn’t happy, she said nothing about it. She had been a part of my life from babyhood and I missed her terribly. When my grandparents both died within three months of each other, though, it struck me much harder. A big part of my life simply came to an end and it hurt far more.

There are expected stages to grief, categorized and observed and recorded by psychologists and scientists and accepted the world over as the way humans mourn. Known as the Kübler-Ross model, it cites five stages that we go through in order to cope and deal with the experience. However it should be noted that not everyone goes through all five and not necessarily in the same order anyway. I certainly didn’t. I remember the denial and acceptance but nothing in between. Our reactions are as unique as we are. We can experience denial (It’s not happening to me/I feel fine), anger (why me? It isn’t fair! Who is to blame?), bargaining (I’ll give anything if…), depression (I’m so sad, there’s no hope, what’s the point?), and/or acceptance (everything will be fine, it’s inevitable), but no matter how you travel through it, let no one tell you how to behave or what you ‘should’ be doing. Your way is your way, allow it to happen to you as it will. Take each day as it comes and deal with it in your own time. And never expect too much from yourself. Give yourself time.

People are more than the sum of their parts; we all are. Memories are the things we are left with and the trinkets people leave behind can be the triggers to those memories. My grandparents were a big part of my life. I was born in their house which had been in their possession almost since it was built. All their children had been born in it. It was a Council property, though, and because they had never bought it, it returned to the Council when they died. I hated that because as far as I was concerned, it was theirs, suffused with their memories and mine. They lived throughout the war in that house, celebrated birthdays and anniversaries and births, mourned deaths and dug for Victory, looked after me there when mum was working, had me to stay when I wanted to, taught me to cook there, told me stories there, I laughed and cried and cheered and sang there. But at the end of the day, it was only bricks and mortar and people are not there, but are in your mind and your heart. Many bricks make a house, as they say, but many hearts make a home. That was so true of my life.

I will have to write their story one day. I am working on my family history at the moment, finding things out and piecing things together. I have gone as far back as 1745, and I am learning new things every time I do the research. All those lives, all those memories, all that lost information. I am the descendant of farmers, a ship’s captain, blacksmiths and teachers. I know nothing about them, other than what my mother can remember of those who were part of her life. I have no idea of their hopes, fears, ambitions, expectations or loves, of what kind of people they were, if they were kind or bad tempered or generous or stupid. They were people just like me, though, human beings working and existing and loving and laughing. I am their immortality.

One of the things about the human condition is our ability to experience things in our own unique way. We often rail against death, we want to live so much. “Do not go gentle into that good night,” as the line from the Dylan Thomas poem goes, “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” It has oft been the subject of poetry and prose. That famous line from Blade Runner, spoken by the replicant (robot) Roy Baty, comes to mind. “I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched c-beams glittering in the darkness off the Tanhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time like tears in the rain… Time… to die….” No matter what we see, do or experience throughout our lives, those things are personal and seen only through our own eyes. That viewpoint is unique and not something we can share completely. And yes, it does die with us. Some things, you cannot leave behind you. Likewise, everyone is made of the way others see them. Our memories are unique to us, and our memories of the people we love are likewise unique. As we go through life we are like ripples on the water, we do things that touch others, we cause things to happen, we experience things in our own way. How we touch each other’s lives may not at once seem all that important, but can have far reaching effects. Sometimes we cannot even see what we do.  We have to understand that often, even though we don’t know it, we do great good with the simplest of actions, the smallest of ways. I am a strong believer in the Butterfly Effect, the science of the small. I might consider a smile or a small complement a tiny insignificant thing, requiring no effort on my part, but who knows what it means to the recipient? Don’t discount actions because you feel they are insignificant to you. Everybody’s viewpoint is unique.

If in my lifetime I touch a few lives in a positive way, then I’ll be happy. I have no expectations of anyone in a hundred years knowing who the hell I was or how I felt about anything, but that doesn’t matter. If I have been loved half as much as I loved my grandparents and parents, I’ll be happy.

If they gave you love and good memories, then remember your loved ones, the ones who are still here as well as those who have gone, with happiness and love in your heart. Hold all who have gone before close to you, remember their legacy and know they loved you for a reason. To them, at least, you were worth it. Take heart that you were loved and let it lift your self-esteem and don’t stop doing those small things you feel are maybe insignificant. Who knows what seeds you plant today that you may well reap tomorrow. What goes around, comes around. May you achieve your dreams and may you, through adversity, reach your stars.

