Janet Woods Womens Fiction

ROMANTIC INTERLUDES

2011-12-18T14:34:00.000-08:00

It's a while since I wrote some of these romantic shorts stories, and publishing a collection of them wasn't really feasible - until electronic publishing came along.

I had fun choosing which stories would go into the collection. Those picked were stories I thought were truly romantic, as well as being a bit on the adventurous side, they also suited all age groups. Oddly - because I haven't had a dog own me for several years, I also noticed that dogs feature as secondary characters in many of my stories. So these stories will suit dog lovers, as well. Oh yes, and there's a dolphin called Dora for music lovers . . .

With that little teaser I'll wish everyone a terrific Christmas, and get back to my editing.

Runner up in the SWW,WA Bronze Quill award for poetry

2011-11-19T19:08:00.000-08:00

I'm a novelist and short story writer. I rarely write poetry, and know nothing about structure or poetical terms. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of poems I've written. Problems I come across is never being able to judge whether my poetry efforts are actually finished, since the more I look, the more words and phrases I find to replace another word or phrase with. And what does a poet do with a poem after it's written? My small store of verse is lurking in my poetry file, never to see the light of day again. I entered this one in a competition. There were one-hundred other entries, and my offering became the runner-up. There was an amount of money and a certificate. And then, there was the judge, a successful and deservedly respected poet in his own right. He saw something in my entry that worked for him as a poem. Last, but not least there is space on my blog . . .

Twelve months in an English village

1) I went there in the summer.

Waves of wheat, waves of water
Undulate and curl over the child,
A naked creature unashamed in hat
Sunshade and smoothed zinc balm.
She attracts a crust of sand grains, like
Sunday’s rhubarb crumble and cream.
Wasps in stripes drink cola and
Sharpen stingers in sugar.
Crabs swell inside their carapaces.
Boats slice the sea and cast sails wide
To capture the fuel in the wind
And follow the ferries to France.

2) It feels like autumn now

Soggy, the forest floor disturbs
Aromas of decay and mushrooms.
Above, fall wears drifts of metallic colours,
Brass, copper, gold, and bronze
Hazelnuts slide from shells and spiral
Blackberries plump drip and prick
Days shrink into contemplation as
Earth meditates to slow each heartbeat.
Like squirrels we scurry to store.
Apples lie in the attic, nuts nudge
Shoulders in jars, plums stew in syrup
And mice nibble in the grain.

3) So this is what winter is like?

The mist swallows the thatch
An apple tree tangled and gnarled
Splays naked limbs against a wall
Splashed with gaudy lichen.
Orange and red berries kiss pearls
Of mistletoe, holly stabs the air
Lies in wait for the draughts to stir and
Scratches fingernails against shutters
To mark the haunting hours.
The captive is offered no comfort by the firelight.
The remains of the hibernation rarely stirs
But the slap of the sea on shore is a frenzy.

4) A spring thing happens!

The pines have an over-abundance of sap.
Streams of slow, seeping amber captures a gnat
And congeals. It claims a maiden’s finger
Or presses a golden toffee against her breast.
Beneath the bridge the water scurries
And froths. Such a carry-on of drakes
Parading their territory like battleships,
Lady ducks are imprisoned by egg clutches.
Speckled troutlings dart in dappled light
Buds unfold into lambent country dancers,
A fiesta against a sky drenched in lapis lazuli
To celebrate a fruitful copulation.

Daughter of Darkness

2011-11-03T16:05:00.000-07:00

History of this novel.

(Warning - blatant Promo!)

1996. In manuscript form, Daughter of Darkness took third place in a national competition run by Australian Women’s Day/Random House.

2001. “Daughter of Darkness” was published in hardcover by Robert Hale Ltd. UK, and mainly for libraries distribution.

2002. It won the mainstream section in the Australian, Romantic Book of the year Award.

2002 – 2010. It was read by library patrons, and gathered dust. A copy was listed as “lost” in a New Zealand library. I was a bit chuffed to think someone might have liked it enough to steal it . . . but, then, perhaps they wanted it for a doorstop! I never checked back to discover if it had turned up.

2010. Toot de la toot! I got the rights back, blew the dust off, and to my surprise, went international.

Belgrave House USA transformed it into an ebook. Then Brazilian publisher, Nova Cultural picked it up and translated it into Portuguese. Shades of Carmen Miranda! (She wore hats made of baskets of fruit and shook her hips like crazy) Can’t remember her? Well okay . . . you can probably look her up.

To move on . . . shortly, another English version of “Daughter of Darkness” will be released by large print publisher, Magna. Hopefully, the latter will replenish dwindling library stocks, as well as New Zealand doorstops.

Now we have the latest version, in downloadable audio form, and recently released by IAMBIK of Canada. I got to pick the reader from voice auditions, and chose Tadhg Hynes, who has a lovely Irish lilt to his voice. I think the rest of him is invisible, since I can only find a photograph of his glasses, and suspect he may be a leprechaun.

Anyway, here’s a plug for my Canadian version, which can be downloaded very cheaply from iambic . . . I love the cover. It makes me want to sing Wagner! Don’t worry; I’ll spare you that little treat! Instead, I’ll say hello to my Canadian readers. I know I have a few, since I get letters from them now and again.

About this book.

Set around 1750 in Dorset, DAUGHTER OF DARKNESS is the story of Willow Givanchy, daughter of a reputed witch and a corrupt Marquess.

A marriage is arranged, and Gerard Lytton is tricked into becoming the groom to the reluctant bride.

This is a slightly gothic tale, but not horror driven. It’s a story-driven romance. A raven appears . . . deaths follow. Against all odds, Willow and her husband fall in love.

Try it! Listen to the exerpt . . .

http://iambik.com/books/daughter-of-darkness-by-janet-woods/

Filha das Trevas

2011-10-11T15:55:00.000-07:00

One of my early books (Daughter of Darkness, in English) has recently been translated into Portuguese by NOVA CULTURAL. This is a first translation for me after 24 years of writing. I'm pleased with this cover so I'm showing it off. Not only is the model gorgeous, the colour of her hair and eyes matches those of my heroine exactly.

I can just imagine her occupying Willow's shoes

PS. Tall Poppies.

2011-09-30T18:01:00.000-07:00

Sorry . . . I forgot to say that TALL POPPIES is published by Severn House and will be officially available on 29th December 2011

TALL POPPIES

2011-09-30T15:05:00.000-07:00

One Woman - Two loves.England 1918

If it's not enough that a girl from a good background is forced to work as a maid, Livia Carr is then violated by the master of the house and becomes pregnant. Her only course is to marry the son of the house. Richard Sangster is an invalid, a world war one hero. He is not expected to live, and he offers Livia and the child legitimacy, as well has his name and estate. Livia grows to love Richard, but even though it's expected, his death comes as a great blow to her. Into the breach steps Livia's first love, and Richard's closest friend, surgeon, Denton Elliot. But will he desert Livia when the secret of the child's parentage is revealed to him. . .?

Note from Author.

When I came up with the idea of a woman who loved two men equally, I was a bit dubious that I could pull it off, and still create reader empathy with my two leading men. I was also worried that making one of them an invalid might be going a step too far - and wondered, would I capture them as authentic as men with their own point of view? I'm assured that I did. In the words of my editor, who is a man, "I thought this was a wonderful story that keeps you gripped until the very last pages – very glad there was a happy ending after so much strife!

LADY LIGHTFINGERS – RRAH review. Top Pick!

2011-09-26T15:07:00.000-07:00

LADY LIGHTFINGERS

RRAH's THOUGHTS AND PONDERINGS: www. romancereaders at heart.com. Top Pick!

Celia Jane Laws is only fifteen years-old, yet she’s had to shoulder so much through her young life, and that is what gives this young woman her strength. Life in the slums of London is not what she wants, and it’s not what she’s willing to accept; to that end, she will do almost anything it takes to pull herself and her family out of it.

The journey she takes is one of determination, and the combination of her skill and proficiency, which earns her the moniker of Lady Lightfingers, along with her quick wit, you’ll root her on and rejoice in her triumph.

Along the way, Ms. Woods introduces us to some characters that are unforgettable, like Alice Laws, Celia’s mother, who fights the good fight and, against all odds, teaches her daughter that morals are never to be abandoned.

Then there's Thomas Hambert, a man that out of the goodness of his heart, takes an interest in a bright and curious mind of a child-woman who lifts his watch, and is determined to help her reach her full potential. James Kent, Thomas’ nephew, is a young man with great prospects of his own, and someone that is full of doubts in regards to the ‘beggar girl’ that his uncle is determined to help; he, likewise, is determined to make sure Thomas is not taken advantage of. There's Johnny Archer, a boy with nothing to his name but a small cart who ‘attaches’ himself to Celia and grows on us while he does the same to her!

And last, but not least, we have Charles Curtis, a young and arrogant man that offers a madam of a whore house a substantial amount of money for Celia’s services, and sets into motion events that would teach him a thing or two about redemption, love, and sacrifice.

If you love authors such as Carla Kelly, Georgette Heyer, and that incomparable of them all, Jane Austen, you will love LADY LIGHTFINGERS. The romance of it more than makes up for the lack of sensuality and heat that you might be looking for, and I highly recommended this story of pure love.

Melanie Friedman

Copyright © 2001-2011 Romance Reader at Heart

LADY LIGHTFINGERS - Booklist review.

2011-08-17T14:57:00.000-07:00

Review – Lady Lightfingers.
Although Celia Laws is only a teenager, she is a proficient pickpocket supplementing her family's meagre earnings in order to survive in the slums of mid-nineteenth-century London. Her mother is from a respectable family, but she was abandoned while pregnant by her husband, and forced out of the family home by a conniving stepmother. Even in their reduced circumstances, however, she did teach her daughter how to read. One of Celia's more daring escapades involves Charles Curtis. He perceives the beauty hidden by rags and dirt, and longs to know the identity of this light-fingered thief. He offers a large sum of money to a local madam to out her, but her search induces Celia to runaway to relatives in Dorset. Her sweet Aunt Harriet tries to make Celia into a proper young woman, but her past, and the determined Charles Curtis, catch up to her. The ever-popular Woods offers her avid readers a lovely and thoughtful historical romance that delves into poverty and injustice, as well as the power of attraction. Triumphant! Booklist, September 15, 2011

Red Dog

2011-08-12T01:43:00.000-07:00

With the film of Red Dog now topical, I remembered a poem I wrote when we lived in the Pilbara, and it won a local competition. I'd had contact with Red several times previous to that, when he was a local legend. A year after Red died there was a competition to remember him by, run by the local newspaper. I've dug out my winning entry from my archives, and have edited it a little. I'm not the greatest poet on earth (or anything near it!) But anyway, I hope anyone who reads it, enjoys it.

Red Dog.

A dog stood at the pearly gates, it made a fearful din.
“I know my master’s in there, mate, so you’d better let me in.
For years I’ve roamed the Pilbara, from inland to the shore
When finally I found his trail it led me to your door.

In every man I’ve found a friend, you know the nor’west breed.
They’d lift me up when I was down and give a dog a feed.
God bless the truckies in the heat, they gave me rides to save my feet.
I had a banker and a vet . . . a place to doss at in the wet.

I’m done with travelling in the west, I’m weary and in need of rest.
But I think it would be grand if I could lick my old mate’s hand.”

So Red Dog found his place at last – he left the great nor’west.
His legend merges with the past, part of the Pilbara’s best.

Red are the sunsets, red the rocks, red the dust that coats the docks.
Red’s the dog that left his spoor in the Pilbara dust and iron ore.

(Janet Woods © 1981 revised 2011)

Paper Doll

2011-07-28T23:41:00.000-07:00

Review: Paper Doll – Janet Woods
"An exciting tale of forbidden passion, family secrets and cruel betrayals, Paper Doll is a vivid tale set during the 1920s sure to go down a treat with fans of historical fiction."

As the much-loved only daughter of a rich widower, Julia Howard is used to having her every whim and desire indulged by a father who worships the ground she walks on. Julia’s life is one constant whirl of high society parties and excessive shopping, but the cosseted socialite is unaware of the financial difficulties which her father is in. The toy manufacturing business that has been in the Howard family for generations is experiencing some financial difficulties, but Julia’s father is not ready to relinquish the reins of the company. He will fight tooth and nail to keep the business afloat, so he hires Dr. Martin Lee-Trafford to hopefully turn the family’s fortunes around.

Julia is less than impressed with her father’s choice of manager. For one thing, Dr. Lee-Trafford has got no experience when it comes to running a successful business; and secondly, capricious Julia finds her father’s newest employee to be a conventional stuffed shirt who is old beyond his years. The family’s financial problems, however, have certainly not affected Julia’s social life – or her desire to lose her virginity. However, when Julia’s plans to surrender her virginity go awry, she is relieved to be rescued by suave, sophisticated and charismatic businessman Latham Miller.

Latham Miller had dragged himself out of the gutter and become one of the richest men in England. Now in his forties, Latham is looking forward to settling down and he has fixed his sights firmly on Julia Howard – and on her father’s ailing business. Latham always gets what he wants, and even though initially Julia is opposed to the idea of marrying a man who is so much older than her, when tragedy strikes, lonely Julia finds herself turning to Latham. Accepting his marriage proposal seems like the sensible solution, but the married bliss that Julia had planned fails to materialize…

Latham has got no intention of remaining faithful. Betrayed, humiliated and dejected, Julia turns to her only friend, Martin. Julia quickly realizes that beneath Martin’s aloof exterior lies a kind, caring and gentle man. Julia has now fallen head over heels in love with Martin, but how can the two of them ever hope to have a future together when Julia is wed to another?

One of the genre’s most consistent writers, award-winning author Janet Woods has once again penned another winner with Paper Doll. A wonderfully written and immensely vivid romantic tale, Paper Doll is a gripping tale of sacrifice, redemption and second chances that is sure to hold readers spellbound.
As always, Janet Woods’ creates superb characters that leap off the pages and the heroine of Paper Doll, Julia Howard, is certainly no exception. It is a testament to Janet Woods’ extraordinary storytelling prowess that she managed to transform Julia from a spoilt and cosseted heiress into a strong, sensitive and sensible woman the reader could relate to and cheer for. I also liked the depth and nuances that she gave to other characters, such as Martin Lee Trafford, Latham Miller and Julia’s friend, Irene.An exceptional tale from a true mistress of the genre, Paper Doll is another triumph for the wonderful Janet Woods!

Julie Bonello - Single Titles - * * * *

Paper Doll is about to be released in trade paperback, and is available online from the usual bookshops for £10.00

Historicals Never Die 2

2011-07-16T14:40:00.001-07:00

Not long after I published my last post, my latest e novel from Belgrave House went online and is now available from. www.belgravehouse.com.

Blurb . . . To prevent the loss of his estate in a wager, Remy St Cyres agrees to abduct and wed the first woman who comes through the inn door. Fleur Russell is that woman. And, her reputation ruined, her brothers—who half kill her abductor—insist on marriage. The son of a Spaniard, Remy is recruited as a spy in England’s war with Spain. A tale of betrayal, revenge and untimely love… Georgian Historical Romance by Janet Woods; originally published by Robert Hale [UK]

Historical Novels Never Die.

2011-07-15T14:59:00.000-07:00

Historical novels never die.

As soon as a book is published there is a reaction from family and friends, convinced the author has become an instant millionaire. Some do, but alas . . . not many, and not this author. Writing is not a rags-to-riches occupation for most. When told the truth, non-writers often give a lift of the eyebrow, and a pull-the-other-leg-it’s-got-bells-on, expression.

It’s true. Some talented people do zoom up the ladder to instant fame and fortune, but other, often equally talented people don’t, especially with a first book. Many people who have stories to tell give up too soon. Others plod on.

When my first historical novel was published about 12 years ago I was delighted beyond measure. In manuscript form DAUGHTER OF DARKNESS, which is Georgian Gothic in nature, had been a runner up in a competition run by a women’s magazine. The book was published by a library book publisher a year or so later, one specializing in producing hard-covers. Dollar signs flashed before my eyes.

It was, in fact, the first step on a very long ladder, one whose heights I haven’t scaled yet. As an unknown writer – at its best – my book would have sold about three hundred copies, I imagine. As my first book baby, I saw no fault in this well-produced and attractive hardcover, which turned out to be the first of many.

In 2002 DAUGHTER won the R*by award, which, for those not in the know, is the competition run by the Romance Writers of Australia, for their published writers. This organization is of benefit for anyone writing romance based novels, whether mainstream or genre, well published, or a noviciate. However, I’m not here to plug the RWAus - which at the time of writing is celebrating it’s first twenty years of existence though I do urge budding authors to join one or more of the many writers organizations and E lists available to them in different countries since their aim is your aim – to get you into print through various means.

So . . . back to the progress of one lone book. After it breathed its last gasp on the initial publisher run, the manuscript sat on my shelf, neglected and unread. From time to time a library patron would writes to remind me of its existence, and I’d drag my first born out of its cobwebby corner to gaze upon it with a twinge of pride. Oddly, the female on the cover of the original hardcover version is the image of my middle daughter.

One of the benefits of historical novels is that the contents never die (unless the files corrupt, but that’s another issue altogether!) History never changes - never dates. You never have to re-edit to bring a past era up to date. You never have to add a mobile phone, a computer, a deodorant, a telephone, or alter the length of a hem.

I’ve since applied and received the rights back to what was, to all intents and purposes several dead and forgotten books, though I had to wait over a year from my first request. They are in the process of being resurrected as an E book under a different cover, and have begun to earn their keep at Belgrave House. I’ve also sold other rights to my long neglected first book.

As well as the E book, DAUGHTER OF DARKNESS will soon be available from the Canadian Publisher on audio downloads, IAMBIK. At the moment it’s still being recorded; by a gentleman called Tadgh Hynes. (I’m not quite sure how to pronounce that first name; at a guess, it might be Tayg.) I was invited to audition the voices and pick the reader I preferred. Tadgh Hynes has a lovely Irish-accented voice that’s easy on the ear, and my book has a touch of Ireland stirred in so they’re a good match, I think.

Added to this audio book is the sale of Portuguese language rights to a Brazilian publisher, and more recently, an offer to produce it in large print from Magna. DAUGHTER OF DARKNESS is beginning to earn again after a twelve-year hiatus. And the book will go into libraries to boost the numbers, where it will earn Public Lending Rights while it still exists in hardcover print form.

By exploiting the work as best you can, the earnings will accumulate over time. Although it might not make you an instant millionaire, it can add up to a useful sum over time.

Victorian Misses

2011-04-22T20:17:00.000-07:00

Victorian Misses.

Young women did not go out without a chaperone in Victorian Britain.These general sorts of statements don’t sit well with me, and this is why. Queen Victoria reigned for over 60 years, and over that time the world changed and progressed considerably.

I’ve written several books set in the “Victorian age.” “Hearts of Gold” started almost at the end of Victoria’s reign in the late 1890s. The heroine was a brat from the goldfields, sent to England by her mentor. My next release, “Lady Lightfingers” (30/6/11) is also set in the “Victorian age” but fifty years earlier in the 1850s, and in the London slums. “A Dorset Girl” saga was set in the 1830s, earlier still. What did they have in common? Very little, except the heroines were not members of the privileged classes. Each book was researched separately for the period within that age, to make it authentic to its particular time.

Did they write the books of etiquette for the majority of working class women? I doubt it. Most books of manners were designed for those who could afford to indulge in it. Fashion catalogues display silks and satin gowns, accessories such as kid gloves, fans and hats all through the period. Victorian ladies didn’t all wear hooped crinolines, but one of my heroines did use a discarded one as a sunshade for her child. The same economics that applied then, apply now. The majority of lower middle class young women couldn’t afford designer wear, or chaperones . . . or even underwear come to that. It stands to reason that they couldn’t afford several changes of outfit, but might have a special one kept for Sunday best, weddings and funerals.

In 1891 women were told that, legally, they could no longer be forced to live with a man if they didn’t want to. This was a two-edged sword. Divorce brought scandal with it for the female, and usually loss of her children. Without income, often the alternative was to starve to death or take up prostitution.

Even Queen Victoria must have regarded herself as her husband’s chattel, for she was reported as saying, from her lofty position of top hen in her glittering henhouse – thus setting back the women's movement by a number of years, I imagine – “Let women be what God intended, a helpmate for her man, but with totally different duties and values.” With total respect, I wonder how she know what He intended, and would she have said the same, had she been one of the 1,740,000 female domestic servants in England struggling to stay alive? Many maids in Victoria’s time took the occasional man to bed for supplemental income. They were called dollymops . . . very apt.
Victoria and Albert produced nine offspring, I believe. Of course, Queen Victoria never had to make ends meet, and, bless her . . . I wouldn’t like to have lived her life.

My mother’s child-raising wisdom came from clichéd and sometimes cutting little Victorian proverb from her Victorian upbringing. I’ve been careful not to pass them on to my own. “Children should be seen and not heard. Spare the rod and spoil the child. You’ve made your bed, now you must lie on it. Pride goes before a fall . . . etc.”

Thank goodness we reach a point in life where we can think and reason for ourselves, and wonder at some of the tosh we accepted as wisdom. Unfortunately those wisdoms weren’t tosh to them. They were a necessary part of discipline. Mostly it was rule by fear in my childhood. I was scared of anything with an official feel or a uniform attached to it – policemen, teachers, parents, priests, soldiers, bus conductors and fatherly lectures all signified authority. It didn’t stop me rebelling, even though one of my teachers was a reincarnation of Sweeny Todd, except she used a ruler instead of a razor.

