Books and Biscuits

It’s strange what stays with you. Not the noise but the faces – the way the air felt afterwards, brittle and off key. ‘They have taken my phone!’ she gasped. And sure enough two youngsters scampered off, booty in hand, leaping from the bus and into the crowd. For a moment I sat there wondering if I should offer her a banana – the only thing I had to hand – before realising it had gone soft and slightly rotten in the day’s heat. It was an absurd, although somehow easier to manage than the look on her face. She had two children with her, both wide-eyed and yet she was the first to recover ‘It’s alright,’ she said briskly ‘It was my work phone – I have another.’ The words were too tidy somehow, rehearsed even. For a moment I wondered if the whole thing was real, or some small performance staged for the inevitable audience – the kind of trick that only makes sense to an insurance firm. There was a touch of theatre about it all – as if she had played the scene before. Somewhere out in gangl...

  Legends, saints as well as forgotten communities who shape the land abound in The Iken Icon. Their presence lingers like ghostly whispers... The soil, the water and the ruins reveal fragments of the past like clues left by an unreliable narrator, thus commences the journey I am taking with the Iken Icon. The sequel,  The Iken Icon , is beginning to take shape. I’m not ready to reveal too much yet – the story will decide what it wants to be told – but I can say this: Iken itself will be more than a backdrop. With its ancient church and its long memory, the land feels like a character waiting to speak and something I haven’t really tried to do as I am an urban writer at heart. This is only the beginning of the journey. As the writing unfolds, I’ll share more here – about the challenges, the surprises, and what I discover as I progress.

A good clue might seem minor or unrelated at first, but later, when the twist is revealed, it becomes  obviously significant . Example : A dog that didn’t bark during a break-in later reveals the intruder was someone known to it. The best clues aren’t hidden, they’re right there,   buried among distractions  or filtered through character assumptions. T echnique : Use red herrings or multiple interpretations to mask the true meaning. The clue should emerge naturally from character behaviour or choices and not be dropped in arbitrarily. Example : A suspect unconsciously straightening a crooked picture frame may link them to a ransacked room later. Make clues reflect the larger emotional truth or moral question of the story. Example : A discarded child’s toy at the crime scene isn’t just a clue, it hints at the victim’s broken home life. No clue should exist in isolation. It should tie into at least one other clue, forming a web that readers can eventually untangle. What Fee...

Recently someone recommended  'Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine'. When it came out a good friend suggested it and most likely I will now make time to read it. Another book that came up via FB caught my eye which is 'The Language of Blooming Things'. I even put an Oprah Winfrey pick in my eBay shopping basket - at a bargain price - 'The Emperor of Gladness' by Ocean Vuong. Most of these are hidden gems I think - possibly not the first - I think it was quite well received at the time and a lot of people know about it. The image is of Anna Sewell's house - or maybe it is somewhere she stayed in Great Yarmouth - I am quite fond of Great Yarmouth - it is fairly maligned but still has a lot to recommend it - easy to find your way around, lots of charming old houses in varying states of delapidation, completely unpretentious - 'bouji' is not a thing there in case you were wondering.

When I began planning 'The Leiston Riddle', one of the first decisions I made was about where the murder would take place. Not just any backdrop would do. I needed a setting with atmosphere, history, and the kind of quiet menace that makes a murder mystery truly unsettling. That’s when Suffolk called to me. Suffolk, with its windswept coastline, sprawling heathlands and close-knit villages, offers a unique blend of beauty and isolation. It’s a place where the mist hangs low over the fields in early morning, where narrow lanes twist through centuries-old parishes, and where everyone knows each other—or at least thinks they do. That kind of landscape creates the perfect breeding ground for secrets. There’s a certain timelessness in Suffolk. You can stand on the edge of a crumbling cliff or inside a church that’s stood since the Middle Ages and feel history pressing in. It makes you wonder: what stories have these walls heard? What might still be buried—both literally and metaphor...

I am pleasantly surprised to have finished - a first draft at least of 'The Leiston Riddle' well in advance of the publication date I have set at the end of the year. Yes it could do with a good editor - of course! Terry (Doggett's old pal from the sailing club) remains a key figure who will keep Jake (the girl in the caff's bf) grounded. While Jake starts unraveling the truth behind the murder, Terry’s warning will be the touchstone that keeps him from veering into reckless action or getting swallowed by the weight of the town’s expectations. Terry knows the town’s dark undercurrents, but he’s also deeply aware of the limitations of fighting against them. The question for Jake becomes: will he find a way to act on this knowledge, or will he be consumed by it? As for Maggie (the girl in the caff), knowing that the murder will be resolved by the police — and that she doesn’t need to involve herself further — allows her to focus on her own journey as well. The backdrop of...

‘Oh my GOD — why us!!!’ Shirley looked back towards the caff — only ten minutes ago they had been purchasing a take away drink as if they were care free holiday makers who had left the stresses and strains of working life well behind them. It was unmistakable though, the girl was staring straight back at her, standing at the plate windows which promised a delightful view of the unspoilt nature about from the cosy comfort of a well-run hostelry. Shirley forced herself to hold her gaze — was this really an attempt to intimidate her? Get back on your bikes — there was a small voice — not her own — she realised. She suddenly and instinctively reached to embrace Mike.  ‘Come on love, we need to get a little bit closer, maybe we are just imagining this — you know old age is starting to to play havoc with my eye sight too!’ Mike said nothing — but she felt him grip her hand tighter. ‘In for a penny in for a pound eh?!’ ‘Something like that. You know what, that girl in the caff is staring ...