Thoughts on 9/11

Anniversaries like this are difficult things to write about. I personally don’t look forward to October much. Although my own wedding anniversary is in it, which lifts the gloom, so is the anniversary of my father’s death, twelve years ago. He said to my mum after my grandparents died that life after the death of a loved one is a series of firsts: the first time you laugh, the first time you go back to somewhere you both loved, the first time you do anything you were used to doing together.

As the anniversary of 9/11 is upon us, my own thoughts turn to more personal brushes with acts of terrorism. Having just read fellow author Damon Suede’s ‘walk-through’ of living in Manhattan at the time, a moving and educating account on reviewer SJD Peterson’s blog (link below) I found out things I never knew had happened. For instance, how many times Manhattan residents were evacuated over the next days and how others survived by the skin of their teeth. As Damon says, “One of my dearest amigos had been temping on the 64^th floor that day and only survived because she walked barefoot and blind through the rubble… six miles home into Brooklyn. Another colleague had left a meeting in World Trade 2 for a cigarette and almost got decapitated by falling masonry.”

http://sjdpeterson.blogspot.com/2011/09/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-x-none.html

Our own country would follow in 2007 with the London bombing. 7/7 as it came to be known threw terrorism in our faces once more. My mum had a friend whose daughter survived because she had simply decided not to ride that bus that morning but to walk. It passed her as she made her way to work. Moments later, chaos reigned. What decides whether you live or die? Chance? What made her decide to walk that morning? Fate? Who knows?

Perhaps the thing that stands out most in my own memory is the Manchester bombing of 1992. My family and I had gone on holiday that morning. I recall it was a Saturday. We got to the farmhouse in Northumberland where we were staying and saw it on the news. I remember my mum asking if I should call my long-time friend who lived there and I said I knew she was safe (which she was) because I had spoken to her on the phone only that morning. The blasts happened a scant half hour after I had talked to her and I knew it would take her at least 45 minutes to get to town. Little did I know then though that two of our other friends had a lucky escape that morning. They both worked at an office block near the center of the blast and one had been standing at one of the windows when the bomb went off. The window bowed in but did not shatter, being made of blast-proof glass. If she’d been on the floor higher she wouldn’t have been so lucky. Apparently the firm had only fitted blast proof glass to that floor and no higher because it was deemed unnecessary.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/december/3/newsid_2519000/2519715.stm

For the rest of us watching through the window of television, we are often removed from the main event by dint of being miles away. It doesn’t touch us because it’s happening to someone else. However, the thing that strikes me most about 9/11 has always been the final communications from those people who died. The advent of mobile phones allowed a few to contact their nearest and dearest to tell them they loved them or to tell them, sometimes mistakenly and tragically, that they were safe. That is the thing that has always moved me to tears. What would I do if I got such a phone call?  No damned idea. I hope it never happens to me.

Us Brits have lived with terrorist acts for decades (the IRA were often too close for comfort) so I guess we were inured to it to some degree. We were familiar with bomb warnings and abandoned packages and the evacuation protocol should we receive a bomb threat while at work. I dare say that a goodly few of us were shocked at the scale of 9/11 though and no doubt some had probably thought we were free of such acts since the IRA had reached ceasefire agreements. If such thoughts occurred to us, how wrong they were.

One decade later, my thoughts are with everyone touched by such acts. I hope you have found peace. We can but pray for a safer and more enlightened world. I can but hope that the next ten years is more peaceful and tolerant.

May your God go with you all.

Lest we forget.

 

Update on new novella

Well, so far as anyone can tell me, my new book will have an October release. First edit done, next one on the way. Update when I know more.

A wonderfully Loving Family.

When a fellow author, Mickie Ashling, posted this link I had to follow it and read. I found this to be a wonderfully positive and uplifting entry. I bless the parents of this little boy and thank them for their contribution to the world. Well done and may your son, however he turns out, be both a credit to you and to his world. I hope, some day, he gets his Blaine. I just wish there were more out there like you.

http://getstooobsessed.tumblr.com/post/9004061623/mommy-they-are-just-like-me-my-oldest-son-is

Am currently editing my second book.

My second book is in process, hopefully for a September release. I’m excited, I have to say. The first book was awesome, everything to do with it, from the acceptance to the printing. This one will only be an ebook because it is a novella and not as long but it’s still a book and it’s still mine. As awesome as the first…

It will be released through the lovely Dreamspinner Press. These people are the best, supportive and helpful.

Will keep you updated as to the release.