So, our characters should be true to life, too. They should be encouraged to step out of the rule book and live their own lives. Over the sixty-year span that was the “Victorian Age” women weren’t all laced tightly into corsets (I mean that metaphorically as well as literally). If we wrap characters in rigid rules, manners and clichés they’ll come across as cardboard, or at the very least, clones.

When I look at the “Victorian age” it has lots to commend it. On the industrial front, there were engineering breakthroughs, sewerage disposal was improved and railways networked. There was a certain amount of hypocrisy too – child labour, wars, forced immigration and starvation. But nothing was static. Advances were made in industry, medical and moral mores – too many keep up with. Bear in mind that change didn’t happen in all parts of England at the same time. The rural south trailed behind the industrialized north. So while some people enjoyed the luxury of train travel another part of the country might still be bumping around the countryside in a wagon.

Unless you can travel back through time it’s impossible to know how people actually acted or spoke in the past. Sure, they wrote letters, essays and books, and sure . . . somebody wrote a rule book. Writing is a more formal way of expression than speech is. We all act differently when we’re on public view, but relax at home. When we write we don’t stutter or hum and har on the page. We don’t have people interrupting and turning our train of thought to something else, we don’t use body language to help people understand meaning, like we do face to face. We stick to the point.

Women wouldn’t have gone out without a chaperone? Some women, perhaps.

Remember the early TV ads, where the lady of the house wore stilettos, make-up, beehive hairdos and false eyelashes, when they cleaned the oven with greasy goop? Did we all dress like that to clean the house in? Nuff said!

LADY LIGHTFINGERS

2011-04-01T15:20:00.000-07:00

Severn House publishes books in several genres. Romance, ancient and modern. Saga. General fiction and Crime – in fact they have just launched a new line Crème de la Crime. I imagine you think this blog is a plug for Severn House as well as my book. Well, yes, it is. But why not when they publish my work, and have done so for some time? I’m proud to find myself in the company of well-known and best selling authors.

Of the twenty-eight books I’ve had published, LADY LIGHTFINGERS is my thirteenth publication with Severn House. It will be released in hardcover in June, and is available now for pre-order. LADY LIGHTFINGERS has a Dickensian feel in the location and story line, I've been told. As always, it has the traditional happy ending my readers have come to expect. I’ll let the blurb speak for itself. And yes . . . the lovely cover does reflect the story, since the gold watch and key features in the early pages of the book.

LADY LIGHTFINGERS – by Janet Woods
Severn House UK
Release date. June 30th 2011
ISBN: 978072788056

Raised in the slums in 1850s London, Celia Laws is a rarity, an educated young woman whose creative skills have attracted notice. But with family to care for, circumstances have driven her to pickpocketing. In Celia’s harsh world, it’s a small step from picking pockets to prostitution. When a young man offers her a fortune in return for spending a week with him, she takes the money and runs – to a spinster aunt in Dorset.

Aunt Harriet takes pity on her young relatives, and she offers them a home and opportunities. But Celia’s conscience will not allow her to forget the money she stole, nor can she bring herself to spend it. A chance encounter with Charles Curtis, the young lawyer she deceived – and eventually comes to admire – brings her face to face with her past and thrusts her into an uncertain future.

My Family

2011-02-17T19:36:00.000-08:00

My Family.

Spiked perhaps by the TV programme “Who do you think you are?” I’ve recently developed an interest in discovering my ancestors. This is because we migrated to Australia from England over four decades ago, and it will give my children and those who come after, a back-story of family history.

Seeking out deceased relatives hasn’t become an obsession with me yet, but the more I uncover the more my curiosity is piqued, and the more the feeling of kinship with those who have departed grows.

Nothing remarkable has turned up yet. Both sides of the family I’ve managed to unearth so far were housekeepers, domestic gardeners, cattle dealers, brick-makers, chauffeurs, laundry-maids, fishermen and mothers.

And goodness, were they mothers! These women did it tough, with five, nine or even a dozen kids being a fairly normal brood ¬– and the offspring being thinned out by disease, just as normal. Life is short when measured in decades, and it makes me wonder what humanity is all about sometimes. But this is the stuff historical sagas are made of, especially those that cross generations.

I always knew my “down south” paternal grandfather was a chauffeur. I have photographs of him in his uniform at the wheel of a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost. The copy of the County of London driving licence I have for him is dated 10th April 1911, and is valid for a year. However, by digging a little deeper I discovered he was a coachman before he drove a car, something I didn’t know. I’m in awe of anyone who can stay on a horse, let alone drive a team perhaps, and with a carriage attached.

My “up north” grandfather on the maternal side owned two fishing boats and he and his sons fished the North Sea. With a family of about eleven children to feed and clothe, life must have been extremely hard and dangerous. When I met him he also had an allotment.

Despite their humble occupations, there is pathos to be discovered . . . an uncle who died in the battle of Jutland at the tender age of 17. He was a boy seaman HMS Invincible his first ship. Imagine how excited and proud he must have been when he stepped on board for the first time. Then there are several infants in various churchyards who died of God knows what.

As for my other uncles, I found a little bald patch in the research for two of them. Then I remembered talk of Irish in the family. A bit of probing and I discovered they’d been born in Ireland, for I found them as infants on the Irish Census. And that was probably when and where grandfather used his coachman skills.

I’ve done my share of menial jobs like being a cleaning lady, a waitress, a shop assistant, wife, and mother to four – and at one time I followed a family trait of chauffeuring people around by being a taxi driver.
Now I’m an author . . . a saga writer, and that’s what I’d rather be remembered for – my creative input rather than my practical skills.

Snooping into the lives of the ancestors has given me lots of ideas for novels. I wonder . . . will a fall of the genetic dice produce a set of DNA similar enough to mine to create another author? Then again, there might already be one out there that I haven’t found. I guess I’ll just remain the odd one out on the family tree until I discover different.

PAPER DOLL Review

2011-02-05T18:20:00.000-08:00

Once a perfect daughter, who inspired her toy manufacturer father to create a paper doll in her likeness, Julia loses her fiancé in WWI. With no plans for the future, she gads about with a fast crowd, much to her father's dismay.

An older business acquaintance of her father's, Latham Miller, saves her from a cruel trick, but there is something about Latham that disturbs Julia. He asks her to marry him, and she is reluctant to say yes. Instead, she is intrigued by her father's new manager, Martin Lee-Trafford, a doctor during the war who had a breakdown and returned home.

But when her father becomes ill and asks Julia to marry Latham, she dutifully obeys. Latham turns into a different man after marriage, determined to do whatever he wants with whomever he wants, so Julia starts an affair with Martin.

Woods tells a tale of the tumultuous, roaring twenties filled with glamour and sex, a wild ride that will leave readers breathless and ultimately triumphant.
--Booklist, February 1st, 2011

Audio books

2011-01-10T13:11:00.000-08:00

It's not often that audio books get an airing on my blog. I don't know why, when most of my books are available from ISIS Soundings in audio form, as well as print. So this is to introduce my two latest books, 'Salting the Wound' which is read by Gordon Griffin. Gordon is a new reader for me. I'm quite looking forward to hearing a man read my work. It will be a change. The sequel,'Straw in the Wind' is read by Patience Tomlinson, a reader I'm familiar with, since she's read some of my earlier books.

People have asked me if I listen to my own work being read. Yes, I do. The readers bring a fresh eye to your work, and although the characters might not appear to be interpreted as you wrote them, the fresh slant on them is interesting.

Each disc lasts about an hour, and the whole book takes up approximately 8 discs.
For those of you who walk on a treadmill for exercise (as I do), this is an ideal way of "reading a book" especially when using headphones.

Benedict's Bride.

2011-01-05T18:34:00.000-08:00

Benedict's Bride by Janet Woods (ebook)

Amber Rose Hartford’s grandfather made her dowry dependent on her marrying Viscount Costain. Though unaware of this condition, Benedict accepts it for more than one reason. He rescues Amber from her disreputable cousin Patrick, but before they can marry she is abducted. A large ransom is paid but Amber is not released. Benedict must rescue her again—and convince her of his honorable intentions. Historical Romance by Janet Woods; originally published by Belgrave House

Stripping Characters Bare

2011-01-01T15:12:00.000-08:00

This is not about undressing them, though it is handy for historical authors to know what’s worn underneath the period woman’s skirt, Whether it be Amelia’s Bloomer's bloomers, Victorian divided drawers, the 1920s combinations, sexy wartime camiknickers or no knickers at all.

Men and woman have strapped themselves into various uncomfortable supports, bustles and shape-changing devices in an attempt to meet the fashion of the day, but prior to the Victorians, who also put pantalettes on the legs of a piano stool - wearing no underwear was more common than not. Hmmm . . . can you actually wear no underwear? I'll leave that one for you to ponder on. I wonder though, why were Victorian gentlemen so turned on by piano stool legs, that they had to be kept hidden from him?

So what is this blog about? It’s about investing emotion into characters, getting down to their bare essential and endowing them with characteristics that will appeal to readers.

What does does your heroine look like? Yes, you can use a character who is of average height, and has brown hair and blue eyes. Most readers are ordinary people, and can relate to the standard. So be careful to endow characters with a touch of the commonplace.

Remember that a person can change. Love will make the pheromones fly! The skin will glow, the eyes shine, the smile become more spontaneous. As always, the adage applies. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." In one sense that means that the eyes light up like a set of headlights, when one's beloved comes into view. But being desired, or desiring another, always makes a character look, appear and act more attractively.

All this can be shown to the reader as it happens, by putting yourself in the character's skin and using the senses of smell, touch, sight, hearing and taste. If the characters come with all the beauties and graces described up front and already installed, then how do you improve on it?

Body language can convey feeling instantly. A look over a shoulder, a gaze avoided, a smile exchanged or a squeeze of the hand, or just the way a glance slants . . . on a woman's breast, into her eyes or upon her lips can say a lot. So can the two finger salute when she says no!

In your own writing (and I still catch myself doing it too, but hey, that's what editing is for) how often do you start a sentence with: She had the feeling she was naked when he looked at her? She felt as if her heart was going to fly? She felt a smile creep across her mouth? This is wishy-washy and passive telling. It is much more active to put: His glance stripped her bare. Her heart flew from her chest. A smile crept across her mouth.

Emotionally . . . if you want a character readers can relate to, you have to have to give your characters a depth of feeling. What they say, do, feel or think should be reflected in your characters, thoughts and deeds, right from the very beginning.

Telling the reader a character is arrogant means nothing. Show the character being arrogant, then show him with a weakness, however small, to make him likeable. Perhaps he could acknowledge his own arrogance.

Be consistent with showing positives. Have your heroine do little kindnesses, and think kind thoughts. If she sees a beggar in the street let her give him a coin. If you have a spirited heroine, make sure her nature doesn't become shrewish in the cause to prove herself. There is a big difference between having a spirited heroine and a nasty one. Learn how to give and take. Use wit rather than spit!

I could go on and on with this subject, but I won't. I'll just go back to the Victorian piano stool. Its frills hide the solid support structure – the bare essentials of its creation. It didn't just arrive. It came from somewhere, and was once part of a tree.

So did your character. She arrives naked – a standard person without baggage or memory, waiting to be given an identity and brought to life. She has a zip down her back. Open it. Get inside and walk over to the mirror while you get used to your new skin. Now . . . begin your creation.

Start by giving her an identity, a past. She has family, a school, sport and profession. She has hopes and fears, feelings and ambition.

One last word. Be sensitive to your character's needs. Feel the emotion, walk in their skin. Go on then, it's not that hard. No wait . . . come back, you're naked! How about you put a few clothes on first . . .

Straw in the Wind/Single Titles Review

2010-10-11T14:19:00.001-07:00

Review: Straw in the Wind – Janet Woods

"Acclaimed award-winning author Janet Woods continues the spellbinding story of the Honeyman, Chapman and Thornton families in Straw in the Wind, the dazzling stand-alone sequel to her previous release, Salting The Wound."
Serafina Finn has known plenty of heartache, tragedy and misery in her short life. Abandoned as a baby and raised in a gloomy orphanage, Serafina – or Sara, as she prefers to be called – is determined to rise above her abject start in life and to become an independent woman in charge of her own destiny. When she finds a job working as a housemaid at Finch Leighton’s house in Dorset, the plucky eighteen year old girl is determined to start this exciting new chapter in her life. But on her arrival, Sara is shocked when she realizes that rather than a housemaid, she is in fact going to be in charge of running the entire house!
Although stunned, Sara is not about to let this unexpected change in circumstance deter her from doing this job at the best of her abilities, so she sets about restoring this shambolic household, and in the process, manages to win the respect and admiration of her fellow servants who were initial doubtful as to whether a mere slip of a girl could possibly cope with the demands of running a household such like Leighton Manor. A popular girl both with the staff and with Mr. Leighton himself, pretty soon Sara realizes that this is the happiest she’s been in years. However, little does she know that another bewildering turn is just around the corner…
Eighteen years ago, Captain Erasmus Thornton had met and fallen in love with a married woman. Their love had borne a daughter whom he had always believed had died during her birth, but when startling evidence brings to light that the girl had lived, Erasmus becomes determined to track her down, so he hires intrepid private detective Adam Chapman to help him find his missing child.
Adam’s thorough investigation leads him to Sara and as he becomes more and more convinced that she is Captain Thornton’s missing daughter, he also finds himself falling head over heels in love with spirited Sara. But as Adam’s revelations about her parentage start to sink in, Sara cannot help but wonder whether Captain Thornton’s family will ever accept her…and whether her feelings for Adam will lead to disappointment – or the happiness which she has always craved.
Janet Woods’ outstanding storytelling prowess never fails to hold readers in thrall and Straw in the Wind is a novel that is sure to enthrall and delight readers everywhere. Ms. Woods’ gift for creating fascinating characters ensures that readers shall champion Sara, fall in love with Adam and find themselves taking the fascinating assortment of supporting characters to their hearts.
Straw in the Wind is an absorbing tale of family secrets, powerful passions and heart-wrenching choices that expertly combines heart-pounding romance with nail-biting intrigue and beguiling drama. Powerfully written, wonderfully vivid and engrossing from beginning to end, Straw in the Wind is another triumph for the inimitable Janet Woods!

Reviewer: Julie Bonello
Sensuality Rating: Sweet
Star Rating: 4.5 Stars

Motivated to kill

2010-10-04T01:49:00.000-07:00

Early in my writing career I realized I was good at killing characters. In the novel I’m currently writing, I’m halfway through chapter six and have already killed two children, a woman, and several men . . . though I’m thinking of resurrecting the children and carrying their story through to the end.

Why bother to write in characters you’re going to kill off? It’s because there was a war going on in 1914 -18 and also an influenza pandemic. Millions of people died. As I’m writing in a specific historical period, to set a story then and ignore the tremendous loss of life at the time, would seriously undermine my credibility as a novelist writing in the historical arena.

To demonstrate how death affected a normal family in the past: in the photograph, which was taken about 1916. It’s a portrait of my grandfather and his family at the time. Missing is the eldest son, who had died from an illness not long before. The seaman at the back went down with his ship in the battle of Jutland, at the age of seventeen. The lady (my grandmother) was accidently killed when run over by a motorbike and sidecar in 1939. She was trying to cross a main road. By that time she was so crippled by arthritis she could only walk slowly. I never had time to get to know her. My grandfather and the sons on the left and right of the picture just survived into old age. So did the younger boy at the front, who is my father. So out of a family of seven, only four survived to live the proverbial three score years and ten.

The events of war and epidemic itself would have affected social history at the time. There would have been food shortages. Family members would have died, children orphaned. With such heavy losses of single men at the time, many more women would have remained single and childless. Quite simply, death can change the course of many characters’ lives, demolish a plot line and create another story. I like this concept because it works well in saga writing. Everything is fluid as several paths are opened for you.

Facts such as war and flu epidemics can be worked into stories as part of the plot, or simply arise by using them in a dialogue between characters, to add historical authority. To leave them both out in 1914-18 would be unthinkable, because it would rob the story of credibility.

Events like the above bring many changes. Apart from changes in family and fortune, there are also structural changes. War forced women into the workforce, doing the jobs that men used to do. Many of them liked earning their own money, and enjoyed the awareness of feeling that they were skilful and intelligent enough to work outside of the home, housewife and baby. Some resented going back to their former roles of nurturing, and rights for women took a new turn.
Whichever way you look at this, WW1 did bring a new maturity of thinking and awareness to woman.

The role of death in a book should serve a purpose. Death touches the emotions. It might simply be there to satisfy reader outrage. If it’s a villain being disposed of, then readers get closure in a way they probably wouldn’t in real life. One reader told me she was glad I made the villain suffer, and if he hadn’t been a fictional character she would have gone and danced on his grave. This made me realize that revenge is still alive and kicking, as long as somebody else swings the cudgel.

Death also brings change. It’s a turning point. There is nothing like a deathbed scene at the beginning of a book to suggest motivation, and to evoke tension between characters. Grandfather dies surrounded by six loving daughters with expectations. The sisters had always got on well together. Only one inherits!

Now . . . think of the passion that would churn up . . . the recriminations and accusations, the soul searching. To give the pot another stir the legatee could be a nun, who can only inherit if she gives up her vocation. A whole series of books could arise from killing off grandfather when the whys and wherefores are examined.

Disposing of children is riskier. In the past, bigger families were the norm, and it was expected that some children would be carried off by disease. In Victorian times a flourishing industry grew up around funerals, with its own set of protocols, since the Victorians wallowed in sentiment. Ordinary workers paid money into a funeral fund, so there would always be money to bury a family member – something that was common. My own mother came from a family of 11 children. She helped her mother lay out 3 of her younger siblings who had died before she was 14, and was obliged to take up employment as a maid in London.

You can foreshadow the death of a child by planting clues, so the reader expects it when it happens. In one book my victim was sickly all the way through, so when a childhood disease carried him off, it was expected. However, I’ve also killed off a child to end a dynasty, and simplify matters for the next book in the series. I made it a heartrending end because I felt guilty for doing it.

Killing animals? Approach this with caution. In one of my books I had a dog named Spot. Spot was stolen by an itinerant worker; who did bodily harm to a female character along with several of his companions (remember motivation?). The female character met a sticky end by jumping off a cliff in a fit of depression to end her suffering. Her loving husband avenged her by going after the men who did her wrong (5 of them, I recall!). He murders them all in cold blood and breaks the dog’s neck!

Gasp!

Well okay . . . he did break the dog’s neck – but only in the original draft. Every member of my critique group hated the dog being killed. I promised to rewrite the chapter and bring Spot back to life. And I did. I eventually left the dog on the doorstep of a farmer with several kids, and a wife with a generous, loving heart.

Funny thing was, my group didn’t mind the male protagonist carrying out five murders in cold blood. Why? Because it was properly motivated. It was retribution for an unspeakable act against an innocent. It served a purpose and they deserved it.

There was no motivation for killing the dog!

PAPER DOLL

2010-09-06T15:41:00.000-07:00

PAPER DOLL by Janet Woods
Severn House UK
ISBN:9780727869708
October 28th 2010

In the early 1920s Julia Howard feels as though she’s the perfect daughter – the paper doll that was manufactured by her father in her image, and she longs to dispense with her innocence.
Wealthy, less than perfect businessman, Latham Miller has other plans for her. He wants a perfect wife. He sees Julia in that role and manipulates the situation to suit his plans. Julia marries him to please her father and lacks for nothing – as long as she does what she’s told.
But Julia is only human. Already acquainted with troubled war hero, Martin Lee-Trafford, the former attraction between them grows into a deep and abiding love. The inevitable happens, Julia gives birth to a son, and her paper doll image is torn apart.
Julia is then faced with a heart-wrenching decision. Can she leave with the man she loves, knowing she’ll have to abandon her beloved son – or should she stay?

Shining Through

2010-08-27T20:14:00.000-07:00

I’ve just finished writing LADY LIGHTFINGERS – a novel partly set in the slum area of 1850s London. Parts of this book turned out to be stark and rather gruelling to write. There is nothing romantic about poverty, when each day must be endured in the battle to survive, and the future seems more of the same. My heroine is a resourceful, gutsy young woman who was able to survive her bad start to life, but grew up streetwise enough to avoid the traps that can beset the poverty stricken, to find happiness and shine through.

Writing stories that have a downbeat theme can be difficult if you don’t want to make your readers miserable and put them off side. There are several qualities a main character needs to stop her from being a sad sack.

The first is a strong sense of optimism, so she doesn’t wallow in a sea of self-pity every time something goes wrong. Secondly, a sense of humour is required. This can be ironic, wry or sarcastic, depending whether it’s being spoken or thought. A heroine should also be brave, and courageous enough to take risks when the chips are down. Even though it might go against the grain, she might decided to sell herself, or get away with crime, if the motivation is great enough. My heroine is tempted by both to help feed and shelter her family. I won’t say which one but the title might give you a clue!

One of the things I like most about saga writing is that the heroine usually rises above fairly humble beginnings, and through personal sacrifice, endures. If she doesn’t succeed in gaining wealth, at least she’ll emerge from her trials a stronger, wiser person – one enriched by personal satisfaction and happiness.

Janet Woods

A Fair Pretender

2010-08-19T01:24:00.000-07:00

This is the third of my books to be e published by Belgrave House. It's available for download at $5.00.

A FAIR PRETENDER is the story of Graine Seaton, who impersonates her half-sister, Evelyn Adams, in an attempt to gain a fortune she feels she's entitled to.
After all, they do share the same father. With the fortune comes marriage to a man of letters. But Graine doesn't count of falling in love with his cousin, Saville Lamartine, and neither does she to expect to find herself helping the anti-slave movement, which was the very trade that her fortune was made from in the first place.

