Last Roll of the Dice

It grieves me to have to write something so depressing at this time of year when the rest of the world is pissing it up and celebrating an imaginary old guy with a white beard and natty red suit when they should be remembering the birth of Christ. But Hey Ho, that’s the way humanity rolls these days.

I’ll cut quickly to the chase.

My 8^th novel is completed, well, first draft anyway. The problem is that I am tired and in pain and feeling utterly dejected as a writer. I made the classic mistake, when I first self-published of thinking that my work would sell in great numbers; how foolish and naïve I was.

Let me tell you the God’s honest truth – If anyone ever tells you it’s easy being a writer or an author they are clearly lying and they themselves are neither of those things. It’s a bloody hard slog to write a 90,000+ word book, a harder one to edit and perfect it and an even harder one still to try and sell the damn thing. And I just don’t have the wherewithal to carry on banging my head against the wall for no return.

So, here’s the deal.

Over the next couple of months, I’m going to finish editing and preparing that 8^th one for publication. It’s a cracking story and the cover, as I’ve mentioned before, is unfeasibly fantastic. I’ll then do my best to promote it for six months and if I still find myself in the situation where I am now, vis-à-vis not selling any books, then I’m knocking it all on the head. I can’t kid myself any longer and I don’t have the physical capability to do so either.

This book is the last roll of the dice.

Sorry to be such a killjoy at Christmas but I’m on my last legs here.

I Want to Shout it from the Rooftops!!!

Just a quick blog post today. I had a minor hospital procedure yesterday and I still feel a bit sluggish from the sedative (Fentanyl) so please forgive the shortness of this post.

But here we go!

I’ve never hidden the fact that my granddaughter, Erin, is utterly fabulous. You may think it’s an obvious thing for a grandad to say and you’d be right of course. But today she has once again showed her fabulousness, and how.

You may recall me saying that I’d asked Erin to create the cover art for the next novel as she is the most accomplished teenage artist you ever came across. Well, today she presented me with the artwork and I am completely bowled over by it.

I knew she’d do a great job but it’s even better than I could have ever hoped for. It is without doubt the best cover of one of my books yet. I’m not just blowing smoke when I say that; I believe it from my heart.

I feel as if I want to show it to everyone and shout from the rooftops (as the title of this post suggests) about how brilliant it is and honestly, you’d be the same. But to reveal it now would spoil the surprise. I haven’t quite finished the first draft yet and I don’t like giving too much away too soon.

But take it from me it is utterly wonderful and you’re going to love it. It’s a bit of a departure from the usual Blessham covers and I’m giving serious thought to asking Erin if she will help me redesign them all, with the exception of The Pheasants Revolt, which Erin’s mum created and which I love. But the others could certainly do with looking at from a fresh perspective and I don’t think there is anyone else but Erin who I would give the task to.

Erin gets me you see. We have always had such a laugh together and I consider her to be not only my granddaughter but also one of my very best friends. I always knew she had talent as she was always doodling away at an early age. One of my proudest possessions is a scribbly but lovingly done drawing in biro on a sheet of pink paper that she presented to me on my birthday when she was only five years old. Yes, I still have it and would never part with it.

Since those early forays into drawing she has progressed into a gifted illustrator and is now employed as a tattoo artist. That’s a job that takes a lot of skill and even more bottle to do. I’ve said before that I’d never have a tattoo but that if I ever change my mind then Erin gets the job without a qualm.

I gave Erin only the briefest outline of what I wanted for this book cover and she has produced something that any self-respecting author would be proud to have on the front of one of their tomes.

Damn it I wish I could show you it. But the time just isn’t right yet.

The Ingleby Problem

I’ve been scratching my head for some time now as to what to do about Ingleby, the fictitious town where 3 of my novels are based. Those novels, of course, being:

The Ghost of Lenton Wattingham

Mutch Wants Moor

Vole

If you haven’t read them yet then I would urge you to do so at the earliest possible convenience. They’re all full of dark humour and are thumping good reads that take an introspective look at the seedier side of life.

