The definition of crazy.

Just received this update on views on my blog in the past month. This is absolutely mental and I am beyond grateful. Every single person who has taken the time to read my little story has meant so much, in theory I am sending it off to agencies sometime this week.

Please continue to share my blog with others who might like it :) If everyone who reads it shares it with two people, it would be phenomenal!

Thanks again and love to you all x

Why I love reading...

On a journey back to Coventry in which I, unfortunately, am not the driver, so thought I would wile away the time thinking about reading.

I've always been a reader. My Mum loves to tell an anecdote of me when I came out of my first day of school. Apparently I told her that I wanted to teach people to read and write one day. At the age of 25 on the brink of my 5th year as an English teacher, it strikes me as funny that I managed to do exactly what the 5 year old me wanted.

Reading really is my life, and I don't mean that in an over sentimentalised schmaltzy kind of way. I mean it truly is part of me. I'm always reading at least one books. At some times, I am reading more. I don't really believe in book monogamy. I mean there are some books you have to devote yourself to heart and soul. But some... Well some just feel more like flings than serious commitment.

I digress... The best part about reading is the sense of calm it brings. The moment when you are wrapped up in the blanket of a life you've never lived, a world you've never experienced with words you wish you had written. When I read a really good book, one that brings chills so vivid that no fire can warm me (to paraphrase Emily Dickinson) I feel totally at ease. It doesn't matter that my car might need fixing, or that there's some kind of family emergency or even that a pile of marking is sitting on my desk. No. When I'm reading, time stops and to quote another book, I become infinite.

So when somebody says to me that they don't like reading, it stabs me. Like actually wounds me, because I just feel so much pity for that person. To live only one life in one world. To miss out on all those experiences. To miss that spread of serenity that creeps over you as you assume the character of another.

My only wish is that one day, my book is an escape for somebody else too...

The Cafe scene. Meet Faye...(and more Lee of course!) The last snippetyou're getting for a long while...

It was only as Rosie left, that Faye became acutely aware that she was being watched. It was an odd feeling. Faye was used to being inconspicuous, save for the occasional jibe made at her in the corridor at school. She certainly had not been invisible earlier. Feeling the hairs on the back of her arms standing on end, she tentatively raised her eyes to meet another pair. They were russet,with an odd metallic glint as if glitter lingered in the irises. She quickly looked away, feeling as though she was far too exposed. The sound of a cup being placed on the table, and the smile in Rosie’s voice as Rosie told her that she hoped that she enjoyed it, signalled to her that it was safe to look up. Leaning forward, she inhaled the rich scent of cocoa and closed her eyes.For the first time that day, she felt calm and level headed.

‘Mind if I join you?’ a sleek rich voice questioned. Faye’s eyes snapped open at the sound of a stranger’s voice. Faye raised her eyes, peering up over the lenses of her glasses and was momentarily caught off guard. Those eyes, back again,were staring into hers awaiting a response. On any other day, these smoky quartz irises might have stunned her into silence, but not today. She was too far past the point of caring to notice their unique glamour.

‘Whatever,’she gestured to the seat with bitter sarcasm. Before he could take a seat, she forced herself to move her struck eyes from his striking face down over the rest of his body. He was well-dressed, so clearly someone with money. The cut of his black tight jeans seemed like they had been painted onto him, hugging his legs perfectly. His shirt was equally well-tailored .Under the glare of the café’s fluorescent lights, it was hard to decipher the exact colour. In some places, where the light avoided, it seemed to be black, yet in the aspects where the bright light illuminated it, she was sure she could detect a roya lpurple glimmer. Nevertheless, it suited him, contrasting with his pale skin. He had opened the top two buttons, allowing the base of his throat to be exposed and for Faye to peek at the silver chain wrapped around it on which hung a small round pendant. Before she could look closer, he purposefully coughed and her eyes darted down to the table in embarrassment.

Nonchalantly,he slid into the opposite booth, placing his own cup of steaming black coffee on the dirty table. Great, she might actually have to make conversation now that she had completely humiliated herself. He must have thought she was a hormonal teenager, she fretted.

‘Sorry for disturbing your revelry,’ he began with equal amounts of sarcasm. ’but you seemed like you could do with someone to talk to.’ His voice softened at the end of his sentence and she saw genuine concern frame his burnished eyes.

‘Yeah,I guess…’ Faye automatically softened her brusque attitude in response to him.It was strange; never had she been talked out of a mood so quickly. ‘The world and I are not really friends today.’ Her shoulders shrugged, attempting to heave the burden of the day off her shoulders, and onto somebody else.

He laughed without humour ‘Tell me about it. It seems like I’m in a daily battle with it. Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.’ He looked her dead in the eye as he spoke. It unnerved her.

‘Don’t let the bastards grind you down? The problem is they keep trying every single day.Do you ever feel like putting your sword down and surrendering to them all?’Faye visibly relaxed, and before she could rein herself in, she had slouched her body language and allowed the corners of her lips to curve into an ironic smile. He didn’t reply at first, sipping his coffee. Cautiously, Faye began to allow her eyes to survey his face properly. Apparently, this man had more to him than just a set of eyes. He seemed older than her- about 19, yet despite his youth there was something old about him. He had perfectly defined cheekbones, as any self respecting stranger would, and a smatter of stubble around his thin lips. A halo of tawny curls adorned his porcelain skin, hanging slightly longer than normal because of the rain, she surmised.