Three minutes of Fame

2010-07-30T15:20:00.000-07:00

How is it that I can write novels one after the other, but as soon as a writing colleague asks for a donation of words to a blog, the mind becomes one great big blank? There are only so many things that can be said about writing, and I’m sure everything has been said many times over, so, I thought I’d tell you about something a little different for me, though still connected to writing.

The daily newspaper decided to do a spread on romance writing, and although I wasn’t part of the printed article, I was asked if they could do a tie-in video. It was great fun. After answering questions about myself, and giving my views on writerly matters, I was then asked to comment on my three favourite books. I’ll name them, in case any of the authors look in. However good a writer you are, it’s always nice to know your work is appreciated.

First for me came Sharon Penman’s “Devil’s Brood.” To be fair, I was only allowed to pick one of her books, though I love all her big novels equally, and so does my husband. She’s my favourite author, and her books are on my keeper shelf waiting to be read again. This particular novel is the story of the betrayal of Henry 2nd by his three eldest sons and Eleanor, his wife.

My second choice was “How Green Was My Valley,” by Richard Llewellyn. It was first printed in 1939, so is a bit on the elderly side. But it hit me straight in the heart when I first read it, and the writing still stands up today. My earlier 1951 copy was borrowed, and was never returned. Luckily the book was reprinted again in 1991 with a different cover. It’s the only book I’ve ever bought twice, and it was made into a TV serial with Stanley Baker and Sian Phillips in the starring roles.

Third comes a debut novel by Helen Simonson, published this year and called “Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand.” The novel is an older-couple romance with family complications, and it’s set in an English village. The writing has a great deal of warmth and is sprinkled with wonderful metaphors. I’m sure we’ll hear from this author again.

So that was my input into the article. The three-hour interview was edited into my three minutes of fame. Author at the computer––author talking about how she started writing, and author talking about her favourite “other authors'” books. Author at the computer again…fade out.

Funny, but there’s something very familiar about that, as though it’s all been done before. Hmmm …

Library Journal Review

2010-07-02T00:04:00.000-07:00

Another review…this time one for my own book STRAW IN THE WIND. It’s particularly pleasing to have a novel reviewed like this, especially when the opinion originates from a source such as Library Journal.
***
www.libraryjournal.com

Woods, Janet. Straw in the Wind. Severn House. Jun. 2010. c.256p. ISBN 978-0-7278-6893-0. $28.95. Historical

Hired by sea captain Erasmus Thornton to investigate his suspicion that the daughter he had fathered 18 years earlier may not have died at birth as he'd been told, Det. Adam Chapman sets out to learn the truth and ends up falling for housekeeper Sara Finn, the mystery woman he has been sent to find. Vivid descriptions, a fascinating assortment of secondary characters, and snappy, clever dialogue make this a memorable treat. Verdict: Woods's touching, mystery-laced story features a plucky, outspoken heroine and an intriguing plot; and it satisfactorily continues the tale begun in Salting the Wound. Although a sequel, this novel stands on its own, thoroughly rewarding. Woods, particularly known for her well-researched, emotionally rich historical novels lives in Perth, Australia.
***
October 28th sees the release of my next book, PAPER DOLL. For a change this book is set in 1920s England, shortly after the end of WW11. Many authors have favourites amongst their books. PAPER DOLL is one of mine…but more of that at a later date, when I’ve done the copy editing and have been sent my cover.

The Sheriff and the Baby

2010-05-28T00:58:00.000-07:00

The Sheriff and the Baby – CC Coburn (Harlequin American Romance)

County Sheriff, Matt O’Malley is haunted by a personal tragedy. It’s something that could have been avoided had circumstances had been different, but his dream of raising a family in the lovely Rocky Mountain home he’d planned, had to be abandoned because of it.

A woman is driving in a snowstorm. She’s in labour, and is fleeing from the men who killed her husband. When her car is forced off the road, Matt is the only one there to help. Putting his duty before his instincts he gets her to hospital and he stays with her while she gives birth to her daughter. The woman calls herself Beth Ford, and for reasons she can’t disclose she fights the growing attraction between herself and the sheriff.

Matt senses that Beth’s lying, in more ways than one, especially when she puts his name on the birth certificate as the baby’s father. But Beth brings out the protective instinct in him. With perseverance he gleans more information – enough to make the enquiries that alert her pursuers to her whereabouts. Eventually, Beth trusts Matt enough to tell him her story, by which time they’ve fallen in love.

I first met Matt, his brothers, and the rest of O’Malley family in Colorado Christmas, the first book of the series. I like this bustling family, with their push and shove, their kids with attitude, and their abundance of nosiness. This second book has a large dollop of the same heart-warming charm, plus a sense of danger and intrigue that keeps the pot on the boil and the tension high until the very end. A good read that I highly recommend.

Down in the dumps/

2010-05-10T01:13:00.000-07:00

Despite the good news that my two latest books, Straw in the Wind & Salting the Wound will be produced in audio, I’m having one of those unexplainable “down in the dumps” periods authors get from time to time. As a result I dislike my current work in progress. Keeping going is hard at the moment. It’s not that I doubt my ability to produce a readable book in the end, but to borrow from John Denver’s song, “Some days are diamonds and some days are stones,” I’m definitely living in the stone age at the moment. My characters are no longer talking to me, which is a disaster of major proportions. I’m going to take my own advice to others at such times and I’m going to plod on in the hope that the result won’t turn out to be as flat as I feel, and I’ll be able to polish the stones into diamonds when I edit. Like most advice, it’s easier said than actually done. Example follows.

Yesterday I read a blog about pet peeves. The topic was grammar. What surprised me most was that the blogger didn’t seem to be aware of any difference between grammar and spelling, but lumped them both as one under grammar. Ditto the followers, who threw punctuation into the brew as well. In the free-for-all of unanimous opinions, the conclusion was arrived at that mistakes in a book couldn’t be blamed on the editor, because they are overworked. They were, in fact, the fault of the author, who should have got it right in the first place.

One of the commentators, who stated that she offers advice about such matters on her own blog, managed to include three incorrect spellings of simple words in her short comment (grammer-verbage-distradtion). Most writers know that mistakes happen (putting it politely) but if you're going to dabble in pedantry, it would be wise to make sure that your own contribution is correct.

Angelina

2010-05-05T16:07:00.000-07:00

Joining Daughter of Darkness at Belgrave House is ANGELINA my latest book in E format. Set in Georgian times, Angelina is a tale about a beautiful and wealthy young woman, who is restored to her aristocratic family after it was thought she’d perished at birth. Her arrival is a catalyst for plotting and intrigue, Angelina is not welcomed by some, especially her sister, Rosabelle, who is her rival in love. Her mother can’t remember giving birth to twin daughters either, though the resemblance between them is remarkable.

Once again, Gainsborough has designed a most wonderful jacket for the book. He must be a master of light.

Straw in the Wind. Booklist Review.

2010-04-17T15:12:00.000-07:00

Author: JANET WOODS
Title: STRAW IN THE WIND
Publication: BOOKLIST
Issue: 1st MAY 2010

Straw in the Wind, Woods, Janet (Author), Jun 2010. 256 p, Severn, hardcover, $28.95. (9780727868930).

Who is Sara Finn? Is she the baby sister long thought dead by the Honeyman sisters in Salting the Wound (2010) Adam Chapman sets out to determine if the baby exists and is truly the love child of sea captain Erasmus Thornton. Sara is happy to find a good position as a housekeeper at Leighton Manor in Dorset County. Her early life is a blur: first the home she hardly remembers, then the farm where she labored incessantly, followed by the workhouse, and lastly her position as an unpaid maid for a reverend by whom she was summarily dismissed when his oldest son tried to kiss her and she slapped him. Adam finds Sara at Leighton Manor and immediately falls in love with her, not knowing for certain whether she is the woman he is searching for. Once again Woods gives her readers an appealing historical romance with intriguing, multidimensional characters.

Looking the part

2010-04-17T14:41:00.000-07:00

I've often wondered why writers pose with tools of trade on display. One office is very much the same as another office. We have desks with computers. Filing cabinets, and shelves. As a former professional housewife and mother (now retired) I suspect that the books make me appear more scholarly, the computer, more technically proficient. In actual fact I'm neither. What happened here was that I discovered that my computer (the one you can't see with the tennis court sized screen) could take photographs. So I decided to fiddle with it. I put my best blouse on, turned the computer round and posed with my retired computer and the new set of shelves I'd been waiting years for and finally got. Anyway, I squared myself up in the little square viewer and clicked my mouse. One...two...three!!! The resulting flash nearly knocked me off my chair. When I was a professional housewife and mother I didn't pose for photographs with my broom or mop and bucket held aloft. Do plumbers pose proudly with their plungers and S bends? No don't answer that one. Anyway, for what it's worth, here I am looking the part as best I can.

PS. Can I call myself a photographer now? No? Oh...okay.

DAUGHTER OF DARKNESS

2010-03-20T20:35:00.000-07:00

A long time ago, I wrote my 2nd book. It was called Daughter of Darkness. As a beginning writer I spent a great deal of time on it, drawing on my scant knowledge of writing practices at the time to perfect it.

I entered the manuscript into a national competition for unpublished novels, which was sponsored by Random House and Australian Women’s Day. To my delight it was placed third from out of the hundreds of entries, and I won $2,000 for my efforts. I was delighted by this encouragement. Unfortunately, only the novel that won the competition was published. I sent the manuscript to Robert Hale, a library publisher who decided it was written well enough for public consumption.

Daughter of Darkness was published in 2001. The following year I decided to enter it in the mainstream section of the Romantic book of The Year award, an annual competition which is run by the Romance Writers of Australia. It won!

The book has long been out of print, though now and again a used copy turns up on the net, offered by some enterprising person for a hugely inflated price!

Readers often write and ask me where they can buy it, which prompted me to investigate electronic publishing. I gave the manuscript a light edit, but generally ignored the urge to unravel it all and rewrite it completely, because it still works as it is.

So I’m happy to announce that the book has now become available for download in ten formats, from Belgrave House. http://belgravehouse.com/bookstore/
The cost is US$5.00

Salting The Wound

2010-03-01T18:54:00.000-08:00

Review: Salting the Wound – Janet Woods 4.50 stars.

"An epic tale of family loyalty, forbidden attraction and heartbreaking choices, Janet Woods’ latest historical romance, Salting the Wound, is guaranteed to hold readers in thrall!"

Sea captain Nick Thornton cannot wait to go back home to Dorset and see the woman he’s loved since childhood: Charlotte Honeyman. Nick is determined to leave the sea behind and to settle back home and open an emporium with Charlotte by his side as his wife. But on his return, Nick is shocked when the woman whom he has loved for most of his life coldly announces that she has married another man and that she never wants to see him ever again.

Charlotte Honeyman has always been aware of the fact that Nick was infatuated with her, but she could never consent to reciprocating his feelings; not when his uncle, Erasmus, was responsible for the death of her beloved mother. Crushed and heartbroken, Nick cannot believe that the woman whom he was head over heels in love with now belongs to another man. Realizing that he can no longer stay in Dorset now that his beloved is somebody else’s wife, Nick decides to head back to sea, but he vows to make Charlotte pay for this cruel betrayal…

Charlotte’s younger sister Marianne was flabbergasted when her elder sibling announced that she was marrying another man – and she was mortified when she heard Charlotte tell Nick that if she ever saw him near her again, she would shoot him! Determined to apologise on her sister’s behalf, Marianne heads to Nick’s ship before it heads off to Boston to atone for her sister’s less than ladylike behaviour, but when she has an accident on the ship, she finds herself trapped on board the vessel…and in close proximity with the brooding and dangerous Captain Thornton!

Nick is delighted when he finds a helpless Marianne Honeyman in his cabin, desperately needing his aid – and realizes that he’s finally found the perfect way to revenge himself upon the woman who scorned him: he will seduce her sister and marry her in order to save her reputation. Marianne is well aware of the reason behind Nick’s seduction, but in his arms, she cannot help but wish that her husband would realize that the younger Honeyman sister has been in love with him for years!

The more time Nick spends with Marianne, the more he finds himself attracted to her. Is he falling in love with his convenient wife? Or will his desire for revenge blind him to what’s in front of his very eyes?

Written with deftness, confidence and style, Salting the Wound is an outstanding historical romance featuring a wonderfully gutsy heroine who jumps off the page, a swoon-worthy hero, a well-rounded cast of supporting characters, poignant and riveting romance and an intriguing and dramatic sub-plot which will keep readers riveted until the final page!Fast-paced, dramatic and wonderfully romantic, Salting the Wound is another winner from the exceptional pen of the fabulous Janet Woods!

Reviewed by Julie Bonello - http://singletitles.com

2010-02-21T18:40:00.000-08:00

Follows is a top pick review by Kristal Gorman from Romance Reader at Heart.

Nicholas Thornton has come home at last to claim his bride. After years back and forth at sea, he is now ready to settle down with the woman of his dreams. He has big plans to come home and marry his childhood sweetheart, even if the last time he was home, she rejected him and broke his heart. Sure that she has now come to her senses, Nick arrogantly decides that he is going to go out to Charlotte's house and find a woman who is more than willing to marry him. But the reception that he receives is much different than the one he had thought. Because the woman that he has loved all of his life is already married to someone else, and when Nick shows up at her door, she shows him the business end of a rifle!

Nick retreats to lick his wounds, vowing to find some way to make Charlotte pay for this humiliation. When Charlotte's little sister Marianne decides to try and make things better and go to visit Nick on his ship, she has no idea the trouble she has gotten herself into. When Nick finds her hurt on his ship two days out to sea, he doesn’t do the "gentlemanly" thing and return Marianne to her home right away; instead, he decides that sweet revenge is staring him right in the face. To his way of thinking it would serve Charlotte right to be worried and furious over her missing sister. What Nick doesn't count on is the feelings that he discovers for little Aria Honeyman. Long gone is the little girl that he used to tease all the time, and in her place is a beautiful, vibrant, young woman, one he finds himself increasingly drawn to.

I LOVE Janet Woods style of writing. I haven't been disappointed by a single book I have read of hers, and I have read them all! Nick and Marianne have fabulous chemistry and the writing flows beautifully. Ms. Wood's simply knows how to tell an excellent story with captivating characters and situations. I highly recommend SALTING THE WOUND if you are looking for not only a page-turner, but also a new book for your keeper shelves.

Large Print Cover art

2010-01-20T16:34:00.000-08:00

To make this a hat trick. Severn House has just surprised me with a new jacket for the large print version of Edge of Regret, and I couldn't resist showing it off.

With three lovely covers in the past week or so, I'm not expecting any more surprises - but then, they wouldn't be a surprise I were.

2010-01-19T00:51:00.000-08:00

SEVERN HOUSE

STRAW IN THE WIND
ISBN: 9780727868930
MARCH 25TH 2010

The stand-alone sequel to Salting the Wound

1835, England. A married woman, pregnant with her sea-captain lover’s child, dies giving birth. The child, Serafina Finn, is abandoned to an orphanage and grows up longing to feel that she belongs somewhere. Eighteen years later, her father, hearing rumours that his lost daughter survived, dispatches a detective, Adam Chapman, to discover the truth. Adam finds, and falls in love with, Serafina – but, even if he can prove her identity will her real family accept her?

2010-01-08T14:29:00.000-08:00

The audio edition of ‘Hearts of Gold’ has just been released, and it has such a lovely cover that I just wanted to show it off. Audio books usually play for about eight hours or more – and it’s interesting (but not always comfortable) to hear how a reader interprets the tone of the dialogue and text, and how the words issue from the characters mouths. I’m now waiting for my author copy to arrive to I can drop everything and have a good “read”.
And a reminder that ‘Hearts of Gold” will be available under its original cover to buy in trade paperback at the end of the month.

Reviewing Book Reviewers

2010-01-03T19:18:00.000-08:00

For most writers I know a good top pick review is the cherry on the cream of the cake. After months of hard work and much agonizing on their part, because yes, authors want to please their readers and win new ones, so they write the best story they can, and someone - hopefully a stranger – finally gives their creation a thumbs’ up. The resulting lift to the spirits reassures the author that she can write a good tale that people in general can enjoy.

But what if the review is negative? It’s not easy for an author to shrug off a really negative review. It’s like giving birth to a cherished baby after a difficult labour, and somebody you’ve never met tells all who will listen that the baby is ugly and worthless.

Let’s take a quick look at what I think should go into a review – and what makes a reviewer credible, and what doesn’t.

Firstly, a review is based on the reviewer’s ability to read, on her personal taste, and her understanding of language and comprehension of it. One-word comments like “Horrible” pasted next to a book, especially if it’s misspelled should make it obvious that the reviewer has no credibility whatsoever, and can’t write a paragraph, let alone read a whole book, understand it and make any meaningful comment on it.

So why would a dedicated reader take any notice of such reviews? It stands to reason that, whatever the genre, the author has reached a certain standard of penmanship that has attracted a publisher. This might have taken several years of hard work to achieve. The average is ten, I’m told. Also, the author would have spent at least six months working on the reviewed book. Dismissing it as rubbish with one word that took all of half a second to write is downright mean and an insult to the author as well as her editors and publisher. It also robs the reviewer of any real credibility.

From a reader angle, when I read a review I expect to learn about the story line and motivation of the key characters in the reviewed book. The reviewer’s opinion is taken into account, of course, but generally I like to form my own by reading the book myself. I can’t stress enough, that for most books - one size does not fit all.

Good reviewers are usually dedicated readers, and have reached a certain standard in the understanding of language, be cognizant of the different elements of character development and story plot, and be able to comment lucidly on those, without indulging in cheap shots or being deliberately offensive.

There are some excellent reviewers out there who present a fair and honest review, and who work for credible sites. There are also some excellent reviewers who work independently. When I send my own work out, it’s to sites or reviewers that handle my writing genre, and who have earned a good reputation.

Not all books will suit all readers all of the time, or will receive a top-notch review. Most authors understand that, but from what I hear they do appreciate it when the reviewer demonstrates a little expertise, and dare I say it – pride in the way they present their reviews.

Most novelists learn through hands-on experience, that a good novel encapsulation in the style of a synopsis, review or book blurb is hard to write, and an art in itself. A good review takes just as much crafting as a short story, and the credibility of the reviewer relies as much on the review they present, as does the novelist on the book they produce.

Unforgettable November

2009-11-19T02:43:00.000-08:00

It's been a busy, and unforgettable November so far. I had loads to do on my calendar, but there must be some slow Karma about, because I was ahead of everyone else, and things that were supposed to happen by a certain time, were late - therefore it made me late. Some things couldn't be put off...like a hospital procedure...like coming home from that to find that my editing for "Straw in The Wind" had arrived, just when I didn't feel like doing it.

Then there was a share of disastrous things, like the death of my elder sister after a short illness, my son breaking an ankle which was followed by my eldest grandson coming from interstate to visit, taking ill and ending up in hospital. That was followed this weekend by a younger granddaughter getting a ball in the eye playing T ball, which fractured a cheekbone.

However, I have started on the Christmas gift shopping and have got my overseas cards in the post - my memory jogged by two early arrivals. I've bought my own Christmas gift, too, something practical and expensive for my work - a new computer. To date I've received the accessories, but am still waiting for its arrival with some dread, since I'll then have to put it all together. I'm looking forward to the family Christmas party, when we all gather together in the back garden, get noisy, eat, drink and be merry too much. We'll reminisce about Christmases past and hope our grandchildren will remember their early Christmases with the same fondness and affection.

COLORADO CHRISTMAS

2009-10-22T20:02:00.000-07:00

COLORADO CHRISTMAS by C.C. Coburn
Harlequin America Romance
www.eHarlequin.com

C.C. Coburn has hit the spot with her first novel, a heart-warming tale set in small town America. Will, a former ski stuntman, is a member of the O’Malley family. He is fighting to retain the historical integrity of the town in the face of the powerful resources of a development company. Will has a strong following in the town. An irrepressible optimist, and stubborn to the core, he is also a bit of a layabout in the eyes of some. All agree that the man has a heart of gold, though, and his deeds show that. He is kind to animals, the aged, and children. Only Will knows that his belief in himself has been shaken to the core and his career is in tatters.

Enter Judge Becky Mcbride and son. Her very first case, with the errant Will as the accused, is a real eye opener for her. When Will decides that the judge is the love of his life and is going to be his wife, the result is more roses than she can manage. Will doesn’t even consider defeat, it’s not in his nature to. Becky is overprotective of her slightly disabled son, but young Nicolas only wants a father, and he soon sets his sights on Will. An unforeseen event forces Will to overcomes his demons. When he risks his life to save that of Nicolas, it settles the outstanding issues for all of them.

COLORADO CHRISTMAS is a novel with a great deal of warmth and charm. The main characters are fully convincing and likeable, and are supported by a cast of well-rounded, believable characters - all interested in Will’s pursuit of his lady love. This is a case of irresistible force meets immovable object. Humour flows naturally from the characters and the situations they find themselves in. If you like snow. If you like Christmas. If you believe in happy endings (or even if your don’t like any of those things) you can’t help loving this novel!

Writing tips - Crafting rules

2009-10-15T20:59:00.000-07:00

On one of the lists I‘m on, a writer who has completed two creative writing courses commented that she felt restricted by being expected to write within the structure of the rules she’d been taught.

I do think she was probably worrying needlessly. I've been published for about twenty years and have just been offered a contract for books 25/26. During my years as a writer I've learned not to ignore those writing “rules”.

