Hurrah!

My lap top is working again! My partner set it up with a monitor, keyboard and mouse and made it into a desk top computer. I also have my own office space now; we converted the spare bedroom into an office for me and now I can come here and write anytime. I am now up to 50,000 words and hope to write another forty.

My research has continued and I am always picking up pieces of inspiration from all over from famous scientists who have strongly believed in mediums and fortune tellers to more trickery from ghost hunters. My diary is ram packed with notes which I jot down on the bus to and from work. It is really coming together and I hope it will be finished before the summer.

I have been gathering ideas for future books which I will begin to write once I have finished this current one; I have been looking up ways to find a literary agent and ideas for future work is a must as they need to know that you are not a one trick pony. I have also looked into the alternative of self publishing online for e-readers; a friend of mine has some amazing success with that with large sales of books and a best seller now; although I have no expectations of meeting that, it would be amazing to achieve a quarter of what he has. If just one other person reads my work and enjoys it, it will be worth it. It will be amazing to say I have done it and achieved something.

So now I am back up and running I can now write again after that brief period without access to a computer. I am also getting an Ipad for Christmas so I can write on the go!

Thank you to my consistant followers and I look forward to giving you an update soon!

 As a thank you please see a sneak passage below; as always this is just a draft and no where near finished so if there is poor grammar or awful mistakes it can be ignored.

Jackie walked towards the centre stage as the spotlight followed her. She looked around the room at her disciples and smiled as she took in how many followers she had these days. She took a breath, closed her eyes, exhaled and begun.

‘’Is there a Rachel? Raquel? Robin?’’, a girl at the back stood up and announced that she was Robin. Robin was a slim girl with dark hair; her eyeliner was thick and made her look almost gothic, which was also suggested by her dark coloured dress-scene.

‘’Robin, my dear’’ Jackie began her reading. ‘’Your mother is here, she’s telling me her name is Layla’’ Robin nodded her head excitedly. ‘’My mother died some years ago, she had AIDs’’

‘’She wasn’t the only one affected by it was she my love?’’ Robin looked down to hide her teary eyes, ‘’No it was passed onto my sister, I was the lucky one’’

‘’And she’s passed onto now hasn’t she?’’ The audience awaited Robin’s answer, who was standing there confused.

‘’No, in fact Susan is here tonight with me’’ Susan stood up, also looking confused. The audience mumbled and Jackie cleared her clogged throat. It was looking to be one of those evenings where the opening monologue was not going down well and could damage the rest of the show and deter the followers who were there this evening.

‘’Passed on in life my love, not into death. You were angry, weren’t you Susan, before that your mother had passed on this horrible illness onto you, but now you’ve accepted it and moved on. You have passed through the anger and onto acceptance’’ Jackie looked up at the audience to await their response, who in turn were awaiting Susan’s. Jackie’s answer, it seemed, was suitable as she nodded and smiled. ‘’I have passed through’’ she nodded, smiled and wiped a tear.

‘’And your father, Glen’’ the sister’s looked up in surprise that she had managed to get their father’s as well as their mother’s name correct. ‘’Is he here too?’’ they excitedly asked.

Jackie laughed at their excitement ‘’He is indeed, he says he and your mother are together and well and happy; he loves you both very much and said Susan keep up with your positive thinking’’ The two girls embraced and sat down. The audience clapped as Jackie bowed and moved towards the centre stage for her second reading.

‘’I have someone called Jason here tonight who is poking me refusely to get hold of his family here tonight’’ Michael sat up straight and stared out towards the medium. He didn’t glare look at Louise who’se eyes he could feel glaring at him at this time. ‘’No one with a Jason?’’

Michael wondered whether to stand up but did not want to get lost in the fraudulent show. As impressed as he was with the last reading having got the names correct, he wasn’t sure how well his reading would play out and did not want to get lost into false hope.

‘’He’s got dark hair and he’s very handsome’’ a man in the front row shot up. ‘’Is it Jason Langdale?’’ Jackie placed her index finger on her chin as if she was deep in thought. After a moment she raised the finger as if to make a point, smiled and replied ‘’I believe it is!’’

‘’He was my boyfriend’’ the gentleman replied. He was a flamboyant character in his twenties with a yellow vest and tight trousers. He looked as if he was to go out on Canal Street straight after the show and dance in the bars along the gay strip.

‘’He was young wasn’t he?’’ the gentleman nodded.  ‘’At least it was quick towards the end. He didn’t suffer. He say’s he left you something in the house, in his side of the bed. I believe you have a cabinet do you not?’’ The gentleman thought about it and then got excited remembering he did. ‘’I bet you’ve not even looked in there since he died have you?’’