So why have I been scratching my head?

In short, I think the Ingleby novels have run out of steam. Or is it me that’s run out of steam for the Ingleby novels? May I beg a few moments of your time whilst I elaborate? Thank you.

When I independently published my first novel – Ah Boy! – in 2019 I had already got the plan for a full series of books starring the central character, Joe Wilkie. But at the time, I didn’t want to pigeonhole myself and just write in one particular style and felt it best to branch out into other literary worlds. That’s when the idea for Ingleby came about.

I saw my writing career going as thus – A Blessham/Joe Wilkie novel followed by an Ingleby novel and repeat the cycle.

The thing is, as time has progressed and with my development as a writer, I’m just not “feeling” the Ingleby thing anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as proud as a peacock with those three books and many people have told me how they think Mutch Wants Moor is the best book I’ve written to date and I’m somewhat inclined to agree.

However, I had begun work on another Ingleby novel over two years ago. It was the follow up to Mutch Wants Moor featuring the adorable Archie and Aggie Stone and their canal boat Orca. I had actually got 15 chapters into it and for some reason, which I can’t fully explain, I just stalled. Came to an abrupt halt. I didn’t know where to go with it. I’d driven it down a literary cul-de-sac and couldn’t turn around.

Here’s what I think happened.

Over the last 6 years of being an independent author, I’ve come to realise that Joe Wilkie and the village of Blessham is where I’m happiest writing about. I think Joe has really developed into such a well-rounded character and those stories are so much fun to write. To be honest with you, I wasn’t having very much fun with that abandoned Ingleby novel.

I’m firmly entrenched in that particular camp that says if you don’t enjoy writing then you shouldn’t really be doing it in the first place. And I wasn’t enjoying writing that one. It just didn’t have the same flair, pace and joie de vivre that its predecessor had and I was finding it hard to recapture all that.

Henceforth, I shelved it and turned my focus back onto Blessham. Note the word “shelved” in that sentence; I’m a firm believer in the phrase “Never say never.” It may come to fruition at some point in the future. But for now, it remains unfinished.

I’m now a mere 4 chapters from finishing the first draft of the new Blessham novel and I am having a mountain of fun in doing so. I swear I haven’t enjoyed writing this much since The Pheasants Revolt, back in 2020/21. My imagination is running more riotous than a large group of poll tax protesters and ideas are just tumbling out of me like last nights kebab. I’m having a blast.

Also, and I’m sorry if this sounds like bragging, but I’ve been gifted a new computer by my amazing and generous in-laws the Morgan Family. It’s an absolute beast of a machine which was formerly used for gaming so you can probably guess how powerful and fast it is. I love my old laptop and it served me well for 11 years but it’s starting to show it’s age a little (like all of us) and running rather slow and I think it’s time to retire the old girl.

This new machine though is so fast and efficient that I can write around 1300 words an hour or more. Something I couldn’t do on Propane Elaine (my laptop’s name, don’t ask).

So, here’s where I’m now at. The Ingleby novels will henceforth become the Ingleby Trilogy until such times as I return to them in the dim and distant future. I’m going to focus the bulk of my attention on getting some more Wilkie books written so that there is a lengthy series for readers to immerse themselves in and I desperately need to be so much more proactive and creative with the marketing of my books as well. I don’t invest anywhere near enough time in doing that.

And I think my books are well worth promoting.

I also have a couple of other irons in the fire, one of which is an anthology of my non-novel scribblings from this blog and Substack etc and there’s a new character I’ve been playing about with in my head which I’m slowly developing for when I eventually do need to take a break from Blessham, which is bound to happen at some point.

So sincere apologies if you prefer my Ingleby books. Like I said, I most likely will return to that townful of reprobates at some point in the future, but for my own career’s sake I need to focus on Mr Wilkie and Co for now.