I do believe in learning how to craft a story and to keep practising that craft. Believe me, doing a course does not make you a writer. You go on learning after you've completed any number of them, and you learn from your own mistakes and experiences mostly. Writing is like any other career or occupation in that aspect. The more you do it, the better you become at doing it.

Rules (I prefer guidelines} have come about through experienced authors/editors sharing their collective experiences. They're not saying, "You must do it this way.” They're saying, "This is a blueprint of the tried and true structure that has been widely adopted as the best way to construct a novel."

If anyone feels restricted by this notion then I'd suggest that they hadn't really practised the “rules” enough, because when they are constantly used they tend to sink into your subconscious, and you don't notice yourself using them.

At a basic level the "rules" provide me with a structure on which I’ll hang the flesh and blood of my story. They will then help me to edit the finished product. The structure can be bent or reshaped to fit the style of your writing and the voice which is unique to each story creator.

The "art" of storytelling flows directly from the creative mind - the insights, emotions and imaginings of the writer concerned - and is something else altogether. It’s called talent.There is no writers’ course that can teach you that. It’s something you’re born with - the ability to observe and turn those observations into words that entertain. Give ten authors the same theme and you will get ten different books. That’s the art. The talent, The X factor!

Paperback edition and readers' letters - Again!

2009-09-19T16:02:00.000-07:00

HEARTS OF GOLD has attracted a trade paperback edition, so will be available to purchase at the RRP of £10.99 in January 2010. I’m very pleased because - although my books usually make it into large print and audio versions - this will be my first paperback edition with Severn House. So despite the post Christmas release slot, I hope the novel sells as well as it has reviewed so far.

This sort of breakthrough can often be attributed to reader demand. I’ve always encouraged readers comments. I receive letters through my PO Box and via email from readers of all ages and places. The youngest, and latest is a 15 year old from the middle east, the oldest, a lady in her late 80s from England.

A fair number of my readers come from my home town in Dorset, where I was born and grew up, and which I often, but not always, use as a setting. Quite often I’ll get a reminiscence, or a confidence, and I’m touched by this.

My agent, who is a talented author, writing as Kate Allen, suggested that I publish one or two of the letters on my blog. I have thought about this in the past and came to the conclusion then that as some of the letters are lavish in their praise, to publish them would be too braggy. Others contain too much personal information for me to feel easy publishing them. However, now and again a letter comes along that is neither. So the following is a good example of one of the truly delightful letters I receive. I’ve edited it slightly to shorten it and omitted the name

“Hello Janet,

I live on the Sunshine Coast.

I was born in the North East of England and moved to Dorset when I was 17. Dorset is a beautiful part of the World and I always recommend it to anyone visiting Britain. I lived there until I emigrated to Australia almost two years ago at the age of 39.

I discovered your books in the local library and was hooked instantly. I now scour the local libraries in search of my next read. Not only do I love your novels and find them hard to put down but I also love the nostalgic trip back to Dorset. Your stories are heart-warming and a pleasure to read. I will be recommending your books to my mum and sisters who still live in Dorset. I think they will not only enjoy your stories but also find comfort in the connection between Dorset and Australia.

Thank you for brightening my day.”

Ask any Author

2009-08-25T19:41:00.000-07:00

Ask any author.

I’ve just finished writing STRAW IN THE WIND. It was one of those books that was difficult to write. Despite the straightforward plot I lost my way somewhere in the middle and lost track of seasons - one moment it was winter, the next moment the heroine was plucking a bouquet of spring flowers from the meadow.

It took me three fairly detailed edits before I got this book right. I dislike editing, especially when it’s my own work. On the first edit I usually get a little tired of the story line. On the second edit I’m appalled by the amount of mistakes still left in my work. They are usually the sort of grammar mistakes you should learn in kindergarten. Was instead of were, their instead of there, or visa versa. I’m hot on putting questions marks in the wrong place too, or not putting them in when I should...ask one of the members of my critique group. Anyway, I gave the manuscript a good rest, then decided to give it a third edit, just in case. Yeah Gods! By the time I’d finished doing it every word felt flat, I hated the characters and was ready to throw the beast into the wheelie bin. Needless to say this book is now so thoroughly edited it’s practically wearing a straight jacket!.

Am I confident it has no mistakes in it? No, of course not. All can only do is try to send a manuscript out as well-written and edited as I can make it. It will now go through a copy editor who will cast an independent and critical eye over it. Then it will have to be proof edited. I’ve never done a proof edit that has been totally mistake free! And even after all that, one or two mistakes have sneaked through into a book and has been read by the reader, who, if they happen to be an ultra pedantic type, will then write to me in righteous indignation: ‘Why don’t you learn to spell moron?’
Huh? I know how to spell that. It’s M O R O N isn’t it? Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist. What about the 99.99 percent of spellings that were correct...what about them, eh?

I have to say that editing another’s writing is much easier than editing my own. Authors can always find mistakes in another author’s work and rewrite it for the better! Ask any author!

Books review Hearts of Gold

2009-08-11T15:02:00.000-07:00

Reviews for HEARTS OF GOLD - Janet Woods

A month after receiving a top pick review from the Romance Reader at Heart site, my current release, “Hearts of Gold” has just received a 4/5 star review from Julie Bonello at http://singletitles.com The whole review can be read at the website, but I’ll just post the comments part.

****
Fast-paced, suspenseful, intriguing and wonderfully romantic, in Hearts of Gold Janet Woods has once again written a captivating tale imbued with plenty of drama and emotion which will keep readers enthralled from start to finish! Set in Victorian Australia and England, Hearts of Gold is another winner from this most talented of storytellers!

Severn House UK
ISBN: 9780727867612
Reviewer: Julie Bonello

Readers letters

2009-07-29T15:32:00.000-07:00

I doubt if any author would deny that writing is hard work. It drains the energy both physically and mentally. However, the pleasure of writing usually outstrips the pain of frozen shoulders, carpal tunnel syndrome, dry eyes and mental exhaustion that comes with life in front of a computer. The author creates a plot and the characters, and as they take their designated journey, a struggle takes place to bring them alive in a believable way. The characters themselves sometimes put up a fight. It’s as though - once you’ve given them life - they’ve decided that they’re going to live it their way, just like real people do. This independence of character is surprising when it happens, even though it’s not entirely unexpected. Sometimes, their meddling will take the plot in a different direction altogether, so everything has to be adjusted.

I didn’t know how much work went into a book until I actually started writing one. As a reader I had my favourite writers, of course, and usually, I either liked a book or I didn’t. Either way, I never thought to contact the author. Writing is subjective, but most published books will please some of the people some of the time. Rarely will they please all of the people though.

If I didn’t like a book I wouldn’t write and tell the author. And having been hurt once by a rotten and totally unfair review I would rather not review a book at all than badly review one. But praise is always acceptable, and it surprises me now to realize that in my days as a reader only, I never wrote to an author with a word of praise, telling them how much I enjoyed their work. Rather, I took them for granted.

I do receive a steady amount of letters from readers of my books. I always answer the letters and thank them, and when I can I try and help them out with any queries they may have .A little while ago I exchanged a letter with Kath who lives in Rayburn, a farming community near Bendigo in Victoria. She borrows her books from the mobile library. Today, I received an unexpected gift of two coffee cups and a tea strainer dish in Bendigo pottery, to thank me for writing books that she enjoys reading.

I was very touched by this gesture, and it brought home to me how lovely it is to receive thank-you letters and praise from readers. On the bad days when nothing seems to go to plan and writing becomes tough, it warms me to look through the letter files and through them, get in touch with my creative self again. So thank you Kath, I’ll think of your kindness every time I have a cup of coffee. And thank you to all the readers who buy, borrow and read my books.

Salting The Wound (excerpt)

2009-07-25T15:47:00.000-07:00

Kate reminded me that I hadn't posted an excerpt from my October 1st release, "Salting The Wound" so here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

Salting The Wound by Janet Woods
Severn House - Oct. 1st £19.99
ISBN; 978-0727868299

Poole, Dorset 1850

Nicholas Thornton stepped ashore and took a deep breath of his native English air. His hand closed around the pistol under his coat, his glance sought out any danger that might be lying in wait in the shadows. Under his arm was a length of rare exotic silk safely packaged in a satchel made from sail cloth. The silk was a gift for Charlotte Honeyman, from which she could fashion herself a wedding gown.
It was a fairly quiet night for the quayside town of Poole, except for the faint hum of voices coming from the taverns, the occasional spill of light and noise when a door opened and spat out a drunk or two. A pair of cats exchanged insults in an alley.
The summer air was as cool and soft as a whisper of satin against his face, the dewed stillness of it broken only by the impatient slap of the rigging against the masts, the creak and squeak of timber against timber and the lap and splash of water against the hull of the Samarand.
Square rigged, and with a sharp rake to her stern Samarand averaged sixteen knots in the right conditions. She'd been built eight years previously but would be lucky if she lasted till she was fifteen, when she was due to be sold for scrap. Already she was full of worm. Nick hoped he wasn't on board when the bottom dropped out of her.
He jumped when the cats' argument became a full-blooded skirmish and the pair exploded out of an ally into the circle of light left by a gas lamp. Ears flattened, they spit and slashed at each other with ferocious cries and shrill growls. He chuckled when one broke off and ran back into the ally, the other one in hot pursuit.
Much as he liked life at sea, and much as his uncle wanted him to, Nick had no intention of sailing the world's oceans forever. There were easier, less dangerous ways of earning a living. He'd also like a bed that didn't pitch and toss, unless he happened to have a woman under him and the pitching and tossing was of his own creation. If he stayed in the career he'd grown up with he'd end up like his great uncle. No woman wanted a husband who was rarely home.
In vain he'd argued with his uncle some three months ago, which had been the last time he'd tied up at the company berth in Poole.
'We could warehouse the goods we import, open a shop and sell them ourselves.'
Erasmus Thornton had scoffed with some disgust at his suggestion. 'You want to become a shopkeeper? I suppose you intend to settle down with the eldest Honeyman girl, as well? After a few weeks with her you'll be glad to get to sea again. You're thinking with your balls.'
He grinned. Didn't most men? 'Being a shopkeeper is nothing to sneer at; I know some damned wealthy ones. Neither is having a wife and children. If Charlotte will have me, and there's no reason why she shouldn't, I'll marry her. I've known her all my life.'
'You'll come to regret it if you do. She hasn't shown any inclination to wed you so far, though she's good at keeping you on the hook. You'll be damned if she agrees, and she'll be cursed if she doesn't. Still, if you want to marry and produce a family I'm not against that. God knows, the Thornton family is thin on the ground now and you might as well choose a woman with some looks and backbone to her. But Charlotte Honeyman is as bad-tempered and as stubborn as they come. It will take a special kind of man to handle her. She'll probably need a stick around her backside now and again to point out to her who's the boss. But mark my words - it damned well won't be you!'
Nick had roared with laughter at the thought of Charlotte marrying anyone else but himself.
Erasmus smiled at him. 'The younger one is more your style. She has the looks and softness of her mother.'
'More your style, Uncle, since it was your liaison with their mother that caused the split between the families.'
Nick couldn't recall the younger girl's name, or even what she looked like come to that. She'd usually been out on the heath when he'd visited, or helping the maid around the house. Besides, when set against Charlotte, everyone else paled into insignificance for Nick. He'd wanted Charlotte ever since he'd been old enough to introduce lust into his life. Her refusal to cooperate had only added fuel to his fire.
Erasmus had sighed and passed a hand across his forehead then. 'It's a great pity that their mother died. Take my advice, lad. Never fall in love with a married woman, like I did. I'll be taking possession of the Daisy Jane soon, so you won't get me working in a warehouse or shop. We'll work both clippers for a while, and you can have command of the Samarand. She's still got some life in her. I daresay you'll enjoy life better without having me breathing down your neck.'
That fact had improved both his life and his temper. Nick had now completed his first voyage with Samarand under his command. His uncle has been right. He'd enjoyed being out from under his critical gaze, and was proud that his seamanship skills had brought his ship safely back to harbour.
He took another perfunctory look around. The shadows were still, except for a seaman rolling back to his ship. He respectfully touched his cap as he passed, grunting, 'Evenin' Cap'n. She's a fair one.'
'Indeed she is.' Nick gazed around. There had been no sight of the Daisy Jane as he'd entered harbour and docked, though his uncle was due in at any time now. Erasmus had named the ship after his sister, who kept house for them.
'It might sweeten her up a bit,' he'd said. 'Though anyone who looks less like a daisy I've yet to meet.'
Looking over her glasses at her brother, Daisy had then snorted.
Nick had been raised by his uncle and aunt from the age of three. He couldn't remember his parents, but his father had been Dickon Thornton, who'd been an adventurer. His mother was a Greek woman. According to Erasmus, she'd been encouraged by her new husband’s stepsons to lose interest in her bastard child.
It had been a strict upbringing. Blood was thicker than water with both of them. Aunt Daisy had been fond of using the stick to keep him under control when he misbehaved, but he loved her. Erasmus had always treated him as though he was his own son, instead of the son of his much older half-brother, whom he'd never got along with. Nick had been left in no doubt that Erasmus was proud of him, though. As expected of him, he'd set sail with Erasmus at the age of twelve to learn his trade.
'I imagine the Honeyman girl will have you eventually. She has nobody else to turn to and no money with which to attract a man,' his uncle had pointed out the last time they'd been in port together, and after Charlotte had turned Nick down once again. 'I'll give her an ultimatum. If she doesn't stop prevaricating I'll have her out of that house on the next tide. I don't want the upkeep of it any longer. I'm a seafarer not a builder, and the place is falling down.'
Nick smiled to himself as he stepped confidently forward. It had been a long time between ports and there was time to find a willing woman for himself before the morning. And he'd visit Charlotte in the morning and propose marriage. If Erasmus had delivered his ultimatum to her, this time she'd agree.
His smile faded as he remembered the last time he'd proposed to her. She'd been in a fine fizz of a temper and had stamped her foot. 'I've told you that I don't love you and I'll never marry you. Don't you listen?'
'My uncle has promised to give us the house if you wed me,' he'd said, then in a fit of generosity, 'I intend to put it in your name so you don't have to worry about not having a roof over your head any more.'
'I loath Erasmus Thornton. I'd rather die than take anything from him, even the house I grew up in. He ruined my mother and impoverished my father.'
'Your mother loved him. As for your father, he was a drunken gambler. Nobody made him wager the house. It was his own idea. Erasmus doesn't want the upkeep of Harbour House. At the moment he's of a mind to sell it out from under you. Agree to marry me and it will always be yours.'
'If he attempts to turn me out I'll burn the place down. As for becoming your wife, you'd make a terrible husband. You're always away . . . though that would prove to be a plus rather than a minus. You have no manners and you probably have a girl in every port.'
He'd grinned at the truth in that. 'I can learn some manners, and I intend to remain ashore in a year or so and open my own emporium.'
'Hah!' she'd thrown at him. 'You're too arrogant to learn any manners now. I want to love and respect the man I marry. And I want him to love and respect me. You're incapable of either.'
Anger had risen in him then, because he'd done both and for several years now. 'You don't know me if you think I've got no feelings, Charlotte. But if you want pretty words and gifts to prove that I care for you, then you won't get them. To my mind, love is a damned fool notion that weakens a man. But I'll be faithful to the woman I marry. I'll be back, and I won't take no for an answer. Make up your mind to it.'
She heaved a sigh and told him again, talking slowly, as though he was an idiot. 'It won't make any difference, Nick. I won't marry you.'
'Charlotte, you promised yourself to me in childhood and I'm going to hold you to that.'
'That was before I discovered who caused the death of my mother.'
He sighed then. 'You can't blame me for what somebody else did. Besides, it was only a rumour.
He watched her eyes begin to despise him when she quietly said, 'One you believe yourself. I don't want you and I won't marry you. Come here again and I'll shoot you dead.'
He'd retreated to lick his wounds, confident she'd come round eventually. Two days later he'd taken the Samarand to Shanghai, but now he was back with a cargo of tea and exotic silk, which he intended to sell at a huge profit. Despite his vow that he wouldn't prove his regard for her with gifts, he'd set a length of the precious silk aside for Charlotte's wedding gown and intended to take it to her as a peace offering. By now she would have come to her senses.
It was the middle of the night. Even if his Aunt Daisy had seen the ship coming into harbour, Nick decided not to rouse her from her bed by going home and letting himself in. Instead, he paid a professional woman for the night, for he had a raging need on him.
As it turned out, if he'd gone straight home he might have saved himself from a wasted journey.

Salting The Wound

2009-07-03T15:53:00.000-07:00

Salting The Wound by Janet Woods
Severn House - Oct. 1st £18.99
ISBN; 978-0727868299

When Charlotte jilts sea captain Nick Thornton he exacts his revenge by setting sail with her younger sister, Marianne. But Nicholas hadn't counted on falling in love with Marianne, and their marriage widens the existing rift between the two families.

Writing Tip Critiquing groups.

2009-06-14T15:30:00.000-07:00

It seems ages since I blogged anything - long enough for the last small article I wrote on getting an agent to be picked up by two other organisations for their newsletters.

Over the weekend I enjoyed a meeting with my critique group. One of those is a talented regency author whose third book ARIELLA’S LEGACY comes in electronic form, but has just been released in paperback. Sharon Milburn writes traditional regencies for Cerridwen Cotillion. For anyone who enjoys reading well-researched and beautifully crafted regency romances with a strong story line and a ring of authenticity about them, I can highly recommend Sharon Milburn’s books.

A word or two about critiquing groups. Their function is in the description, so anyone who joins such a group should expect their writing to be critiqued, and not always favourably. I’ve belonged to a group for a couple of decades, and have seen many people come and go in that time. Some people don’t want their work critiqued, they don’t want to work to improve it, they just want reassurance or praise. Critiquing can work both ways, but generally a group that critiques is troubleshooting each member’s work, and if you join such a group you should expect to receive some honest negative feedback or criticism along with the praise. Accept criticism gracefully. In my assessors’ hat, I’m not picking holes in anyone’s work for sport, but rather to point out mistakes that can be edited out. If you disagree, fine, ignore my suggestions. Just don’t accuse me of being deliberately cruel to you, as someone once did. I’ve got better things to do with my time. Honest! Critiquing the work of other writers help me to edit your own work. I’ve had about thirty books published. I still make writing mistakes, and don’t consider myself above the critiquing process. In fact, I appreciate my group pointing mistakes out because I like to have as many bugs as I can removed before I send the finished work to my publisher, and a more objective pair of eyes is extremely helpful.

Last, but not least, yesterday I received a lovely and unexpected email from a library worker from the other side of Australia - the Sunshine Coast in Queensland. The writer told me that she’s started recommending my books through their monthly “Great Reads” publication. Thanks Faye...that little gift of an email put a smile on my face.

Writing Tips - Agents

2009-05-20T00:10:00.000-07:00

Getting a Literary Agent

Q. What they are?

A. Agents are business persons. They are usually knowledgeable about writing and make and maintain contacts within various publishing houses. Their business is to provide publishers with saleable books written by their clients. They act as a buffer between author and publisher,, sometimes advising their writer clients where to edit, and they negotiate contracts. For this service the usual charge their clients 15% of the money they earn from initial advance through to royalties, and from the on sale of other rights such as audio and large print, for the earning life of the work.

Q. What sort of work do they handle?

A. Agents usually handle longer works such as novels and scripts. After all, they need to earn money to live and book authors supply them with the means to do so on an ongoing basis. Only rarely will agents handle poetry, articles or short stories. For those who are interested in pursuing the short story market overseas, the following site will be helpful. It’s the Jacqui Bennett Writers Bureau >http://www.jbwb.co.uk<

Q. Which writer suits which agent?

A. Most agents specialise. Some prefer to handle crime, some fantasy, some women’s fiction. Some lean towards the literary etc. In these days of the internet, looking up agents, what they do and who they represent is easy. Be guided by that. Sending a historical category romance to an agency that handles how-to books is a waste of everybody’s time and money.

Q. When is your work ready to send to an agent?

A. How do you know when a chicken is ready for the oven? When it’s cleaned, plucked, dressed, trussed, and has its herbs and seasoning in place. So it should be with the work you are going to send. Agents are professionals. Offering them work to read is to place it before the most critical of assessors. They can spot unedited work from a mile away, and are not going to risk their own reputations and livelihood by sending out manuscripts that are not commercial.

Q. What are agents looking for?

A. I can safely say that they are looking for the same as a publisher. A great read, a saleable product and an author who is likely to be more than a one-night-stand. Also, look to your region. If you’ve written a book set in Australia approach an Australian agent first. My agent is English, because my books are set mostly in the UK and are aimed at an English readership. I do manage to get Australia in some of them. If you’re tackling the North American markets try for an American agent.

Q. How do you get on an agent’s books?

A. You approach an agent in the same way as you approach a publisher. First, consult their guidelines on line and follow them And for those who are not on line I suggest you make the transition, because more and more agents and publishers are beginning to conduct their business online, including the sending of manuscripts and editing.

The usual manner of approaching an agent is to send them what is known as a partial. That is a query letter, plus a synopsis of the book you hope to sell, and the first three chapters.

Agents prefer to read letters that are businesslike. They are going to assess your writing, and your approach to them from the very first word. It might not go beyond that.

The query letter sells the author. The synopsis sells the story. The chapters sell the writing skills.

Q. If you are writing novels can you sell them without an agent?’

A. There’s nothing to say you can’t try. Bear in mind that more and more publishers are refusing to look at work that doesn’t come via an agent. Those who don’t will probably place this information in their guidelines. There are exceptions. Harlequin Mills and Boon is one of them. Robert Hale UK is another. They do look at unagented work. You send your partial to them in the same way as you approach an agent.