‘’It’s too painful’’  The man grabbed at his chest to simulate emotional pain.

Jackie walked off the stage and into the front row of the audience. She grabbed the gentleman’s hand and asked him to stand up. She embraced him for over a minute as he wept. She pulled away from him and gripped onto his hand and looked him directly in the eye.

‘’I know it’s tough. It’s so tough. But he’s urging me and kicking me, telling me to tell you to go into that bedside table. He has something he wants you to either see or keep. He won’t tell me what it is; it might be personal. But he wants you to go there, will you do that?’’ the gentleman nodded.

‘’Let’s just hope it isn’t something rude eh?’’ The audience giggled and so did the gentleman. They embraced again and sat down and Jackie returned to the stage.

With each reading Michael tried to hard to distinguish how Jackie had managed to get such information, especially names of parents; it surely could not all be guess work? He tried really hard to remain impartial but could not help but be impressed with Jackie’s work. He wouldn’t say he believed it, but was impressed with her ability to undermine these followers and know all this information without them feeding much back to them, despite how low this could be.

Throughout the hour and a half show, Michael and Louise had witnessed over twenty people breaking into tears, with one woman even having to leave the room with distress. He was wondering how much good any of this really was. Although some of the audience did seem to benefit from it and somehow managed to move on, but how many came back for more messages and became addicted to their readings was something else to be investigated. It is one thing to find peace of mind but to become obsessed with those who can provide you the connection could equally be as dangerous as the grief a loss causes.

How Sally Morgan's Scrutiny is a Writer's Gain

I was watching Derren Brown's The Secret of Luck last night in which he exposed Sally Morgan as a fraud after the show invited her to visit a statue of a dog which was supposedly giving a town luck; little did she know that it was a skeptic Derren Brown's statue and he had planted the rumor amongst the town. Morgan went onto say the dog was definitely lucky, even giving a history of the dog's owners in life.

Sally's career has been under much scrutiny recently, however as a writer for a novel about a medium, it is all facinating reading. The tircks these mediums use and the stories of exposure allow you to see into the secrets of how mediums gain the confidence of an audience and manage to fool them.Opportunitism appears to be a big tactic for mediums, they see an opportunity to exploit as 'power' and take it. Opportunity was very much the focus of Derren Brown's show last night, which Morgan took but unfortunatly for her exposed as a fraud.

The novel 'The Medium' is coming along nicely and as mentioned in an earlier blog I have completed a lot of research into stories of exposure of various famous mediums, spiritulality books and psychology books. While many people would just laugh and switch the channel or turn the page of a newspaper, I'm taking note of every move and forming the novel which I hope to finish in the coming months!

I'm up to 37,000 words on the medium now. My mornings to work are imagining I was the characters in the book, how my friends and family would act if I was Jackie (the medium) or how I would feel being Michael (the victim). What situations I would face and how that can be put down on paper to become an interesting work of fiction.

Stephen Fry's Planet Word

Stephen Fry once again has brought out a spectacular documentary, this time focusing on language. He focused this week on the beauty of language and how it can be transformed into art. With focuses on creative geniuses (such as Shakespeare) creating words and phrases which have transformed the English language into what it is today, which shows what a real impact literature can do for society.

A wonderful point Stephen made about language is that there are really no rules within literature. If you have the passion to put it down on paper and someone else enjoys it, then that is art, and in many case the more fresh and unique, the better.

As a writer this is refreshing to hear, especially to hear it from one of my favorite author's (Fry). Sometimes, as a writer, you wonder whether publishers will take on board your work because it doesn't fit in with the rules or the criteria of other books that we are so used to seeing on our shelves. I think the most important part with any art form is to believe in your work yourself and to most of all enjoy what you do. If you enjoy it then it doesn't matter if you sell a million copies, and if you do, it is surely a bonus.

Influences

A question, as an author, I regularly receive is who are my influences? Whose work do I enjoy. It is surprising the variety of work I do enjoy. As a child my favourite authors were the likes of Roald Dahl and Enid Blyton, however I strangely also liked the works of people like Catherine Cookson; that influence has been from my mum who is an avid fan. 

Within my teen years, I loved JK Rowling, Stephen King and Thomas Harris. These days I have turned towards more crime thrillers and mysteries; authors such as Kerry Wilkinson (who happens to be a friend of mine), Ian Rankin and Lynwood Barclay. I am also very fond of a good comical and topical book such as Ben Elton’s collection whose work always manages to capture the hysteria of the time (i.e. Big Brother/XFactor) and naturally I also enjoy Christopher Brooymyre who is a similar writer. I sadly also like the mushy lovey dovey books such as PS I Love You, but hey, it is fantastic work.