The silence lingered, and Faye began to feel an awkward sense of discomfort creeping through her.

Re-drafted Prologue

Based on the invaluable feedback of my target audience book group, I have made a couple of changes to the Prologue of the novel below. What do we think of the new version? Is it better?

Prologue

‘Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed 
 In one self-place; for where we are is hell, 
  And where hell is, there must we ever be.’

(Doctor Faustus. Christopher Marlowe.)

Hell isn’t what people say it is. I remember going to ‘Sunday School’ when I was younger and being told that it was heat, pain, fire and torture. They got it half right.

Hell isn’t under the ground either. In the films, you see zombie-like arms pushing through the ground as a screaming victim is dragged down to its murky depths. It isn’t like that either; more like stepping into the next room, albeit a room that you didn’t know existed. A flash of ultraviolet light. A portal in the air. A living portal. One which moves and swells, swallowing up the room around you, swallowing up you.

When the hour struck and he came to retrieve me, a ferocious cold snapped at me. I thought my bones would shatter into a million fragments, and then slip through my fingers like gold dust. Tentacles of ice slithered and snaked their way around my ankles, my wrists, my neck… Where each feeler grasped at my skin, obsidian crystals began to form. Tiny clusters of these grain-like crystals meandered their way over my limbs, tracking the veins as they ruthlessly made their way to my heart. I didn’t scream and wail, like I should have. The contract had been signed in my tears. I had made the deal. I was his.

An ashen blue flicker. I know; you would expect reds and oranges and yellows, flames which lick at the carbonated air, emanating blasts of heat and sending plumes of smoke into the atmosphere. The mixture of blues, purples and silver fog the air, creating a dull sheen between your eyes and what is in front of you. The mist is the only thing down there to remind you that you can breathe at all, even if the air itself is clammy and scented like maple syrup. Scented like death.

When he took my shaking hand and led me deeper into the cavernous tunnels ahead of us, I was not afraid.  I knew what I had signed up for and the surprising thing was, I wanted it.  My feet scraped over hard rocks and debris on the ground and where the mist was thickest around my feet, I felt a tickling sensation.

Surprisingly, hell is not dark. Like the brightest of all angels who created it, its incandescent light filled the tunnels as we ventured into them. A light so blinding, it made it impossible to see what was ahead, or what you had left behind. We suddenly came to an abrupt halt and he turned around. Taking both hands in mine, he brushed his thumb across my palm and I shivered.

When he looked into the depths of my eyes and told me it was time, I allowed it to happen. I wanted it. I needed it. I wasn’t dragged down to hell; I volunteered.

The joys of editing

After a week back at work and a sudden return to reality, I am starting to feel like writing the book was the easy part. The chapters, the characters, the events, and to some extent, even the words came easily in comparison to this new stage. Editing.

As a writer you feel this strange attachment to creative work. Like if someone criticises a part of your work, they are actually criticising a part of you. Or your child... I know this is something I am going to need to deal with. Brutal honesty, though harsh, is necessary in order to ensure any degree of success with this book. Not even necessarily publishing success, rather any success in terms of pride and accomplishment.

There are simple challenges: typing errors being one. Once work has 'gone cold', so to speak, I can print it out and spell check it like I would a pupil's piece of coursework. The problem then comes with the larger details. Is my characterisation right? Do my vocabulary choices match my audience? Do I repeat certain words or phrases? Have I described the setting well enough? Are the plot developments convincing? All these questions can form a bit of a middle in the mind, threatening to over cloud that initial enthusiasm and confidence you had for writing in the first place.

I know that editing is going to be a long process. I know that it will be a drawn out process where I will need to draft, redraft and then redraft again. I just need to keep the faith I have in the story I have written and hope that it captures the imagination of people. Everything else is just perseverance and time.

If anyone has any editing advice/tips I would appreciate any help.

Thanks, Stace

Writing Playlist

So I discovered that my love of music not only manifests itself in my house/car/office at work to help me concentrate. Music also played a massive part in writing. There were certain parts of the book where I was struggling to put the emotion I wanted into words and music really helped put me in the right mood/frame of mind.

I've split the playlists down into the two main protagonists. Each song relates to a key part of the novel, and once the book is out and about, I'll let you know which bit correlates to each part.

Faye.

Angels-The xx
Cosmic Love-Florence and the Machine
Make Me Wanna Die- The Pretty Reckless
Explosions-Ellie Goulding
Ignorance-Paramore
Judas-Lady Gaga
Feeling Good-Muse
Always Attract- You Me At Six
Radioactive-Imagine Dragons
Starry eyed- Ellie Goulding
Weak- Skunk Anansie
Shelter-Birdy
Up In The Air-30 Seconds to Mars
When You Want Something You Can't Have-Courteeners
Born to die-Lana Del Rey



Lee.
God and Satan -Biffy Clyro
Heaven-Hurts
Lost in Paradise- Evanescence
Running Up That Hill-Placebo
Flaws-Bastille
Crashland- Twin Atlantic
Stellify- Ian Brown
S and M- Rihanna
New York- Snow Patrol
Sweet Dreams (Are made of this)- Marilyn Manson
Smother-Daughter


Hope you enjoy!

How does it sound as soundtracks go?
Stacy

Over

Lost Glory is now finished. I have officially written a whole book during my Easter Holidays :)