Q. When do you approach an agent?

A. Remember that fowl? It’s when you are absolutely and positively sure that your work has cooked long enough to be consumed by the public. Which comes first, the chicken or the egg? I signed on with my agent after I’d sold two manuscripts to a publisher. I was able to approach him with contracts in hand.

Janet Woods © 2009

2009-04-23T14:34:00.000-07:00

Romance Writers of Australia inc proudly presents The 2009 Romance Roadshow

Featuring…

Keri Arthur
New York Times Best Seller List author

Kelly Hunter
Harlequin Romance author, President of Romance Writers of Australia

Denise Rossetti
Ellora's Cave and Berkley author,

Plus: local authors, giveways and much, much more.

Come and hear some of Australia's leading romance authors talk about the craft of writing and the industry they work in. With interactive tutorials and an author panel, it's a day no aspiring author should miss.

After a day, full of information, relax and catch up with your new friends at our post Roadshow dinner.

Saturday 23rd May 2009
Good Earth Hotel
195 Adelaide Terrace
Perth

Cost: RWA Members $100
Non-Members $110
Dinner - tba

Prices include lunch, morning and afternoon tea

For further information on presenters and tutorial topics go to: www.romanceaustralia.com

Enquiries: Julie-Anne roadshowenquiries@romance.com
Registration Nicki roadshowregistrar@romance.com

Golden Wedding

2009-04-16T15:40:00.000-07:00

It’s odd how spanners are thrown into the works, usually when I’m flat out - or on a deadline and racing towards the finish of one book or another. It seems to me that disasters, damned disasters and dire disasters come in threes. I was going to whinge about them - things like new spectacles where the lens ended up back to front, a computer that went radically wrong and cost a fortune to repair, and a car that did the same thing when we needed it most. While I stamped my foot, breathed fire and growled about indifferent service, bad workmanship and electronic devices with minds of their own, my Golden Wedding anniversary sneaked up on me.

I’m rarely out of my office and I’m not really a party animal. But the lovely family get together was totally enjoyable, and it gave me time to reflect on a great fifty-year relationship with my husband. We were born a day apart, grew up in the same street, went to the same schools and married as teenagers – and they say teenage marriages never last! We have a family of grown-up kids (well sometimes they’re grown up, at other times my offspring’s offspring exchange looks and roll their eyes in a way that tells me that they’re not always!). Like most kids they made mistakes from time to time while in training to be adults. I’ll admit they gave us some moments of alarm and angst, and were the cause of our grey hairs and me stomping up and down on the spot from time to time. But, hey, when I look back I seem to remember only the golden moments and the many many times we laughed together. Now for the “aw, gee shucks” moment. It’s my pleasure to embarrass the lot of you by saying: I love you all and thanks a lot! Life has never ever boring, and still isn’t.

Hearts of Gold

2009-02-09T17:01:00.000-08:00

HEARTS OF GOLD
April 1st 2009
Severn House. UK
Cost £18.99
ISBN: 978-0727867612

1890 Western Australia. 14-year-old Sarette Maitland is orphaned when her father dies from a snake bite on the goldfields. Left to fend for herself by her father's villainous partner. she is rescued by wealthy adventurer, John Kern, and takes the place in his heart of his own dead daughter. Several years later he reluctantly send her back to England, to learn the manners that society expects of a beautiful young woman.

After tragedy strikes, Sarette finds herself place in the care of John Kern's heir. Magnus is a far cry from his easy-going uncle. When he learns that Sarette had been left a considerable fortune by his uncle, both his honesty and his heart are put to the test . . . as well as his courage when the man who murdered his uncle arrives on the scene, and Sarette if the only person who can identify him.

Resolutions etc

2009-01-22T13:33:00.000-08:00

Good and disappointing news for 2009. The good is that I'm offered a two-book contract with Severn House UK, something that will keep me employed this year in these financially troubled times.

The disappointing news is that the small UK literary agency which has successfully been handling my book sales over the past decade, has decided to call it a day. I won't go into details, except to say that for the past year two hard working people have been doing tasks once shared between three. My heartfelt thanks go to them for the role they've played in my writing career, and for always being there for me when needed. I do wish them well in winding down the agency, and for many reasons will find them hard to replace. However, that said, I'll now be looking for a new agency to represent me in the months to come. I hope I find one. Or one will find me, perhaps.

I stopped making New Year resolutions fourteen years ago. Just to prove that persistence does pay off (and persistence is one of the ingredients that writers need an abundance of) that was when I achieved the object of a a long term series of resolutions that I'd quit smoking. When I did give it up (after a health scare kick in the pants) I promised myself I wouldn't become an anti-smoking evangelist. As a smoker I resented non-smokers making rude and pointed (or pointless) remarks about my addiction. It's like telling an overweight person that they need to lose weight. They already know - and know that saying it is easier than doing it.

Apart from two books waiting to be written, I had a submission to prepare for an e publisher. It was saved in the format they wanted, but couldn't be opened at the other end. They say it's because I burned the story to disk. Then again it might be a Mac incompatibility thing.

I didn't think burning to disc would prevent the file being sent as an attachment. After many tries I withdrew the submission. I also withdrew a short story after it was accepted because of the low advance. Not that I'm too proud to accept it. It's just that it didn't cover the cost of banking the cheque. I would have ended up owing the bank money.

Twenty definitions

2009-01-04T16:51:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year everyone, especially to my one registered follower (waves hand). While waiting for inspiration, I came up with the following definitions after a discussion on a writers list about the disparaging terms applied to romance writing. I'll start the New Year off with those.

Twenty Writerly Definitions.

1) Hysterical fiction: A facetious, but usually deliberate slip of the tongue pertaining to romantic historical fiction.

2) Popular fiction: Fiction that is clearly understood and enjoyed by the majority of readers all over the world.

3) Literary fiction: In the immortal words of a former Australian politician, “Please explain?”

4) Bodice ripper: Historical fiction with a hero who rips the woman’s bodice apart with his bare hands so he can perve at her breasts and proved his sexual prowess. (sixties cliché).

5) Churning out: Usually nothing to do with butter making. It refers to the method used by writers of a certain type of fiction. They feed words into a machine, turn the handle and a book pops out of the other end. The writer keeps repeating the process for subsequent books.

6) Envy: Something keenly felt by the writer who hasn’t got one of the above book churner -outers, or is beset with alternative writerly hang-ups.

7) The Phrase: “Read one and you’ve read them all” : Gasp! A genuine mind reader is giving a considered opinion here.

8) Trash: A book too beneath the reader’s mind to bother with. Usually inhaled as a bad smell by the sensitive nostrils of the mind reader, who can be picked out by her sniffing habits at the romance bookshelves. I always imagine she’s looking for sex so she can complain about it afterwards.

9) Formula: A secret code used to write a successful novel. This code is handed out like a knighthood to a special few, who now write consistent best sellers. Sometimes it’s awarded as a free gift with the churner-outer. Yeah, I know, annoying isn’t it? I deserved to be awarded one of those too!

10) Clichés: Something churned out by non romance writers to describe romance writing as trashy hysterical fiction, or bodice rippers as clichéd, and then stand back expecting applause for their wit. Did you get that? You didn’t? Oh, come on, it’s all been done before, over and over again. Let me put it in plain words. Create a original metaphor of your own, will you?

11) Book advance: Oh . . . I thought that was reimbursement for my postage. Silly me!

12) Royalties: Ditto.

13) Rights: Something the publishers hang on to if they can, in case they can find a use for them before the author does.

14) Best selling writer 1: A writer who successfully sold cars or real estate before taking up swashbuckling with the pen.

15) Best selling writer 2: A lie in a jacket blurb.

16) Best selling writer 3: Wishful thinking.

17) Best selling writer 4: Okay . . . Okay! I’ve worked my way down to it. They’ve sold many more books than I have and I’m probably suffering from number 6!

18) Writers arse: A wide and comfortable seat that expands with regular use.

19) Phrase: "Any publicity is good publicity": For those who can get it, I suppose.

20) Stupidest question from the public, interviewers, or relatives: “You must be rolling in it now you’re churning out those hysterical ... whoops . . . historical bodice rippers . . . one size fits all crap, eh?”

Polite Answer: BONK OFF!
Impolite answer: SWAT!
Wishful thinking answer: TOO BLOODY RIGHT!

Please feel free to add your own definitions to the comments.
Cheers. Janet.

Reviews and Happy Christmas.

2008-12-14T22:40:00.000-08:00

Reviews have just come in for WITHOUT REPROACH. Here's a couple of snippets from them.
****
Romance Reader at Heart. Review Rating: Top Pick!

Without Reproach is about redemption. It’s about learning to love and trust again when life destroys everything you’ve ever known. Without Reproach is about three strong, wonderful woman and their ability to learn how to love life and each other. Thrown in along the way is some great romance that adds a little something extra to the book. Janet Woods is always a must read for me and this book proves once again how phenomenal a writer she is!
Kristal Gorman

Woods gives her fans a well-written contemporary romance full of her trademark endearing characters, ensuring that fans of her historical romances will feel right at home. Booklist.
*****
This will probably be my last blog before Christmas, unless something exciting happens. Christmas is always tiring, always expensive, and this year it's even more so with the worry about the recession affecting us all. To all the mums and dads, grans and granddads, teenagers and kids of all ages. It's the thought that counts. Love costs nothing to give and receive. All best wishes.I hope you enjoy Christmas, and that 2009 is a wonderful year.

A TIGER TALE

2008-12-05T16:42:00.000-08:00

A Tiger's Tale!

The port town of Fremantle here in Western Australia is normally a friendly town. It's small, pretty. It has a fishing harbour where you can get a wonderful fish meal with the fish almost leaping straight from the ocean into the pan. We have an old town hall with a spire and a flag on top. It's smack dab in the centre of the town, so if you do happened to be directionally challenged, as am I, all you need to is to head straight for it and you're back into the thick of things again. At the beginning of this week it became even more friendlier for me.

I was Christmas gift shopping, when I saw a rather large stuffed tiger with a curling plastic tongue and fearsome teeth. By large I mean five foot from its front paws to the lip of its tail, or about 152 centimetres for you newer folk (I think). But never mind. It was big!

I just had to buy it for one of my granddaughters. I was already dragging a loaded trolley behind me and had a couple of dangling bags. The tiger was too big to fit in a bag, so I tucked it under my dangling bag arm, face to the front so it could see where we were going, its tail hanging down at the back and lashing at my ankle. We set off confidently to find my husband, who would relieve me of my packages, since he had the keys to the car and I still had more shopping to do. That took some time, since he'd gone to ground somewhere.

Like I said, Fremantle is normally a friendly town, but with the addition of my tiger it became even more friendly. Tiger seemed to be endowed with special powers of attraction. Everyone who set eyes on him smiled, others made remarks as they passed like, like 'Oye, can I pull your tail?' or 'Does he bite?' or 'Do you know you've got a tiger under your arm?' Duh!

Some people growled or roared. It all seemed a rather normal reaction and interaction with complete strangers under the circumstances. When I sat to rest I was approached by several old ladies who stopped to admire the beast. Kids came up with their mums and dads to stroke him or touch his teeth, while I made insane growling noises. Even a tired toddler stopped his tantrum long enough to gaze open-mouthed at him. I have never held so many conversations with strangers, or been so popular. It struck me that people wanted to talk, and the tiger acted as a legitimate excuse to do so.

When we got it home I laid Tiger along the back of the couch, where he looked quite relaxed and at home for two days. He was rather difficult to wrap because his tail kept springing out through the paper, but now he's mummified in wrapping paper covered in flying angels, so he looks more like a gaudy sphinx guarding the Christmas tree. I can't wait to see my granddaughter's face when she sets eyes on him!

The moral of this tale is - whatever your age - if you want to be a magnetic chick, or even a magnetic cockerel come to that (though they're in short supply at Christmas) get yourself a big tiger and walk around town.

AS DARKNESS FALLS Review

2008-11-28T15:45:00.000-08:00

AS DARKNESS FALLS - Bronwyn Parry - Hatchette.

I’ve heard people state that they only buy books written by authors whose work they know. What a shame that those short-sighted people are missing out on novels from new talent, like Australian writer Bronwyn Parry, whose first book was published this year.

AS DARKNESS FALLS is a romantic suspense that sits squarely within its genre, in that the romance is equally balanced by the story line. Two detectives, both wearied by the demands of their job - one to the point of being burned out - join forces to find a missing child before she is killed. The girl is one of three victims. Also a victim is Isabelle O’Connell the female police officer who was badly injured by the occupants of the small Australian country town she grew up in - when she single-handedly, and without success, tried to defend an innocent suspect from the town’s wrath. Along comes DCI Alec Goddard. Far from being a white knight, the battle weary city cop needs Isabelle to help him solve the case, and he plays on her conscience until he gets his way. Alec then finds himself becoming her protector as the deadly cat and mouse game with the criminal begins to unfold.

This is a story high in tension. There is the inner turmoil of the main characters, then the fact that the villain is always one step ahead, which that makes him an insider. There is the need to protect the female lead from danger, and from that the love story flows. But the instincts and needs of love are hard fought. These are two intelligent people who have had their fingers burned before, and the involvement is reluctant. The motivation of the main characters is well set up, consistent and clear, which gives the reader empathy with those characters. The book has a good visual scenic sense and is high in adventure. To my mind it would make an excellent tele movie.

AS DARKNESS FALLS is a gritty, well-written novel with a high sense of human drama and tension. It dishes up exactly what the cover suggests - a meaty and satisfying meal between the crusts.

Janet Woods.

Dropping in.

2008-11-07T22:20:00.000-08:00

I'm just dropping in to report that the book I wrote about two blogs ago called, HEARTS OF GOLD - a historical romance that begins in the gold fields of Western Australia - has now been accepted by Severn House UK and will be released in April 09. In my usual fashion, I imagine the cover, though my visualization has never ever become a reality. For this book I see a golden heart diffused under water with ripples coming from it. My second slice of news is that audio right to 'Without Reproach' have been sold to ISIS Soundings.

Many thanks to Naval Langa and Eric for your comments.

I really haven't got much to blog about at the moment. I'm nearing the end of a novel and the characters have got such a strong grip on me that I just have to keep going , so my bum is glued to the chair. I love it when this happens, though whether it's entirely enjoyable is a moot point. Sure, when I really meld with the characters, so the story just happens, keeping going is irresistible. But sitting at the computer to the point of fatigue isn't healthy. I keep having to remind myself that the story will still be there tomorrow. I'm juggling four main characters, their stories with their plot conflicts, and the stories of the people around them and their plot conflicts, plus the main plot conflict. It's all going on in my brain as I head for the point of convergence.

My sister just rang me from New Zealand to ask me if I was okay, because she hadn't heard from me. No wonder. I've written two books in eight months without a break in between. Usually, I stop to clean my office between novels. This time I didn't. Three more chapters and the first draft will be finished. Then I must start the rewrite before I edit the manuscript for typos, of which there will be many. There always is when I write a book fast. Then I will take a rest...well, maybe...I've just sent a proposal to my agent for the next book.

All the best. Now....back to the fray!

Without Reproach

2008-09-29T16:15:00.000-07:00

WITHOUT REPROACH
Romantic suspense
Severn House - Oct 1st 2008
ISBN 9780727867049

Charlie Parker dies in a car accident. As the fabric of his deceit is uncovered, the lives of three women involved with him are changed for ever. His mother meets the granddaughter she never knew she had. Kate Parker is a young woman already traumatised by an assault that's resulted in an unwanted pregnancy. Lauren Parker discovers that her marriage was not what it seemed. The tragedy draws the woman together, and they decide to move in together, in an isolated cottage in Dorset, where they'll be out of the glare of the media. Relations are strained as they learn to get on and support each other. To complicate matters, Lauren and DI Theo Ransom - who is investigating Charlie's affairs - fall in love. This complicates matters when a huge drugs haul is involved, and Lauren and Kate's lives are placed in mortal danger.

Stray Parcel and Christmas

2008-09-25T01:39:00.000-07:00

Life has settled down after the romance writers conference. After all the work the dedicated RWAustralia conference committee did to come up with a dazzling weekend, it now feels as though it never happened. So it's back behind the desk for me. I've finished the book I was working on pre-conference, and have sent it on to my agent in London, so it's finger-crossing time. I've also picked up a book I'd written six chapters of and have started on the next six. This is the bit-and-pieces book I write when I haven't got a book to write.

The end of the year is getting close again. This was brought home to me by requests to speak at two libraries in Feb. 09. It served to remind me that I should do something about Christmas, seeing as my family grows larger by the year. So far I've bought a packet of ten greeting cards, which won't go far. Even though it's the hottest time of year here in Australia, I always buy cards with sparkle, snow, Santa and robins on etc. (it must be my English background). And I've noticed that stamps have gone up in time for the festive season. Good timing!

Talking of post offices, let me tell you a tale about a little postal tube containing a rolled up book jacket. It was posted in England on 4th April 2002 in London. It arrived on my doorstep on Tuesday 15th September 2008. The original labels are a yellowed, and the plastic ends of the tube have gathered a bit of dust, but I'm wondering where this parcel tube has been for six years. You see, to deepen the mystery, the tube has a recent label on it - an Australian one. It was reposted the day before I received it, at a cost of AU$4.20 at a post office only a couple of miles from where I live! The book jacket is in excellent condition, by the way.

Going back to Christmas (one can't escape it), I'm well known amongst my daughters for being hard to buy gifts for. I think it's because I have everything I need - which is a happy and loving extended family. So, my lovely daughters, in case you read this, here is my Christmas wish list. (1) A box of 'Paper One' premium paper. I've just finished the box I got last year. (2) Damien Leith's latest CD. 'Catch the Wind' (3) Sharon Kay Penman's latest book 'Devil's Brood.'

Oh yes, for those who like to gift books for Christmas, you my like to try my book WITHOUT REPROACH, which is a romantic suspense hardcover. It's released on October 1st and available from online book sellers or directly from the publisher, Severn House. I'll post further details as soon as its released.

You've gotta laugh!

2008-09-01T00:50:00.000-07:00

I’ve never yet been to a romance writers conference where we haven’t been laughing our heads off over something for most of the time. The 2008 Romance Writers of Australia conference in Melbourne in August was no exception. Over 200 romance writers, large and small, old and young, published and unpublished, and from all over Australia - met at the Langham Hotel for three days of business, workshops, networking and socialising. There were raffles to raise money for breast cancer. Door prizes. Cocktail parties. Book stalls and a surfeit of food.

Add to that a book launch at Dymocks for Bronwyn Parry’s first book, “As Darkness Falls”, which is published by Hatchette Livre. There was a side trip to a historical costume private museum, a dinner for those of us on the writers E list, and a trip to a chocolate factory. And that was on the Thursday before the conference! Unfortunately, for some reason unknown to the passengers, my plane - which had been booked and paid for since the previous April, and which had had the flight time changed three times in the months since - was, on the day, changed from a direct flight to Melbourne to one diverted to Melbourne via Sydney. (Hmmn, I think I blogged about late transport once before!) So I missed the historical costume tour, which I was really looking forward to.

Friday was devoted to an all day workshop. Saturday and Sunday was more of the same, plus eat drink and be merry with a dress up cocktail party. See photograph of me with my granddaughter sitting on my shoulder - and we weren’t the only witches there. We could have raised a coven. Sunday evening was the awards dinner. We ate very small, very delicious meals on very big plates and cheered on those of our fellow writers who had scaled the dizzy heights of winning awards by entering the various competitions hosted by the RWA.

On the whole romance writers are happy people. Perhaps it’s because we love writing about love - about people falling in love - being in love and doing the love thing. We love love.
Laughter is infectious, and the laughing disease was certainly caught by all of us over the weekend. The place was full of smiles, and there was not a grumpy face in sight.

Going back to Western Australia, the transport system worked to perfection. The plane took off right on the minute. There were no bumpy clouds to make the passengers nervous. The wheels and wings stayed on and we landed smoothly. My husband wasn’t there to meet me. He’d expected me the following day. You’ve gotta laugh!

Aggressive... who me?

2008-08-15T16:40:00.000-07:00

Having active, and dare I say, aggressive, dreams is becoming a habit. Three weeks after gaining a black eye after grappling with dream terrorists on a cruise ship and ending up trying to subdue the bedside cabinet with my head, the night before last I dreamed about a woman threatening me. This time I ended up on the other side of the bed, snapped out of the dream by slamming into the wardrobe. The force of impact sent a floor to ceiling sheet of glass out of it’s sliding frame and into the wardrobe itself. There, it bent out of shape and one point dug into the carpeted floor. Luckily, apart from a slightly sore knee, I escaped unscathed. I shudder when I think what might had happened, had the glass shattered. As it was, my husband had a hard time straightening the door and getting it back into position. Various reasons are being offered to me for this unconscious behavior - astral travelling, repressed aggression, one of the characters I killed off in my books is haunting me, to eating cheese before going to bed and “I always knew you were mad, now you’re proving it.”

I’m not getting much sleep lately. Last night a marauding mosquito set its sights on me at 2.30 am. Luckily, it announce it’s arrival by singing in my ear. I went into commando mode. After creeping round the bedroom trying the squash it with a flapping slipper, it disappeared completely. After ten minutes on alert I drifted off to sleep, only to be woken by that dreaded whine again. The mozzie flew past my ear and settled on the wall. I took aim, and slapped. Missed! I swear I could hear it laughing as it disappeared again. One minute it was there, the next minute it was see-through. How do mozzies do that? I managed to get through the night huddled under the bedclothes, with my nose sticking out for air like a shark’s fin. Right, you little bugger, you’ve had your fun. Last night it was conventional warfare with the slapping slipper and today - duh-du-du-duh-duuuuuuugh...! Chemical spray.