What do I look for in a book? I like something which is different. I like it to make me laugh, even when it is a scary thriller or a sad book. Humour is important to me. I love it to be groundbreaking and new and to take me places I have never been before.

But my influences go far beyond literature. Comedians such as Ricky Gervais and Whoopi Goldberg have large influences on all my art whether it is comedy or writing. Whoopi Goldberg very kindly sent me a signed photo of herself recently which meant a lot. The singer Michael Jackson who I have loved and admired my entire life is also a massive influence on everything I do. Michael Jackson became the forefront of my dissertation, which has since been passed on to his family. 

Will I see these influences in my work? Possibly. Possibly not. I try to keep it original, but I do spot where I’ve grabbed ideas and twist them to make them my own. I always quote other people’s work if I’m using them…. University has taught me well not to plagiarise! I also enjoy referencing my heroes too, as I like to show my passion for their work and have others share with it. To be able to have that common adoration for a particular artist no matter of which art form it has taken.

Video Diary

No I'm not begging people to leave Britney alone... I'm merely marketing my book! Enjoy a sneak preview of the book read aloud by Yours Truly! x

Inspiration

It is amazing where inspiration and creations come from... JK Rowling was inspired by the Hogwarts Express when she was on a train, but who knows where the rest of her magical genius comes from. How I would love to get into her mind and see where the rest of the wizard world comes from.

It does not have to necessarily be about literature either; I am a huge fan of Michael Jackson and currently reading You Are Not Alone by his brother Jermaine which provides a personal look at Michael Jackson off stage. One thing that fascinated me was seeing all the childhood inspirations that helped build Neverland; from a train set Michael wanted as a child to an analogy Jermaine once quoted to his little brother, it all has its place in Neverland.

So where has my own inspirations come from?

If you've been following my tweets and blogs, you will understand that my new book is about a medium helping someone who's wife is missing. My inspiration has so far come from the famous mediums such as Sally Morgan and Colin Fry, stories in the newspaper defrauding mediums as well as books by Mary O'Reilly. Of course events within my own life have gone in there too! Are not all authors' work slightly autobiographical?

But occasionally things from my own life or an event will appear and inspire me more than any of the above. I was on an underground tour of Manchester last night learning about the history of the city beneath me. It was fascinating; from the transportation of goods through the canals in the 1800s, to the use of bunkers during the world wars, there was so much to learn and there is so much more to explore. What was interesting, however, was how scared people were wondering around in the pitch black with only the dim torches to guide their way. People were especially freaked out when the tour guide told an anecdote of the time she came down here with a medium who was ghost hunting.

My time there inspired me to write a chapter of the book; obviously it will be very different, otherwise I'll have a bunch of people claiming rights on my work, but I have to admit I am more than inspired. It was interesting to see people's reactions while walking through just a dark, damp tunnel, especially with the idea that there could potentially be a spirit in there.

Inspiration is a wonderful thing and more people should share their inspirational secrets because often where an idea came from can be just as interesting as the work they have produced.

Research

My last post touched on writing about what you know, but of course you can't know about everything your going to write about. The last few weeks I have been conducting research on all manner of things within the book the most interesting has been reading up about mediums, psychics and tarot reading.

I have learned a whole host of things about trickery of mediums, how they've done things and even exposures of some of the country's top mediums. It has been fascinating and some of these have landed in the book. The background to Tarot, its history and the real meanings behind the cards have also been intriguing, whether your a believer or not, the history and interpretation of it are fascinating.

One thing I haven't studied is police work, and as an unknown author this has been pretty difficult. I know many people who work in police may cringe at my shoddy knowledge when they read it, but then again, I know a couple of policemen who hate books or shows that are too real as they have to do it everyday. My knowledge of police work will be mainly from television cop shows and crime thriller books; maybe one day when I'm rich enough to conduct interviews with the police force to get a real sense of how investigations go. However when too much reality comes into fiction, it can get in the way of the story and stops the writer being able to create.

Anyway, here's a little more of a glimpse of the book, hope you enjoy!

‘’This is the last message before the intermission’’. Suzanne sighed with relief as she couldn’t wait to get home and back to her husband, who would have mocked her for turning up here tonight. He had little belief in the afterline and his beliefs lied with science alone. He might have even been angry with her had he known she had come to see Jackie, he would have thought she was dragging out the past. Although the likelihood is he wouldn’t have said anything; they said very little to each other these days; since the tragedy they effectively lived separate lives, he didn’t even ask where she had gone tonight.

