Skip to main content

Looks, Books and a Zig-Zag

Since I handed ‘The Next Big Thing’ baton to lovely Choc Lit author Sarah Tranter whose novel, No Such Thing as Immortality, will be available very soon (look out for the Kindle edition at the end of this week!), I suppose it’s only fair that she’s handed one to me!  

Thank you, Sara, for the zig-zag challenge which, thank goodness, wasn’t too challenging.  I was asked to find the word ‘look’ in my current novel or a work in progress then post the surrounding paragraph.

To ring the changes from my current novel Move Over Darling, I’ve gone to the work in progress. Or rather the work I’m battling with as usual.  This is the first ‘look’ I found and it’s in the second chapter.  Some of you may recognise the location…


“'My pleasure,' she exhaled, closing her eyes, ‘I look forwards to meeting you at the end of the week then.' 
In the two years since Fiona and her husband, Paul, had opened Walton House, Little Spitmarsh had seen its financial tide beginning to turn thanks to the opening of Samphire, an upmarket restaurant which was still managing to attract food gourmets willing to make the long pilgrimage to the bleak east coast.  The restaurant and an annual film festival had almost reinvigorated parts of the once seedy town to the point of gentrification, encouraging a smattering of galleries, cool vintage shops and a few of the hardier pilgrims to snap up some of the most attractive old buildings along the seafront as second homes.  Foodie, film buff or Up-from-Londoner?   She tried to guess which of the new category of visitor the man at the other end of the phone would turn out to be.
He laughed gently.  ‘Well, I sincerely hope I don't disappoint you,' he murmured in a voice that hinted at emerald fields shimmering under the kiss of soft Kerry rain.”



Okay, I’m just trying to pass the zig-zag challenge on, but I think my victim fellow writer is just changing into her Lycra shorts so we’ll have to wait until she returns before I name her!

Oh wait, here she comes now!  Looking good, Linda Mitchelmore!

Comments

Jane Lovering said…
Sounds like Little Spitmarsh has come up in the world, they'll have boutiques next. Can't wait to read it...
Sarah Tranter said…
Love it, Chris - knew I would! I can't wait to read it, too. Come on - get cracking! LOL X
Frances said…
Chris, thank you so much for this peek at what's been happening in Little Spitmarsh. (I think that a peek is really a petite look!)

Thank you also for your kind comment over at my place. xo
Fennie said…
Oh yes! Little Spitmarsh! Yay!
I've only read Chris' second book so the setting is new to me....but I found it so very visual - and huge promise about that voice on the end of the phone.
Get the book finishded, Chris, and out there!
Maria said…
So there's a return journey to Little Spitmarsh on the cards. Lovely. Looking forward to it.....
Flowerpot said…
Can't wait Chris! (Couple of typos in that para which I'm sure you've seen already)
Flowerpot said…
Sorry that sounded awful. As a journo my eye always goes to typos - sorry, can't help it!
Flowerpot said…
Sorry that sounded awful. As a journo my eye always goes to typos - sorry, can't help it!
Cait O'Connor said…
Little Spitmarsh .....I love it!

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Endings, New Beginnings

Blended families come with conflicting loyalties and at Christmas time nearly everyone has somewhere else they feel they ought to be. Throw partners into the equation and it gets even more complicated. Since Tom and I aren’t especially hung up about Christmas we’re happy to let our children go with the strongest flow, but I have to say it was a great delight to have the girls and their partners staying with us this year. When such moments are few and far between they become very precious. My stepsons weren’t far from our thoughts either, not least because we had the very happy news on Christmas Day that my elder stepson and his girlfriend had become engaged. Congratulations Dan and Gill, here’s wishing you every happiness together. Tom and I end a year that has seen the fruition of many years work, both of us crossing important thresholds within weeks of each other. I’m really looking forwards to seeing Turning the Tide published next year and it’s been so satisfying, after al

Reconnecting

I hadn't realised it until now , but it’s probably no coincidence that my last post was about our trip to Norwich, a city I’ve loved since studying at UEA. I wrote, then, that coming home was a hard landing, a feeling that took me completely by surprise as it’s been such a privilege to live in this beautiful, remote spot on the very edge of the west Wales coast. A trip to Skye at the end of October - Tom’s choice - with Ma, was a truly lovely holiday. The weather was kind, the colours of those breathtaking seascapes will stay with me, as will all the happy memories we made that week. And, because our small cottage had been so beautifully modernised and worked so well for the three of us, it was easy to imagine what it might be like to live somewhere different. If travel doesn’t broaden the mind, it certainly brings a new perspective. By the end of the year, Tom and I had decided that it was time for a change, time to move closer to a town (we are neither of us, as they say, getting

Fly Free, Dottie Do

‘How many days to my birthday?’ Ma asks. I do a quick calculation. ‘Eighteen,’ I reply. ‘Eighteen days until your ninetieth birthday.’ Ma pulls a face and shakes her head. Every sentence is hard work for her now, when each breath is a struggle. ‘You’ll have to write a book about this, you know,’ she says, with one of her quick, mischievous smiles. ‘“Carry On Dying”. Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em cry.’ The smile fades. ‘Who knew,’ she adds wearily, ‘that dying would be such a palaver?’  It’s only eleven days since Ma was diagnosed with a high-grade, aggressive lymphoma, four days since she was overwhelmed with pain and breathing difficulties and was admitted as an emergency to hospital. Until a few weeks ago, she lived completely independently; shopping, cooking, cleaning and tending her much-loved garden. The deterioration in her health is shockingly rapid. The eight days preceding her death are a living hell, a constant battle with the ward staff to get Ma the pain relief she’s been presc