Aggressive...who me?

On yer bike!

2008-07-24T16:07:00.000-07:00

This week I said a final farewell to a fellow writer and friend. Her name was Wendy Evans, and for eight years we’ve both belonged to the same critiquing group. Wendy was ill, but she kept writing until the end. She died in her sleep on the eve of our last meeting, after telling the rest of the group she was going to concentrate on writing short stories for the next month. I’ve never met anyone quite as talented as Wendy. Apart from writing, she was a geologist by trade, adviser to government ministers, and an accomplished landscape artist. I will miss my friend - I’ll miss her honesty, her astute mind, her writing and her pity comments. There will never be another Wendy Evans. They threw away the blueprint.

In four weeks time I head off to Melbourne to attend the Romance Writers of Australia conference. I booked my fare well in advance, and due to the fuel crisis, airline schedules have been rearranged, and so far my flight times have been changed twice. The rearrangement consists of a five minute change in taking off from Perth, and a twenty minute change from Melbourne on the return journey. I’m hoping it won’t change again.

I once flew to Melbourne and there was a delay of six hours. There was a problemo with the plane, and the airline didn’t have an engineer in Perth, so had to fly one in from Adelaide on the next available flight to change a faulty light-globe (Yes, I do know it was a precaution). I spent the six hours at Perth airport, munching on body-clogging food. I arrived in Melbourne at midnight, five hours after the dinner I was supposed to attend had started, and two hours after it finished. Not bad timing!

Last January I paid a visit to my family in the UK. Coming back I was delayed at Heathrow for two hours. Luckily, the connecting flight from Singapore to Perth waited for us.

Another trip to UK, I went to Liverpool by bus to visit my sister-in-law. This was a nine hour trip. Returning to the point of departure, the bus was delayed (without reason and without being the fault of anybody) and we arrived in Birmingham just as the bus station w as about to close. As I was supposed to be changing buses there for Cheltenham, and that bus had left hours before, I found myself alone in an unfamiliar city with darkness rapidly falling.

The staff were great. To get rid of me, they hired me a taxi which took me on to Cheltenham at the expense of the bus company. The original bus fare had cost me £21.00 return at the time. The taxi trip racked up over £50.00 for the bus company. Strangely, however, the taxi driver refused to drop me off at the address I was going to, even though I offered to pay the extra. He insisted it had to be the deserted bus station, a dark and gloomy dropping off place for a lone female with overnight bag to be left at 2.45 in the morning. You can have no idea how exposed I felt when that taxi drove off into the night.

Cheltenham was also an unfamiliar city, though I’d driven through it a couple of times. I was just wondering if a shadowy hedge would be a safer place to sleep in than the creepy bus shelter, when along came my lovely daughter-in-law to rescue me. Luckily, she’d discovered what was going on, and had possessed the good sense to come back and find me (not something that all daughter-in-law would do). Just as well, since mobile phones were a novelty at the time and I didn’t have her home phone number with me.

My Black Eye

2008-07-10T16:13:00.000-07:00

Last Friday night I had a run in with a couple of villains. It happened like this.
I dreamed I was on a cruise ship, when a woman toting a muscle man on her hip walked up to me. She placed a button in my hand. Noticing it was ticking and had a clock face, I immediately knew it was an explosive device.
As they walked away I decided that if I was going to blow up I was taking them with me. I knew I could bring these two villains down, so with arms outstretched I took a flying leap at their retreating backs.
The next thing I knew my face whacked into the corner of the bedside cabinet, which woke me up fairly rapidly. “Ouch!” I said. Okay, so I said more than “ouch!” It brought forth several expletives I hadn’t used since my youth. However, my grandchildren might read this so I’m keeping it clean.
I was due to deliver a writers’ workshop in the city the next morning, using public transport to get to the venue. So on the wettest, darkest most miserable day of the year I set out wearing impenetrable sunglasses with side shades.
However, I had to take them off when I got there. I told the tale of my run-in with the terrorist bedside cabinet and the button bomb, hoping for some sympathy. The story received several disbelieving “Hahs!” and a good belly laugh. Odd how a person’s misfortune can bring laughter instead of sympathy, like farting in public.
For the last few days I’ve been sporting a purply-black eye than was delivered via my dream. It’s the first shiner I’ve ever had, and I can’t even brag about it (though I suppose I did save a cruise ship?) Of course, nobody will believe my story and my mild-mannered husband, who wouldn’t squash a catapillar, is getting a few questioning looks. So this is the official version. OKAY?

Without Reproach

2008-06-30T14:59:00.001-07:00

Without Reproach - Janet Woods
Romantic Suspense.
Severn House UK
ISBN: 9780727867049
October 1st 08

The death of Charlie Parker exposes a web of deceit. Wife Lauren finds herself providing for Charlie’s newly discovered teenage daughter, as well as caring for her mother-in-law, Betty. Recently bankrupt, they rent an isolated cottage in Dorset with Kate, who is expecting a child, the result of an assault. Meanwhile DI Theo Ransom is investigating the affairs of Charlie, but can’t fight his feelings for Lauren. . .

Happy Talk

2008-06-17T16:05:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday I did a talk at a local library in Scarborough Beach in Western Australia, which is about half an hour’s drive from my home. There was a small crowd of library patrons there, about twenty of them. I related to them straight away and appreciated the sensible questions that were put to me during the talk. When you do a talk you can usually sense the mood of an audience. This one was friendly and relaxed. In the end I forgot my formal notes and we started chatting about different aspects of writing. So I didn’t get to say what I’d intended to say, but instead, said what they wanted to hear.

As an orator I wouldn’t win any prizes, but I do try and relate to my audience and be as natural as possible. From the few talks I’ve done I’ve noticed that my library audience generally consists of mature women. These are the people who read and enjoy my books, I imagine. They’re interested in knowing my background and how I got to be a writer (that’s something which often surprises me). I know many of those people can relate to my background - which often resembles their own.

Libraries play an important part in the life of authors. They buy the books (usually hardcover) which gives the authors a royalty from the sale, and they certainly help to publicise an author’s name. Readers themselves generate borrowings by word of mouth. If they like your book they will tell others.

Here in Australia we have a public lending right scheme. To compensate Australian authors for any loss of revenue from borrowings, if authors have a certain number of books in the system they will also receive a small fee when it’s borrowed. This is calculated on a yearly basis so it builds up and is paid in a lump some towards the end of he tax year.

More good news for me.

The historical saga I’ve just started (Hearts of Gold) has gone to contract on the synopsis - that is, a couple of pages outlining the plot. The deadline for this is October of this year, so I’ll have to pull out all stops to get it finished. Having a contract and deadline is an incentive to keep going, and it stops me from becoming lazy. I have a pretty good work ethic as a rule, I think. I write every day, and set myself a daily word count to complete before I stop writing for the day. That way I soon see some progress. It takes me about five months to write my novels.

People ask, how do you write so quickly? The answer is, I don’t write quickly. I’m a turtle rather than a hare I keep plodding along and don’t worry too much about what the hares are up too.

WITHOUT REPROACH

2008-05-28T15:26:00.000-07:00

Here’s a date for your diary. Thursday June 5th -Trade Expo - Moonee Ponds.
One again, Pick A Pocket Books will be having a stand to promote their books and the authors who write them. Do drop in to see their display of books, and while you’re their, support an Australian author by buying one. Or take a look at their site. http://www.pickapocketbook.com
***
To move on to some good news. I’m pleased to say that my latest book, WITHOUT REPROACH has been accepted by Severn house UK and will be released in October 2008.

Usually I write historical saga. This time I tried my hand at a contemporary romantic suspense. It was refreshing to write something different, and I hope that my readers will recognize my need for a temporary change of pace, and don’t desert me because it’s modern day. The next book will be a saga type historical again, I promise. In fact, I’ve already got the first chapter down.

I think I’ve said before that writing is hard work. If you keep writing the same kind of book over and over sometimes you can feel as though you’re stuck in a rut. A bored brain needs stimulation to sharpen it. A change of style is medicinal, in that it refreshes you.

Not many publishers approve of their author’s changing lanes. If they’ve spent time and effort building up an author’s name in a certain category, and that author has attracted a number of readers, then changing tack can throw it out of balance.

Writing modern novels is just as hard as writing historical, I find. Both have to be researched, especially if they are set in a country you don’t live in. Researching historical is easier. History doesn’t shift and change. In modern day things are changing fast. Electronic devises such as computers, reading devices, ipods and telephones are constantly changing. If you use them in a novel, by the time the book is published everything can be rendered obsolete.

This was brought home to me when I was last in the UK and staying with my son. On his desk is a telephone from the fifties, with a dial on the front. It works, but his three daughters can’t figure out how!

While I’m on line. Usually I get a couple of letters a month from readers. So far this month I’ve had six, from as far afield as England, Wales and Cyprus. I do appreciate hearing from readers, so to all those people who read my books and like them enough to write and tell me, a heartfelt thanks.

Historical Photo Shoot.

2008-05-09T19:26:00.000-07:00

Photo Shoot!

A few days ago I had my first experience of being a model. The shoot was to publicise the upcoming Perth Roadshow, which is a day of workshopping and fun featuring three of Australia’s brightest and most talented internationally published romance writing stars from the eastern states They are Anne Gracie, Marion Lennox and Trish Morey.

This day of workshopping will be of great benefit to those who want to write popular fiction of any genre, but especially those aiming at the romance and traditional womens’ fiction markets.

This roadshow takes place on Saturday 24th at the Good Earth Hotel in Adelaide terrace. Door open at 8-30 and the day finishes around five pm. Optional is dinner with the authors. Cost of the workshop is $100 including lunch and afternoon tea. $60 extra if you’d like to dine with the authors. Registration forms can be found on the Romance Writers of Australia Inc website. Closes on 17th May. http://www.romanceaustralia.com

RIGHT - BACK TO THE PHOTO SHOOT. At 8.30 one morning Western Australia’s own internationally published authors - Janet Woods (moi) Sharon Milburn and Anna Jacobs presented themselves to a lovely home in Solomon Street in Fremantle, which had been generously offered to us by the owner for the shoot. There we met the fabulous and friendly crew from the West Australian newspaper magazine.

Make up artist and hairdressing was laid on. Somehow, my two inches of hair was tonged into curls and glued in place with hairspray that set like cement.
My face was painted with goo, my six remaining eyelashes mascaraed and my lips became a bring pink pout. I’m yet to see the result of this. Without my spectacles on a glance in the mirror revealed a pale, blurred and haggard blob with what seemed to be two pairs of eyebrows! I decided that you’re never to old to make an ass of yourself, and rather then worry about the result I’d just allow myself to be carried along with the tide.

We quickly selected outfits. Sharon, who has authored two regencies “Lord Whitley’s Bride” and “Captain’s Lady” and who is a teacher when she’s not being an author had brought along her own gown and accessories, a regency outfit. (see photos).The deep blue colour happened to match the colour of the velvet and lace outfit worn by the regency buck, who was plucked out of the West Australian’s office for the day. The gentleman certainly looked the part of the handsome hero.

My gown was pink, with silver tinsel on the bodice and room for panniers that would have produced hips like Queen Elizabeth 1st, and given new meaning to love handles. However, the padded panniers didn’t come with it, so the skirt drooped a bit. I had to pick the skirt up when I walked because it was to long (or I was too short). Anyway, the ginger house cat liked the skirt and amused himself by hiding under it, then wrestling with the frill.

The multi-published Anna Jacobs was elegantly late Victorian in black lace, pearls and cameo brooch. Her hair was middle parted and drawn back into curls.

I always enjoy it when something different and entirely unexpected happens. The morning was fun. The company was great, and I’m now looking forward, with a little dread I might add, to the end result.

Pick A Pocket Books

2008-04-22T01:55:00.000-07:00

http//www.pickapocketbook.com

Here’s a new type of book. It’s small enough to fit in a back pocket or purse, has a flip cover and contains two long short stories, or two short novellas – whichever description takes your fancy. Pick a Pocket Books were designed for the traveller to have a quick read on their journey. The books cost $12.00 and can be bought directly from the website.

Now, you might think this is an advert. Yes it is, though in the publishing world we call it a promotion. As I said when I started this blog, it’s mainly for advertising my own stories and novels – though I did review another writer’s novel not long ago. Whatever takes my fancy.

My pocket book contains two romantic stories. “The Courting of Roscoe” is about 14,000 words and set in Tasmania. Here’s how to seduce a lady with chocolate and cherries! “The Colour of Sunset,” which is the second story, is played out on a cattle station in the Western Australia and is shorter, at 6,000 words. Lady artist meets roving journalist with a nose for a story!

This pocket book is a neat little creature. The publisher will have a stall at the “Back to Booktown Festival” at Clunes in Victoria on 3rd and 4th of May.
I’m sure Marlene Meier will be happy to answer any questions you care to ask if you’re in the area. They might even sell you a book or two.

If you can’t make the festival, please drop in on the site and see what’s on offer from myself and the other authors. And if you want to know what else I’ve published, do please visit my website.

Why I write novels

2008-04-19T01:32:00.000-07:00

I’ve just finished writing my twenty-second novel. Actually I’ve written about thirty, but the first half-a-dozen were downright duds. The early models of my novels reside in a single wardrobe. Trying to read one is quite humbling. It reminds me that my writing was unpublishable in the early days – though at the time I didn’t know it! Some writers dig out their early novels and resurrect them. Alas, every one of my early efforts seem stale and out of date and I’d rather write a new book.

Like most skills, the craft of writing has to be learned. Some people go to creative writing classes. Yes, you can learned the steps needed to craft a novel. Now start putting it into practice, because I can almost guarantee that the majority of students will not be able to write a publishable novel until they’ve input a few litres of sweat and tears. There are exceptions, but they are few.

This is not to say that creative writing classes aren’t useful. They are. Usually they’re the first step towards a career as a writer. I did a correspondence course in creative writing, which was helpful in showing me what I was doing wrong (which was everything at first!). It also helped me to sort out the style of writing I enjoyed doing most, which was women’s fiction in novel form, and short stories.

I didn’t get my certificate, because I was one lesson short. Enthusiasm bit me on the bum. I wanted to get on with what I knew I was going to write – and technical writing wasn’t it. It totally bored me. I can’t believe now that I abandoned the course one lesson off completion. Do I regret it? No. I did happen to get my first publication during that time – a story for children that I wrote for the course. A certificate proving that you’ve completed a course in creative writing doesn’t get you publication. It may give you the confidence and persistence to keep writing towards the goal of publication though.

A few years ago I enrolled in a script writers course, mainly because I wanted to learn the technique of scenic writing so I could apply it to my own work. I think this was the most useful course I’ve ever attended, it taught me how to write in a scenic sense, which was a technique that could be applied directly to my own work. It did not, however, turn me into a script writer. I enjoy writing scenery and inner dialogue, exposing the emotions and travelling on the complete creative journey with my characters. In script writing this can’t be done to any great extent or in such detail.

Mentally and physically, writing is hard work. You're in self-imposed solitary confinement. You sit in front of a computer and gradually type your fingerprints off. After a while your wrists ache, so does your back and your neck. Your shoulders freeze, your eyes begin to dry up and after a while you develop twitching eyelids. Oh yes, and the backside tends to spread. The rewards are not all that great, either. It’s an occupation where only the few seem go on to wealth and fortune, and it’s not a profession where equal skill and pay always go hand in hand. It takes me five months to complete a book. Sitting in front of a computer for eight hours a day, seven days a week steaming my brain for a clever metaphor or a bright and lively twist of conversation is not always fun. And what other profession will offer you a biannual pay packet six months after you’ve earned it!

So why do I do it? I’m obsessed. I love every moment of writing a novel, even the moments I hate. When it’s produced and I hold it in my hands in its shiny new jacket, and it finally looks, smells and feels like a proper book instead of several figment of my imagination cobbled together with string, it gives me a huge sense of achievement.

Edge of Regret Reviews

2008-03-31T19:38:00.000-07:00

Three good reviews have come in for Edge of Regret. I'm showing just a portion of them, but two of them can be read at length online, so I've put their links in. As follows . . .
***

4 stars. Set in Victorian Edinburgh, Edge of Regret, is a spellbinding historical saga packed with emotion, tragedy and romance that further establishes Janet Woods as one of the genre’s strongest voices! – Julie Bonello – Cata Romance
http://singletitles.com?p=342
***
Woods fashions an involving, time-honored story featuring noble heroes and naughty villains. Sure to please her fans – Booklist.
***

Top Pick! This story keeps in perfect line with the other Janet Woods books that I have read, not in that they are intertwined, but in that they all have the same feel—bittersweet, lovely, nostalgic and beautiful. I look forward to every single book that she puts out because I know that the hits keep coming!
Kristal Gorman – http://romancereaderatheart.com/pubsandpromos/

Review of Substitute Bride - Laurel Lamperd

2008-03-23T18:55:00.000-07:00

SUBSTITUTE BRIDE - Laurel Lamperd
Regency Romance – Publisher: Wings Press http://www.wingspress.com
ISBN (10) 1-59705-733-9 ISBN (13) 9781597057332

Substitute Bride is the Laurel Lamperd’s first novel. The plot revolves about the need for the rakish Nick, Marquess of Desborough to wed – so to take possession of his inheritance from his tight-fisted cousin. His intention is to marry beneath him, then have the marriage annulled.

Just as Nick gets word that his bride is no longer available, along comes the hapless Emma Napier and her friend Abby, two country girls of good birth who are fleeing to London so Abby can escape a loveless marriage to a stranger. Abby’s convenient migraine puts Emma within the Marquess’ grasp at the time she needs money and he needs a substitute bride. Emma allows him to bully her into marriage. Nick then goes off to claim his inheritance.

Emma never expects to see Nick again and keeps the marriage a secret, as agreed. Emma’s Aunt Matilda takes the two girls under her wing so they can enjoy a season. A London success, Emma has suitors queuing up at the door. Inevitably, the recently wed husband and wife meet. The Marquess is reluctant to set the annulment in motion, and the protagonists are pitted against each other. Thrown into the mix is the fun and frivolity of a London season, an exquisitely beautiful but hard-hearted mistress plotting Emma’s downfall, a cast of interesting and lively secondary characters with their own sub-plots and everybody minding everyone else’s business.

On the down side, the sentence structure of the second paragraph is clumsy and confusing. Appearing as it must on the first page, it immediately catches the eye and doesn’t create the best of impressions. The production standard is fairly sloppy too. Although the novel looks good with a nicely designed jacket, and is easy on the eye with a clear, good sized font, there are several misplaced full stops throughout, and many of the dialogue marks are reversed, some all on one page. There are enough of these mistakes to irritate, they give the impression that the book wasn’t proof read properly – if at all.

There is very little to criticise in the writing itself. The novel is well constructed and is a smooth read all the way through. SUBSTITUTE BRIDE engages the emotions right from the start. There is enough description to serve time and place. The Marquess is traditionally alpha male, but not alpha enough to be a pain in the proverbial. Emma is a spirited heroine who brings her man to heel over the course of the novel. It’s good fun and the ending satisfies with all threads tied up.

Excellent characterisation, natural dialogue and tension that rises naturally from the plot are all present in this subtly ironic novel that is a pleasure to read. I’ll look forward to reading Laurel Lamperd’s second book.

Reviewed by Janet Woods – author

Flying Sparks

2008-03-10T21:35:00.000-07:00

Sparks have been flying in our house! No, I haven’t been fighting with my husband. Two weeks ago the electricity went off, came back with a power surge and knocked out my telephones.

Because I’d transferred my telephone account to my server, I emailed them immediately to let them know what had happened. I received no answer. The next day I emailed them again, and the next day after that. No answer! No answer!

We have no mobile phone. My husband drove to the local shopping centre and went into a phone box (the temperature that day, that week actually, was hovering around 39 degrees!). He was told that there was half an hour to wait before we could get a technician on the line to answer our query. Rather than become the first man to be baked alive in a public telephone box, my husband came home again.

Five days later my daughter sorted it out via her telephone. By that time the wait was down to twenty minutes and the telephone company had sent its technicians out. However, because my server hadn’t sent a request to the telephone company, who own the cables, (despite my three emails!) our service could not be restored, though the service to my immediate neighbours was. Two days later they got around to us.

Later, we found out that the power cut and surge was contained to the small area of about sixty houses that forms our village. Someone came to test the appliances. I was lucky. Only my fax/phone was damaged beyoned repair in the surge. Though coincidentally, my electric kettle gave up the ghost yesterday. Other people lost computers, radios and televisions as well as telephones.

However, my main grouse is not with the power company since electricity outages are part of life. It lies with my server, who, although perfectly competant in all other areas, totally ignored my emails – though the voice at the end of the phone did manage to find one of them when my daughter got to talk to a living person. And before that conversation was over came the irony of a form I received, which solicited my opinion on the service I was receiving. In fact, I got two of those forms during the debacle.

This is a communications company. They sell and service internet facilities. I’ve been with them a long, long time. They take money from my bank account for this purpose every month. So why can’t they bloody well communicate when you need them!

Bob Tanner

2008-02-21T03:18:00.000-08:00

Vale - Bob Tanner

Last week my literary agent passed away after a short illness. His name was Bob Tanner, and he was a well-known figure in the writing world in the UK.
Although I met him only twice in the eight years of our professional association I formed the impression that Bob was a gentleman. Certainly, he was a man who was there when you needed advice. Bob shared his expertise as well as his friendship, and was always pleased to be of help. He seemed to derive a quiet pleasure in the book sales he achieved for his writing clients.

