Today I’m on the ‘Whisper to Me’ blogtour, organised by Rachel’s Random Resources.
To promote this book I have a guest post written by its author, Sherrie Lowe, but b
About the Author :
I am a divorced mum of two adult sons and nana to three grandchildren, soon to be four. I’ve always had a notion to write but didn’t get round to it seriously until I became ill with M.E in 1995 when I was 40 and was too ill to continue my job as a learning support assistant in a mainstream high school. I was devastated to have to resign from my job but writing saved my sanity. My first attempt was a memoir, Shadow Across the Sun which covered the loss of my mum to breast cancer two days before my 13th birthday. When the rejections began to flow in from traditional publishers and agencies I joined a creative writing class and learned to write fiction. Whisper to Me is my 10th novel. I have a strong belief in the afterlife due to events following my mum’s death so most of my stories have some form of supernatural aspect to them.
A new wife and a vengeful ghost. Not a good mix.
Letitia – Tish – Stanyer makes husband Theo promise never to remarry if she dies and he complies just to pacify her. She isn’t going to die.
She does – and he does remarry. Tish isn’t happy. Her spirit cannot rest with another woman in her domain, sampling the delights of her husband. Theo belongs to her – Sheena will have to go.
Guest Post :
My Writing Rituals
What are my writing rituals? Hmm. I’d like to say I’m a disciplined writer but sadly I’m not. My writing discipline is like the road to Hell in the adage, paved with good intentions. I envy people who can set aside so many hours at certain times of the day and actually get something creative done. My creativity decides when it wants to come out of hiding and no amount of coaxing if it doesn’t want to come out and play will encourage it to.
At one time I found that I could settle down to write in the morning after breakfast but then other happenings in the day took over: the post would arrive and need dealing with, a parcel would be delivered, the window cleaner would appear, then as I got to a point when I needed a gardener to mow my lawns as I became unable to do them myself – I suffer from M.E/C.F.S – all these events took place up until lunchtime and knocked the writing on the head.
With my health problem if I’m going to have a reasonable day where I can get out to the local shop, that is just after lunch. The morning writing routine withered and died. Now the disciplined part has to come when I’ve completed all chores, all errands and can clear the afternoon and my head to allow my characters to roam free. Easy you might think, but no, social media calls. Before I can settle to write I must check Facebook, Twitter, emails, only then can I begin.
I prefer to write with pen and paper first before tidying it up on the computer, that is how my creativity flows best, there seems to be some connection for me between my brain and the pen, the physical act of writing. I always used to love writing stories at school, composition it was called back in the day. Sitting with my laptop on my knee staring at the screen my character and scene creation is dead and I would just sit wearing a vacant expression as if viewing an alien object. That’s not to say I don’t sit staring out of the window chewing my pen looking for some form of stimulation for that elusive creativity or an even more elusive metaphor.
I have two almost unfailing modes of inspiration, again only when my brain wants to play but they are in my dreams or that early morning time when we’re neither awake nor asleep. The other time is when I’m in the bath. I’m Pisces, a water sign so I feel there must be a connection. It’s not an image I’d like the reader to dwell on, think words instead, but there have been some spectacular scenes and conversations that have swirled around my head as the steam has risen from the hot water and I’ve had to write them down quickly as soon as I’ve got out. Many a good chapter has developed from a scented soak, but I think the best scene must have been Billy’s dream in The Author, The Gardener and The Woman What Does.
It came to me in a dream. It was a summer morning so it was light, just before I awoke and although I was dreaming it, in my dream Billy was dreaming it and it was a sensual, quite erotic dream about two women in his life merging into one. He awoke with a start, as did I, he to take a shower, me to grab one of my ubiquitous pens and notepads to write it down before it evaporated with the dawn mist.
Here it is if you’d like a look. http://phoenix-hello.blogspot.com/2016/11/billys-dream.html
I’d like to say I was disciplined in my writing but my creativity prefers my bath and my dreams.
The Magic Of Wor(l)ds