‘’Where is Suzanne?’’, Suzanne looked up but didn’t say anything, she knew the cold calling tricks and didn’t buy into Jackie’s attempts for one moment. ‘’Suzanne Walk? Walker?’’. Suzanne stared on in shock but still made no attempt to move, how popular is the name Walker? How would she know she was here?

‘’Is Suzanne not here? Its just, I have a little boy here, Jason. He’s smiling up at me, asking for his mummy’’. Suzanne looked on in shock, but felt glued to her seat; were her ears deceiving her? ‘’Jason’s saying he hurt his head when he was knocked off his bike’’. Jackie began to impersonate Jason’s injured behaviour when Suzanne erected from her seat slowly but didn’t say a word. The audience gasped and stared at Suzanne who was still unable to speak.  Suzanne slowly lifted her hand but continued to be silent.

‘’Suzanne, so wonderful of you to join us here tonight. Its not been an easy couple of years for you has it?’’ Suzanne looked down and wiped away the tears, shaking her head. ‘’Your little boy is so happy and at peace. He has lots of little friends. He just wishes you and daddy would stop being so sad. And he also said to stop visiting the place where he passed on, put the flowers somewhere prettier’’. Jackie was right, Suzanne had frequently visited the site where her son, Jason, had died.She cried, feeling terrible for the doubt she had felt over Jackie’s show.. ‘’I’ll leave your son’s love and memories with you, my love. Now for an intermission! I’ll be back in 45 minutes!’’

The lights came on and the audience left the room and waited around reception and some fled to the bar. Suzanne decided it was time to go home though. She had her message, and just in time it seemed. ? It was as if Jason knew she would be leaving at half time.  She felt some guilt for doubting Jackie’s powers; she certainly didn’t need anymore convincing now. How would she know all that? It was in the newspapers of course, but that was two years ago and how would Jackie know she was there tonight?

Suzanne said goodbye to her companion and left the hotel; her companion had offered her a lift home but Suzanne thought it was best she had some time to think and clear her head, besides she only lived a few minutes walk away. Suzanne walked towards Oxford Road, it was a crisp, chilly night in Manchester and it was obvious that winter was on its way. She passed the hundreds of black cabs which were taking the many students that filled Manchester’s three universities back to their student flats.

She walked past the Sainsbury’s Covenience store and considered going in and getting a bottle of wine to take home but realized that her husband would not approve. She considered her other option of where she could sleep tonight but thought that might not be so conceivable even if her husband never bothered to ask where she would be. She decided to leave the wine and return home.

She took a left off Oxford Road and walked down several stone steps towards the canal. She felt a spring in her step, knowing that she had made contact with her little Jason and felt so relieved that he was ok. She felt at peace. She enjoyed walking by the canal, it was so calm and peaceful, at least that was when the Canadian geese where not chasing her and pecking at her legs. She could look on and find peace with the world despite how much the loss of her son ached her.

Suzanne walked under a bridge, a route within her walk she frequently hated due to lack of light at this time of evening, but it beat paying for a taxi in Manchester. At this point in the walk she was wondering whether she should have accepted the lift she had been offered but knew once she had got passed it she would feel stupid to have been scared, like she did everytime she came home this way. Half way through the bridge it was so dark she couldn’t see her hands in front of her face, it was like the earth had its’ very own little black hole here in Manchester, although it was the death of her son that had sucked the life out of her, not some entry to another universe.

Suddenly she heard a noise and turned around. She could hear footsteps but could see no one.

‘‘Hello?’’ Suzanne shouted through the tunnel. Her voice echoed around her. There was no reply and the sound of footsteps had stopped. She shook her head in embarressment, it was obviously dripping water which was messing with her mind. Its just fear she told herself.

She began to walk on, the light from the exit of the bridge was allowing her to begin to outlines of her surroundings and she felt comfortable once again. The moment of relief did not last long however as she could hear the patter of feet again. She stopped and turned around and could see an outline of a figure.

‘’Hello?’’

The figure stopped and just looked back at her. Suzanne glared at the figure but didn’t know what else to do.

‘’Screw you then’’

.She stepped up the pace but could hear the footsteps behind her speeding up. She exited the bridge and she turned around to see who it was and was immediately presently surprised when she recognized the figure behind her. She smiled.

‘’Oh Hi! Sorry I didn’t realize it was you. Thank you for…’’ . Those were the last words Suzanne ever said. She didn’t even scream. The knock to the head was far too quick for her to react. Cold on the ground, Suzanne laid dead. The dark figure looked around and saw the streets surrounding them were empty; only Suzanne would know who her killer was.