I first met Bob when he was a guest speaker for the Romantic Novelists’ Association in London, I can’t remember the date by it was approximately twenty years ago. He reminded everyone present at that meeting that writing was extremely hard work, and it took persistence and dedication. We were warned that for most people starting out, getting a novel published was nigh on impossible. His honesty in this was appreciated.

It was several years before I felt that my writing was ready for an agent to represent. Luckily, Bob Tanner took me on, and over twenty books were placed with publishers by him over the years. The only time we met since that first meeting, was when Bob, his daughter Jill and office manager, Pat took me to an RNA awards luncheon at the Savoy Hotel in 2006.

I don’t know how old Bob was when he passed away – getting on a bit, I imagine. However, age doesn’t seem to matter much in the writing world, because it brings with it a wealth of experience. I do know that Bob had been part of the writing industry for a long time. First in publishing with New English Library, and then establishing the literary agency, International Scripts. He was well respected in his chosen career, he was also a wise man.

When people who mean something in our lives depart from it, we tend to wonder – how will we cope without them? But each of us have our own journey to make, and losing friends and family are part of it.

According to his daughter and fellow director, Jill Lawson, Bob worked right to the end. He left behind a record to celebrate the life of a truly unique man. I feel privileged to have known him, and will truly miss his wise counsel when I need it.

Audiobooks

2008-01-25T02:48:00.000-08:00

Back in Australia after my UK trip, and there was three weeks work and my mail to catch up on. It seemed to me that every one of my readers wrote in my absence. I cleared the backlog in one week between dozing off the jet lag, which makes me wonder why I couldn’t triple my writing output. I must admit, if I try to hurry I make more mistakes than I usually do. Then I have to do much more editing work. I guess it’s a case of what you gain on the roundabouts you lose on the swings.

In the midst of the scramble the audio version of “The Coal Gatherer” arrived. Listening to somebody else reading your work out loud can be bit unnerving. Sometimes the interpretation of the characters voices are different to the way the author pictured them when they were written.

I have nothing but admiration for readers, who manage to keep the various characters’ voices consistent as they juggle with them over 8-10 hours of recording. I also admire the different accents one reader can come up with. In my audio library I have Dorset dialects. I also have upper crust, middle crust, and lower crust. I have Welsh, Irish and Australian, and am looking forward to listening to a Scottish accent in a future book.

“The Coal Gatherer” is set in the Hartlepool region, in the North-East of England. When I’d flavoured the book with some Geordyism I wondered if I was doing the right thing, as it’s a difficult regional accent, one hard to get right. I grew up in the South of England, but luckily I was raised by a mother who came from the area where the book was set. Even so, the regional accent wasn’t second nature to me. Anne Dover has done a wonderful job recording the book and capturing the subtle musicality of the accent.

Some writers dislike using accented dialogue. If it is used an author has to be careful it’s not overdone, else it can become tedious. I’m of the school that believes that a few touches of regional accent can add authentic colour to the setting.

I usually donate my extra audio books to the association of the blind, here in Western Australia. It has been suggested that I do a reading for them when the new audiobook library opens. I imagine that those with impaired vision are extremely sensitive towards the human voice. I know I can’t compete with the beautifully modulated voices of the professional actors who read my books. I can’t do accents of any sort - except in my head. So if this reading comes about I can only apologise in advance from my lack of public reading ability.

EDGE OF REGRET

2007-12-23T13:47:00.000-08:00

EDGE OF REGRET
Severn House
1st March 08

In Edinburgh, Kenna Mackenzie is cheated out of her inheritance by her brother-in-law. When she refuses to marry Rory Challenor – the Scottish Laird picked out for her – the stubborn Kenna finds herself on the streets with only the clothes she stands up in. She survives for a while, but as winter sets in she becomes desperatately ill.

A widowed English doctor rescues her – but Dominic Sterne considers Kenna to be a street woman, despite his growing feelings towards her. When he leaves to take up a new position in the South of England, Kenna is broken-hearted.

When Kenna returns home, it’s to discover she has no choice but to accept the laird’s proposal. Although the man has a certain charisma, she discovers he has family problems as well as entanglements.

In the meantime, Dominic has realized his mistake and has returned to Edinburgh to look for Kenna . . .

Fallen Angel

2007-12-10T23:44:00.000-08:00

It was nearly midnight when Gabriella landed in a snowdrift in Millie Perkins’ garden.
Millie was in bed, propped against her pillows sipping Irish coffee. The bedroom was as cosy as an oven, tucked as it was under the thatched roof. The bed-head was against the brick chimney that carried the heat up from the kitchen range below. If it hadn’t been for her tabby cat, who curled against her stomach, purring and kneading threads from the eiderdown and making a good book-stand for one of the Mills and Boon romances she was fond of reading - Millie wouldn‘t have heard a thing.
Leonardo lifted his head and meowed a complaint. As a result, the book fell sideways to the floor in the middle of a rather crucial scene, where the hero was about to declare his love - and slid under the chest of drawers. Leonardo kept on staring towards the chintz-curtained windows, his hair ridging along his back like one of the hairy caterpillars who appeared in the spring to devour her lettuces.
Millie admitted to a twinge of alarm as she rose from her bed and slid into the sheepskin slippers her daughter had given her for Christmas. It had been naughty of her to open the gift in advance, but as she could tell from the shape of the parcel exactly what was in it - well, she didn’t see any point in waiting.
Not that there was anyone to tell her off. She’d be spending this Christmas alone. Her beloved granddaughter had gone into labour early, so neither could be with her. Millie was thrilled to think her first great-grandchild would be born on Christmas Day, though - and they’d rearranged the celebration for New Year, instead.
Twitching the curtains open a chink she peered out into the garden. Leonardo leapt on to the window sill and pawed the chink wider so his head would fit through it and he could satisfy his own curiosity.
For a moment Millie didn’t see anything, especially what she was looking for, the tell-tale footsteps in the snow to signal an intruder. She took a moment to admire the scene. It was so Christmassy, with snow plastered on the tree branches like icing sparkling on a cake. It had been ages since they’d had a white Christmas. It seemed fitting somehow, when her great grandchild was due to be born. It also reminded her of her childhood, when Christmas cards were magical concoctions of stage coaches, robins, angels and sparkle dust.
“Good, grief!” she exclaimed when snow flurried up from the drift. A small winged creature crawled out from a hole and sneezed, sending a shower of golden sparks shooting upwards. When they settled Millie saw that the creature glowed. It seemed to be injured as it crawled across the snow, dragging its wing behind it.
Leonardo growled deep in his throat, rear ended himself swiftly to the floor and took refuge under the bed. His yellow eyes glared out from the darkness like alarmed lanterns.
“Don’t be such a cowardly custard,” Millie said, and reaching for her glasses, exclaimed, “I do believe it’s a fairy!” She’d never expected to see a real fairy and felt rather excited about it. What a wonderful tale she’d have to tell to her great grandchild.
Still, she decided on caution, picking up the wooden spoon as she shuffled past the Christmas tree with its coloured lights and tinsel, and the gaily wrapped parcels underneath.
The night cold was bitter after the warmth of the cottage. Her breath puffed out in a cloud of vapour. She shivered, pulling her beanie down round her ears and drawing her shawl a little tighter when the church clock in the village struck twelve.
The creature was a cute little thing, the size of a small doll. She had bedraggled blond curls and feathery wings, and if she hadn’t had such a peevish expression on her face she would have been quite pretty.
“Don’t just stand there,” she snapped. “If I don’t get warm soon, I’ll perish.”
Millie eyed the thin shift the fairy wore. “You do seem unsuitably dressed for winter.” She lifted her gently from the ground and into her shawl. “You must let me look after you.”
“Not too tight, one of my wings is already damaged. If it doesn’t heal I won’t be able to get there in time for the birth.” The creature looked glum for a few seconds. “Then I’ll have some explaining to do.”
Millie retraced her steps, securing the door behind them. She placed her small charge on the kitchen table then pulled up a chair and stared at her. She remembered the story of sleeping beauty. “I hope you’re one of the good fairies.”
The creature put her hands on her hips and sizzled with red sparks. “Fairy!” she snorted, stamping a bare foot. “My name’s Gabriella and I happen to be an angel, one of the cherub types. I’m in a hurry, so if you’re going to help me let’s get on with it. Oh dear.” Her temper evaporated. “I miscalculated badly. If I don’t get there on time the baby will have no soul and I’ll be disgraced. She began to look around her in panic. “Have you seen my soul bag? I had it in my hand when I hit the tree branches.”
Thoughts of snuggling back into her bed fled Millie’s mind. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem ... well ... competent enough for such an important task.”
“It’s my first assignment since my exam,” Gabriella said miserably. “If I fail, they’ll send me back into the nursery, and it will be an eternity before I can attempt to graduate. This is my second attempt. Last time I gave the wrong soul to the wrong child. They wouldn’t take the fact that I suffer from dyslexia into account.”
Millie had no idea what dyslexia was, but hoped it wasn’t infectious. “Goodness, that seems a bit harsh.”
“This time I have to succeed, or die in the attempt.”
Millie felt quite sorry for her. “I expect your bag’s still in the snowdrift, dear. I’ll go and look for it, then perhaps I can sew your wing back on for you.”
The bag was lying in a puddle of melted ice near the gate. It pulsated with blue and white light. Warm to the touch, Millie felt quite calmed by it.
“It’s a wonderful little soul,” Gabriella explained when she went back in. “This colour is rare and they’re in high demand. The baby will be equipped to become a healer - if its body survives the birth and if the soul doesn’t run out of energy. It should enter the host body before birth, really, but there’s a bit of leeway.”
Millie felt hopeful as she remembered her own great-grandchild. “My granddaughter is in labour at the moment.”
Gabriella smiled slightly. Taking a bit of paper from her pocket she squinted at it and said with great importance. “This soul is for a baby called Mary Saint.” She clapped a tiny hand over her rosebud mouth. “Forget I said that.”
Millie tried to forget it as she sewed the wing back into place with the neat hemming stitches she learned as a child - but she couldn’t help being a bit envious because the rare healing soul wasn’t destined for her great-grandchild. The operation must have hurt Gabriella, but she didn’t make a sound, which was rather brave of her, Millie thought. She appeared exhausted afterwards.
“I’ll have a short rest, then I must try and finish my journey. The child should be born about six am.”
Millie made Gabriella a cosy bed in one of her new sheepskin slippers. She kept watched over her, mainly because Leonardo had come downstairs, and was very interested in what the slipper contained. He had that look in his eye - the one he got when he thought he was still young and stalked birds.
“If anything happens to that angel I’ll throw you out in the snow,” she warned, and he jumped on her lap and rubbed his chin against hers and purred because he knew she’d do no such thing, and he’d got what he was after, anyway - her undivided attention.
Just after six the phone rang. Millie snatched it up. As expected, it was her daughter. “The baby’s a boy. He’s very tiny and the doctor doesn’t think he’ll survive.” Tears sprang to Millie’s eyes. “They’ve transferred them to Saint Mary’s, they’ve got a specialist baby unit there.”
Millie’s eyes snapped open. “Saint Mary’s!” It had to be more than a coincidence. “You mustn’t give up hope,” she said, trying not to sound too excited. “It’s Christmas, a time when miracles happen.”
She gently shook Gabriella awake. The angel wasn’t very responsive. Her eyes were dull and she was trembling. “I’m afraid I’ve caught an infection of some sort. I’m too sick to fly.”
A very strange idea formed in Millie’s head, one she wouldn’t have acted on under different circumstances. “Oh, you won’t have to fly. I have transport.”
She’d kept Frank’s old motor bike shiny and clean, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to part with it. Now and again she kick-started it, and until five years ago had ridden it to classic vehicle shows. She just hoped she could still remember how to drive the thing - her reflexes weren’t exactly what they used to be.
The leather flying jacket, hat and goggles - which had once belonged to her husband, and had flown all over Europe in a Spitfire during world war two - fit her with room to spare. Frank would have a fit if he knew what she was up to. Perhaps he did, though. Sometimes, he unexpectedly dropped by the cottage for a chat.
“Frank,” she said out loud, when she was pushing the heavy bike out of the garage. “You’d better help me with this thing. Our great-grandson’s life is at stake.”
The motor bike kick-started after a couple of backfires, which left sooty black rings in the snow. Millie let the engine run for a while, gazing down at Gabriella, tucked into the depths of the side-car in her sheepskin bed. The angel had lost some of her glow.
Millie ran her hand over the bike’s tank, remembering the summer days of her marriage, when she and Frank had toured the countryside on it. They’d had a wonderful fifty years together. She still missed Frank, even though he’d been gone for several years. These days, marriage didn’t seem to matter much. Millie couldn’t understand why people were reluctant to make a commitment to each other when they were in love - she couldn’t understand it at all.
The handlebars wobbled as she put the bike into gear and moved off in a cloud of smoke. But by the time she’d cleared the village - waving to an astonished vicar who was walking his dog before the early service - she’d gained a little confidence.
The roads were clear of snow, and the traffic was light. The dawn was cold, the air crisp. Soon, Millie’s fingers and feet were numb and her cheeks were glowing scarlet from the cold like a couple of ripe plums.
Behind the curtains of the houses she passed, she imagined children waking to excitedly delve into Christmas stockings. Turkeys would be stuffed and fitted into ovens, port decanted, carols sung and brandy flamed on Christmas puddings decorated with sprigs of holly.
Smoke curled up from chimneys. She waved to everyone she saw, shouting out, “Merry Christmas.” Bursting with seasonal cheer she drove into the hospital grounds and parked her vehicle in a space reserved for the hospital administrator, a Mr Merryweather. It was a name which conjured up a jolly, plump face smiling with benevolence.
Millie had a moment of doubt about Gabriella, who appeared quite spiritless. “Are you all right, my dear? You seem to have run out of sparkle.”
Gabriella gave her a wan smile. “The soul has lost a bit of its lustre. I’m trying to conserve the strength I have left. We should say good-bye now, Mrs Perkins. Don’t let anyone see you when you go to the nursery. Someone might try and stop you.”
“Oh, I thought you’d be spending Christmas with me, to recuperate before your journey home?”
“It’s impossible now, I’m afraid.”
When Millie realised why it was already too late. She’d sleuthed her way into the nursery and was gazing down at her tiny grandson. Born a month early, he was wired up to an extraordinary machine which bleeped rather erratically. He wore a little blue beanie on his head, which was rather sweet, and which brought a lump to her throat. He was totally captivating, and resembled her late husband, Frank, right down to his skinny, wrinkled legs.
She sensed Frank beside her now. “He’s going to make it, you know.”
“Yes, I know, Frank.” She’d seen the miracle herself, the almost imperceptible stream of life that had rippled through his body when Gabriella had anointed him with the soul. The light had grown too bright for her eyes and she’d closed them for a moment.
When she’d opened them again the angel had gone. Millie hoped the silent prayer she’d said for her would reach the right ears.
She and Frank kept watch together as the erratic bleeping of the baby’s heart strengthened. A nurse bustled in, her eyes intent on the monitor. She didn’t seem to notice her and went out again. Then, one tiny clenched fist waved in the air. The baby’s skinny legs quivered and stretched. His eyes opened and she thought she caught a glimpse of Gabriella.
“Thank you, Gabriella,” she said, and smiled.
It was a long journey back, but the cottage was warm and welcoming. Leonardo had become bored with his own company and had knocked a few coloured balls off the lower branches of the tree to amuse himself. She poured herself a well deserved glass of sherry, and was in the process of hanging the balls back on the branches when a laugh tinkled from somewhere above her.
“Gabriella?” She stopped what she was doing and stared at the top of the tree. In place of the dusty fairy Frank had won at the fun-fair several years before, was a tiny glowing angel. It twisted and turned in prisms of light. “Gracious!” she said and stared suspiciously into her glass.
The vicar dropped by later. She sensed he was as alone as she, so she invited him for lunch. She told him about Gabriella, showing him the sheepskin slipper, slightly luminous now, and the angel on top of the Christmas tree as evidence. He didn’t laugh at her, just told her she must be very special to have seen an angel, then went on to ask her about the motor bike.
She told the vicar all about her life with Frank, and allowed him to ride the bike up and down the road. He looked dashing on it. She thought she might bequeath it to him in her will.
She drank rather a lot of sherry that afternoon. So did the vicar - for his voice was slurred at the evening service, which didn’t really matter because most of the congregation had slurred voices as well. So, “While shepherds watched their flocks by night,” irreverently became, “While leopards washed their socks so bright,” it was sung with a great deal of gusto and laughter.
Millie began to giggle. The vicar smiled broadly at everyone, and when the carol was over he said he’d been inspired by the faith of one of his parishioners. He preached a fine sermon about Christmas miracles and angels who watched over newly born babes.
Her daughter rang her later in the evening, and she was jubilant. “The baby’s going to be fine, the specialist said. They’re going to call him Francis after dad, and Samantha and Joe have decided to get married. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Wonderful indeed,” Millie said, knowing nothing else could surprise her this Christmas. As she said to Frank a little later, when she was having one of her private chats with him.
“Who would have imagined a fallen angel would land in my garden at Christmas?”

Christmas Lists

2007-11-29T13:48:00.001-08:00

The nearest it gets to Christmas, the longer my list of things to do seems to grow. Life gets muddled. I’ve been gradually addressing my Christmas cards, overseas ones first. Halfway through the list I forgot to cross the names off, and my helpful husband posted the already addressed cards. Now some people will be getting two because I can’t remember where I stopped on the list.

Since I last wrote I attended an awards luncheon for the West Australian Society of Women Writers. It’s always fun to get together with other writers, and the luncheon was no exception. The Christmassy lunch was expertly cooked and served by a team of young hospitality students, who are offered hands-on cooking experience at an aged pensioners centre, which is an early part of their training as chefs. News items about teenagers are often sad or detrimental to young people as a whole, so it’s good to be reminded that most young folk are decent, hard working citizens that their parents can be proud of. They just never get into the papers. The students at the Roy Edinger centre in Perth are no exception.

At the moment I’m preparing for my departure from Western Australia for England the day after boxing day. Finding warm clothes to wear is a problem, especially as I’m going from one extreme to the other. This visit is to celebrate my mothers 100th birthday, otherwise I wouldn’t be going to a cold climate in January. My mother (photograph above) was the middle child of a family of twelve siblings, the daughter of a fisherman. What an achievement to reach a century in age, imagine the changes that have taken place in that time. She is well looked after by my sister Daphne and her husband Edgar.

The tree is up, the lights are on. I may or may not blog again until after I’m back from my trip. It depends on how long my list, and I want to put some mileage on the book I’ve just started to write. Before Christmas I have a family party for 22, plus a luncheon for five for an English based writer friend who’s doing the reverse trip to mine (we cross paths for one day). So in case I don’t blog until January. A HAPPY CHRISTMAS AND A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR TO ALL!!

Edge of Regret

2007-11-10T17:40:00.000-08:00

As I said a little while ago, my latest novel EDGE OF REGRET has been picked up by Severn House UK for March 30th release. The book is set mostly in Scotland. First in the city of Edinburgh with its beautiful architecture, then on to the breathtaking scenery of the Southern uplands.

I reported the news to Publisher’s Lunch and hey presto! The book has already been mentioned on three or four blogs by lovely people I’ve never met, as well as being advertised for ordering on a couple of sites.

I don’t mind telling you that I had great trouble writing EDGE OF REGRET for reasons that will be obvious if you read my last blog. Grey minds don’t always equate to grey writing. Nevertheless, I heaved a sigh of relief when it was accepted. I’m now looking forward to reading it in book form in an improved state of mind. In the meantime I’m getting on with another book, which will be a contemporary novel rather than my more usual historical novel.

This time of year there is always so much to do. We’ll be hosting a family Christmas party of about 22 people halfway through December. At the moment I’ve only bought gifts for the two youngest members of the family, so a marathon shopping spree is coming up. I love watching the kids faces as they open their gifts. It’s such a pleasure.

Helpful writer's sites and medical

2007-11-08T22:15:00.000-08:00

Thanks Sandi and Luna for your praise and comments. Helpful sites for writers follow.
In the UK. Jacqui Bennet Bureau Writer's sites. Explore Anne Gracie's site and Paula Roe's site

Medical
Over a year ago I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. I had no real symptoms, except those that could be easily be attributed to other causes.

The cancer was found quite by accident. I made my usual yearly visit to the optometrist for a check up. My eyesight hadn’t changed, but he was a bit worried about another aspect of my sight, so sent me to the eye specialist. The symptom I had was quite normal, but the eye specialist thought my carotid arteries were a bit soft.

I reported this my GP who duly send me for a Doppler scan. The arteries were okay, but the Doppler picked up some nodules on my thyroid. More films concentrating on my thyroid, showed a rather large nodule on the left side and some tiny ones on the right. Thyroid nodules as you grow older are fairly common, but I was sent to a specialist as a precaution. Tests indicated that it wasn’t cancer. However, the large nodule could have caused trouble, so it was arranged for the left side of my thyroid to be removed. Halfway through the operation a frozen section would be done to double check it wasn’t cancer. When I woke I was assured that no cancer cells were present. I was sent home.

A few days later the specialist rang to say more tests had been done by a suspicious pathologist and two types of cancer had been found. It was straight back in to have the rest of the thyroid removed. Luckily, both cancers were low grade, which was why they’d been hard to detect. But one type has just begun to invade the vascular system, which meant there was a chance it could have spread. A week ago I had radiation treatment, with no ill effects. The resulting follow up scan and tests show that the cancer hasn’t spread, and the likelihood of it reoccurring is highly unlikely.

I’m given to understand that thyroid cancer effects women more than men, so one of the reasons I’m writing about this is to inform women, and to urge them to get their thyroid gland checked, especially if they get unduly fatigued, or go to extremes of body temperature, such as sudden flushes or coldness. Sinus trouble, difficulty swallowing or a voice that soon becomes husky can also indicate thyroid problems, as can weight gain. For me the symptoms closely resembled menopause, which is what I put them down to. All I can say is, thank goodness for a vigilant optometrist who set the whole chain of events in motion.

This 'n' that

2007-10-12T00:29:00.000-07:00

Today I’m four K lighter than the last time I blogged. It’s nice to discover that my pants no longer cut into the waist.

This week I’ve been handling entries for a contest. It amazes me how many aspiring writers are unable to properly read the rules of entry. There were entries without the entry fee, without the cover sheet, without the pen name. Only one entry was typewritten and blobbed with white-out, something that used to be fairly standard a few years ago. Nobody is perfect, and the odd mistake will always creep through, even in the best intentioned writer’s work. But doesn’t it stand to reason that a clean, well-presented manuscript that follows competition guidelines will signal that the writer cares. A slapdash and scruffily presented one states the opposite. But the more people who buy computers the more the visual standard of competition entries seem to improve. Love those spell-checkers, don’t you?

This week Severn House UK has accepted my sixth novel with them, and my twenty-first book over all. Oh, Joy! There’s nothing quite as affirming for a novelist as an acceptance. The publisher also contracted me for another book with a May deadline. Writing novels is such an uncertain occupation, and it’s good to know I remain employed as an author through to next year. All I need now is an idea and some inspiration!

Book Reviews

2007-09-26T15:58:00.000-07:00

If you think the book jacket is familar, you’re right. It’s been posted on the blog before. But the book has since received three wonderful reviews so I couldn’t resist putting it up again.
I’ve had to edit the reviews to get down to the nitty-gritty, so I hope the reviewers will forgive me for that. And while I’m here, thank you to all the people who write to me. It’s heartening for any writer to learn that their books are being enjoyed by readers.

The Coal Gatherer Top Pick! - Sept 07

Janet Woods sure knows how to cook up a tear jerker. Right from the very start of THE COAL GATHERER I knew that this was going to be a book that I would love. The ending is just superb—I could not have asked for better, and I have decided that I am truly in love with Janet Woods' stories! . . . Kristal Gorman - Romance Reader at Heart.

*****
The Coal Gatherer 4.5 stars - Sept 07

Engrossing, enchanting and written straight from the heart. Janet Woods once again proves herself to be a talented storyteller. Featuring characters so richly drawn that it’s impossible not to care about them, The Coal Gatherer is a novel that is as impossible to put down as it is to forget. Saga addicts will devour Janet Woods’ latest tale in a single sitting . . . Cata Romance - Single titles reviewer - Julie Bonello

*****
The Coal Gatherer

Woods has created an engaging historical novel filled with emotion and starring a memorable heroine . . . American Library Association - Booklist Oct 07 edition.

Do you like limericks?

2007-09-15T15:59:00.000-07:00

The week has been productive. At the start, Australian Woman’s Day magazine has accepted a short story called “Julie and Rex”. This will be my 15th story with the magazine over the years. Having the story accepted put me back into short story mode, so I wrote a second short story and entered that for an anthology.

Doing this delayed the completion of my current book. I have at the moment just over two chapters to go to complete the first draft, and have left the heroine locked in the wine cellar in an uncomfortable and dangerous state. It’s back to rescue her today with the hero being heroic.

Do you like Limericks? I think they’re fun to write. Three follow. They won first prize in a limerick competition a few years ago, and this is the first airing they’ve had since.

There once was a farmer named Worgan
Who liked to play Bach on his organ.
His toccata and fugue
Put in bull in the mood,
And his bellows were heard in Glamorgan.

There was an old woman in Dorset
Who couldn’t climb out of her corset.
She struggled and cursed,
But just made things worse
When she got tangled up on the faucet.

An aerobics instructor once said,
“My legs reach the back of my head.”
But she got in a stew
When she swallowed a shoe
And knocked out her tonsils instead.

Janet Woods © 2007

Blackberry Jam

2007-09-08T16:18:00.001-07:00

It’s autumn. Behind the cottage in Brackstone Wood the mosses are cold and velvety to the touch. The air smells of mould, leaf litter and mushrooms.
‘We may be lucky and see goblins,’ Jessie used to tell her granddaughters when they were small.

Chloe is expected on Thursday. The furniture has been polished, the chair covers - faded blue linen - have been cleaned of cat’s hair.
Cat, for that’s the only name he answers to, is chased to the floor by the roaring maw of the vacuum cleaner. Now a ball of frazzled tabby under the telephone table, his tail moves dust back and forth across the floorboards. ‘There, there,’ I soothe, stooping to tickle his chin, and he comes to purr and weave against my ankles.
The cottage is redolent of lavender, beeswax and countless years.
Chloe brings with her a box of exotic orchids. Her eyes dart towards the teapot, a gaiety of pink roses and gold rims.
‘You shouldn’t use that. It’s an antique.’
‘Grandma has always used it. It belonged to her mother.’
‘If it chips it will lose its value?’
‘Not if it still functions as a teapot.’
The initial skirmish over, Chloe looks away to fuss with the orchids. ‘What shall I do with these? I carried them all the way from Singapore.’
‘Arrange them in a vase while I make us some tea. You know where the scullery is.’
The pipes judder and groan as water is forced through them. Through the kitchen window the garden stretches in a glorious riot of colour towards an overgrown blackberry thicket. Its thorny arms droop with the weight of its fruit.
‘The grass needs mowing,’ Chloe says, needing something to criticise.
‘Josh will be here this afternoon. He’ll do it.’
‘Josh?’
‘You remember Joshua Harrison.’
Chloe flicks a scimitar of dark hair back from her face with a scornful toss of her head. ‘He had a crush on me once. Didn’t he have a sister?’
‘Annie. She married the dairyman. They have a little shop to catch the passing trade and serve cream teas in their conservatory. Grandma sells them blackberry jam.’
Chloe touches the bones of her hips, reassuring herself of their existence. ‘I don’t eat cream. As I recall, Josh never had much ambition.’
I smile at such a notion. ‘He became a doctor.’
Chloe’s long fingers snap the stems of the orchids as she measures them against the brown stone jug used for spring daffodils.
‘That jug is wrong for orchids.’ I fetch a wine carafe bought in the church jumble sale and tell her, ‘Josh is looking forward to meeting you again.’
The exotic beauty of the orchids is out of place in the homely cottage.
‘How’s Richard?’ I ask her.
Silence stretches for a few moments. Richard had driven into their lives in a red sports car. He’d stayed a week, a man so handsome and exciting I could hardly draw a solid breath when I’d looked at him. But he’d come with a price I hadn’t wanted to pay. He’d turned his sights on Chloe. She’d left with him, the dreams in her eyes replaced by a grim reality.
My sister’s suffering shows in her face, so I kiss her cheek. Chloe expects such gestures and allows a pensive sigh to escape. ‘Richard shouts at me, and he has affairs.’ Her voice breaking, Chloe comes into my arms and we hold each other tight.
I wish I didn’t love Chloe quite so much as I murmur, ‘He’s not worth it . . . you’re better off without him.’
‘Oh, I’m not, I’m not!’ she cries, pushing me away. ‘You’ve always been jealous because he picked me instead of you.’
Space thickens between us. The kettle on the hob begins to sing, the lid rattles and steam spouts. The sun moves a fraction, sending a beam of light through the dusty window. Dust motes dance inside it.
‘Remember when grandma used to stir them with her hand and say, “Fairies, girls. Watch them twirl and dance.” ’
As if thinking of the old lady brings her forth a quavering call comes from the sitting room. ‘Has Chloe arrived yet?’
Rump in the air, Cat claws the rag rug into untidy ridges. Soon, he’ll pay his visit to the sitting room. He knows which windowsill the sun will shine on at any given time of day.
‘Why don’t you take grandma the flowers and have a chat with her,’ I suggest. ‘I’ll join you with some tea, shortly.’
Chloe glides off on tortured feet, looking as deceptively delicate as a reed in the wind. Her hair is drawn back, her dark bun tied with a velvet ribbon. Elfin eyes dart this way and that. White chiffon drifts over blushing satin.
‘I’ve brought you some flowers, Grandma,’ Chloe says brightly.
‘How lovely they are, my dear. What are they?’
‘Orchids, they grow like weeds in Singapore.’ I imagine Chloe giving a shrug.
‘It’s wonderful to see you. How pretty you look in that dress.’
‘It’s an old thing I bought in Paris last year.’
My own outfit is sensible, a blue-checked blouse hanging loosely over jeans. Careless curls spring against my smoothing palms.
Cat strolls by, does a pirouette before crabbing sideways on his way to the sitting room.
I tell him, ‘In case you’ve got grand ideas, there’s no room for another prima ballerina in the family. I found that out the hard way.’
‘Is she looking after you properly?’ Chloe whispers as, timing it nicely, Cat slides swiftly through the closing door.
Later, I take the tea tray through, setting it on the table without a flicker of the annoyance I feel. ‘Perhaps you’d like to pour the tea, Chloe.’
‘This teapot is an antique, you should be careful with it, Grandma?’ Chloe points out, taking a firm grasp of the handle.
‘It belonged to my mother.’ Grandma turns away from Chloe to exchange a smile with me. ‘The blackberries need picking if we’re to have some jam this season.’
‘I’ve planned it for this afternoon. Josh will help me. Perhaps Chloe can give us a hand.’
Chloe yawns. ‘I’ll probably take a nap after lunch.’

It’s the afternoon. The air smells of Indian summer and cut grass. French widows, peeling white paint and framed by wisteria, open to the patio, where yellow daisies and purple alyssum grow amongst the cracked grey flagstones.
Grandma is seated on her chair inside the door, a position from where she used to watch us play as children. Song birds flutter down to peck at the crumbs she scatters.
Josh’s voice is quiet against my ear, but there’s an element of anger in it. ‘There’s nothing more I can do for Jessie. She left it too late.’
Tears prick my eyes and he draws me against his chest to kiss the top of my head. Dearest Josh, always my friend. More than that now.
I touch his cheek. ‘Let’s get these damned berries picked. Grandma is determined to make a batch of blackberry jam this year.’
His lips graze gently against mine. ‘I love you,’ he says and my heart melts with the unexpected joy of being told.
‘Hi, Josh.’ Chloe’s voice is husky. Framed by the window, her body gleams in a white leotard and tights. Long, supple thighs support her arms which, in turn, supports her chin. Her hair tumbles darkly and a rose glows red against her cheek.
Josh sucks in a breath.

The cauldron of jam bubbles and spits, an aroma of sugar and fruit fills the house. Glass jars stand to attention, a cane basket holds labels, waxed circles and frilled covers.
Chloe is petulant. ‘I’ve always hated this smell. I think I’ll drop into the surgery. Josh might take me for a spin.’
‘A nice lad, is Josh,’ Grandma says from her vantage point in the rocking chair. Chloe mutters something under her breath as she drifts away in a haze of discontent.
‘You’d better put those jars to warm.’ Jars in the oven . . . watch the pan doesn’t go off the boil . . . don’t burn yourself. Jam coats the back of the spoon.
My fingers stain purple. Grandma tastes my offering and nods. ‘Best jam I ever made.’
Ten minutes later the jars are gowned in their frills.
I haven’t seen grandma so well for a long time. Chloe’s visit has done her good. I’ve never missed a season yet,’ she says. ‘Allow the jars to cool before you move them, my love.’
‘You must be tired. Go back to the sitting room and I’ll bring you a cup of tea.’
She gives me an old-fashioned hug after I’ve helped her up, one usually reserved for arrivals and departures. ‘I’ll have a little nap first. Give mother’s teapot a good scrub, would you? Chloe seems to set quite a store by it. She can take it with her.’
Cat follows grandma into the sitting room. Ten minutes later he returns to offer me a dubious meow.
The sitting room smells of dead orchids.

Richard arrives in the middle of Chloe’s hysterics. She leaps into his embrace, as graceful as a gazelle. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve had a dreadful time of it and I’ve missed you so much.’
Richard looks suitably worshipped. ‘I came as soon as I was able,’ he tells her. Pinching her upper arm he shrieks. ‘Oh, my God... flab!’
Chloe pouts.
Richard turns to gaze at me, his smile neon. ‘You resemble Chloe so you must be her sister, Miss...um...’
‘Eve,’ I tell him. ‘We met before, when I was little more than a child.’
‘Ah...yes. Didn’t you dance, too?’
‘She wasn’t good enough and you chose me,’ Chloe snaps. ‘Besides, someone had to stay and look after grandma.’
I grin like an idiot, thankful for small mercies.
‘Is there a will?’ Chloe suddenly demands to know.
‘Grandma had nothing to leave.’
The elfin eyes harden. ‘The cottage must be worth a bit.’
‘She sold it, long ago.’
‘Sold it? To whom? What did gran do with the money?’
Telling her will be sweet. ‘Josh bought the cottage so grandma could pay for your dancing expenses over the years.’
Chloe goes quiet.
‘Your sister and I will live here when we marry,’ Josh tells her, then grins self-consciously.
I always knew his proposal wouldn’t be romantic, but my smile tells him he’s worked it out to our mutual satisfaction.
I remember the teapot and sense an opportune time to hand it to the simmering Chloe. ‘Grandma wanted you to have this. Take some blackberry jam with you too, if you like.’
‘You know I hate blackberry jam. The stuff is so bloody provincial.’
‘Up to you, of course. I’m going for a walk up through the woods. Coming, anyone?’
The only taker is Josh, who fetches my jacket from the hook by the door.
There’s a crash just after we leave, as if the teapot has been thrown at the wall - as if Chloe discovered that removing the stains had revealed the crack in the spout.
I’m going to miss the old teapot.

It’s a glorious autumn. Leaves rustle in the breeze, drift down from the trees and crunch under our feet. The undergrowth is peppered with glowing chestnuts. Then we are out in the open. Ahead of us is a stretch of shining sea where gulls wheel on silver wings.
My eulogy is short. ‘Thank you for the home you made for me, and for Chloe. Enjoy your wings, Grandma. I’ll miss you.’
Her ashes are sent journeying on the wind.
Josh takes my hand in his. ‘Perhaps she’ll make it to New York in time for the ballet season.’
‘I hope she returns in time for our wedding.’ I kiss his cheek, loving him as he draws me into his arms. ‘I do love you, Josh. Let’s go back home.’
‘Scones and blackberry jam for tea?’ he says, and smiles when I nod.

An up and down week

2007-09-07T00:54:00.000-07:00

It’s been an up and down week. To start with I had a flurry of lovely letters from readers, which meant I had just as many to write in return. Luckily, the letters are usually brief and to the point. Readers letters seem to come in bunches rather than being evenly spaced. Usually they’re pleasant and complimentary. I’ve only had two that haven’t been, and one of those was downright insulting and rude. It’s tempting to be rude in reply when it’s clear people have set out to provoke you. I don’t see the point of giving strangers the satisfaction of getting what they’re aiming for - a slanging match. I’ve got better things to do with my time. On Tuesday I started my writing day by spilling a cup of tea into my keyboard and over the desk. Three days later it’s dried out and in good working order again. I had a two short story acceptances this week, one for inclusion in an anthology the other for a popular womens' magazine. I’ve also written another short story this week, instead of getting on with my novel, which I temporarily abandoned when I ran into a problem. I find that if I do something else in the meantime my brain will come up with a solution, as it has on this occasion. I like writing short stories, so writing two one after the other was a nice little feast. But now it’s back to my novel.

Cleaning the office

2007-09-01T16:33:00.000-07:00

September already. Here in Australia we’ve just gone into spring, and the plane trees in the area where I live are beginning to grow their leaves, which at the moment are a tender and delicate shade of green. As befitting spring, this week I’ve learned that there’s to be a welcome addition to our extended family.

Yesterday I reached the three-quarter mark of the book I’m working on. It has the working title of “Amber Rose”, after the main character - though that might change. Three-quarters is an important milestone. The first quarter of a book is fairly easy to write when you are racing ahead to establish plot, motivation, and getting to know your characters. The second quarter is slightly slower, when secondary characters and subplots are being introduced, as well as the main plot being carried forward. Then comes the third quarter. This is where the writing tends to fall flat if it’s going to. I really slow down at his stage and sometimes it becomes a chore to find ways to keep the excitement up. So this is where I finished yesterday. Poised on top of the hill.
Now I’m going to have a short rest to get my second wind. Since it’s fathers day here, I’ll leave my dusty cave at the end of the house and become a human being and welcome my family when they come to visit dad. Then tomorrow (and Monday has always been my favourite day) I’ll start the race downhill to the finish, weaving the subplots together, solving the conflicts and tying all the ends together, slotting everything together like a jigsaw puzzle.
After that I’ll deflate with a sigh of relief, look round my office and see the dust that’s accumulated during the writing of this book. Then I’ll don my domestic goddess hat, pick up my duster and set to work, cleaning up after the last lot of imaginary visitors and getting ready to welcome the next.
Odd, but I can’t seem to set to and clean my office when I’m writing a book. Likewise I can’t start a new book until my office is clean and tidy.

2007-08-24T15:38:00.001-07:00

Again this week I’ve done work outside of my office, travelling to the Katherine Susannah Prichard writing centre in Greenmount, which is a 35 minute drive from where I live. Odd to think that I’ve been writing for 20 years and have never visited this little country cottage where one of Australia’s most famous writers used to live. There, I addressed a creative writing class, where my book BROKEN JOURNEY was dissected and discussed. Amazing how 3 hours can pass so quickly in pleasant company.

BROKEN JOURNEY, which was released early this year by Severn House UK is basically a love story between Jilly and Alec. It begins in 1944 towards the end of the second world war, when the main characters are children. From there it weaves the journey their lives take over 40 years, a journey where their friendship being threatened by distance, and the love that grows when they’re brought together again. Threaded through is the trauma of the birth of Jilly’s first child, who she was forced to give up for adoption, and the subsequent reunion that eventually takes place. Booklist, the journal of the American Library Association, reviewed it thus: “Woods gives readers a sweet and gentle story about lonely souls overcoming adversity.”

2007-08-16T15:35:00.000-07:00

It’s been an interesting week. Last weekend I was one of the resident authors on the Romance Writers of Australia, online conference. It was busy in the chat room, with writing questions being fired at me from near and far. Hard to keep up with them, let alone answer them with any great wisdom or thought. It was good fun though, and it was nice to catch up with fellow writers online - especially those who couldn’t attend the “real” conference in Melbourne, where there was a line up of romance writing stars like Jennifer Crusie and Anne Stuart.

Since then I’ve been scrambling to get going with my current book, which is a historical romance, catch up with answering readers letters, and with friends.
Yesterday I had lunch with former critique partners Wendy Evans, who was a journalist before she took up fiction writing, and Sharon Milburn, Sharon writes in the regency genre, and has two books published. Her latest is published by Cerridwen Press, is titled CAPTAIN’S LADY and is gathering a plethora of good reviews. I can personally recommend this book, which is available online from Book Depository postage free to anywhere in the world, at the moment.

Introduction

2007-08-09T01:20:00.001-07:00

Hi, I’m Janet Woods. I was born and raised in Dorset UK. I’m a novelist and I live in Western Australia. This blog is to mostly showcase my latest books, but I hope to chat now and again about anything that takes my fancy.

I usually alternate between saga and historical romance. Both showcased books are sagas. One set in Dorset, the other near West Hartlepool in Durham, where my mother was born. I wrote the “The Coal Gatherer” as a tribute to her for her upcoming 100th birthday early in the new year.

My previous publications can be found on my web site: http://members.iinet.net.au/~woods

2007-08-09T00:36:00.000-07:00

The Convict’s Woman
Janet Woods
Simon & Schuster - Pocket Books
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-0253-1
ISBN-10: 1-4165-0253-X
August 07: £6.99

The Convict’s Woman.

Framed for a crime he didn’t commit and sentenced to seven years’ transportation, former stable lad Seb Cornish returns to his Dorset home with old scores to settle. Above all, he seeks revenge against the young girl who unwittingly betrayed him all those years before.

Amanda Lapsly is now a beautiful young woman, but impoverished and without protection. Her vulnerability attracts Seb. To obtain the vengeance he seeks, he must win her trust - and her hand in marriage. But Amanda has already been promised to one man – while her heart belongs to another.

Will Amanda fall for Seb’s trap? Three men desire her - but only one can offer her unconditional love. Will she make the right choice?

The Coal Gatherer

2007-08-09T00:12:00.002-07:00

THE COAL GATHERER
Janet Woods
Severn House Ltd
ISBN: 987-0-7278-6546-5
Hardcover
Price: £18.99
Aug 30th 07

This is an engrossing saga set in the North East of Victorian England. As the sixth of Mary Ingram’s surviving children, Calandra - known as Callie - determines from an early age that she will not follow in her beloved mother’s footsteps. Married into a fisherman’s family near Hartlepool, Mary’s life is one of hard work, unrelenting poverty and narrow horizons.

One day, whilst gathering sea coal at the water’s edge, Callie meet Patricia Lazurus and her brother James. Though their backgrounds are very different - the Lazurus children’s great-uncle, with whom they are staying, is a lawyer - a friendship is forged that will last for ever. When Great-Uncle Harold offers Callie the post of companion to Patricia, it is the first step in her journey to a better life...and lasting love.