September

Yes, it is a strange title for a blog post written in October. The thing is, there were no Blessham Hall blog posts at all in the ninth month of the year and here we are, a quarter of the way through the tenth. Call me Slacker!

Actually, I’ve not been that slack since the last post on August 28^th. I’ve worked on the next novel, getting it up to 12 chapters (or two thirds if you prefer) and its looking pretty good.

But for another thing, I took two weeks holiday in Ireland from September 15th to 29^th and if that sounds like slacking off then you’re wrong. I’m a great one for believing in investing in yourself and that’s what I did over there in the Emerald Isle.

You know the old phrase – “Feeling recharged?” Well I well and truly am. I was literally like a flat battery and Ireland was the charger. It’s done me an absolute power of good. My mind is much calmer, my outlook more philosophical, my body less achy and my imagination fired up. It was a great time of personal refreshing, based in the delightful West Cork coastal countryside with the gal I love.

I’ve put on a few pounds in weight but who doesn’t on holiday; unless they go to one of those hideous health spas. You couldn’t pay me to try one of those things. I can cover myself in mud, eat salad and abstain from alcohol at home so why pay for the pleasure?

And I can get an enema from the NHS.

But 5 pounds weight gain is a small price to pay for how that holiday has affected me. I wouldn’t go as far as to say something as crass as I feel like a new man but I’m certainly in a considerably better state than before I left.

I didn’t actually switch the old laptop on until this Monday, a full week after we returned. I used that time to unwind some more and just enjoy being at home here at Blessham Hall. I think that week was just as mentally restorative as the previous fortnight. Since Monday I’ve been writing for all I’m worth with zero self-criticism/loathing and no doubts about my direction as a writer/author.

I’ve been focussing on catching up with Substack this week but from Monday next it’s back to the novel with a vengeance as I shall be spending some of the weekend having a quick refresh read-through before plunging back into it. I feel rather excited at the prospect. And I’m not usually the excitable type.

I’ve got my granddaughter – Erin – signed up to design the cover for the novel as she has turned into the most accomplished tattoo artist you ever saw and her drawing is… what’s the word now…

Special! That’s it. Truly special. I’ve never seen a nineteen-year-old with that level of artistic skill and talent.

“Ah!” I hear you say, “You’re bound to say that being a proud grandad.” To which I would say, “Good point, well made.” But in this instance it’s much more than just grandfatherly benevolence. Just wait until you see the cover. I’ve always swore blind all my life that I’d never have a tattoo but if I ever change my mind then Erin gets the job.

So things are rather good here at BH and long may that continue. I need to pace myself better so that I don’t end up a burnt-out wreck again, but if that does happen then I know where to find relief.

And a damn good pint of Guinness.

Fool Time Score

Fool, now there’s an interesting word. As a noun, it means a person who lacks judgement or acts unwisely. An idiot, basically. As a verb, it means either to deceive or trick as well as to waste time or act foolishly.

I think I’m guilty of being both the noun and the verb recently.

I’m a fool to myself, speaking of the noun. I keep setting time targets for myself and then broadcasting it either via this blog or Substack. And then I look like a total berk when I don’t make good on those targets.

Take my blog post from the 9^th June. You may recall it; it was titled Switcheroo. It was a well written, little piece that fizzed and zinged with positivity, that I concocted in a mood of joie de vivre. I was feeling triumphant from writing a whole chapter of my next novel in one day and became so full of exuberance that I made all sorts of claims and promises in that post that I was going to get the novel finished in the space of a few weeks.

Foolish of me.

Here we are several weeks later and I’m just on the cusp of finishing chapter 7 of that book. Nowhere near what I had crowed about on June 9^th. Nowhere even remotely near.

Now, I’m not saying that the writing itself has been a struggle as I am convinced that this is going to be one of the best Joe Wilkie books yet and I am enjoying the writing process immensely. I truly am having so much fun with this one.

It’s just that I haven’t gotten all that far with it. Life, as you know, has a habit of getting in the way of things and my life is no exception to the rules. Yes, I could blame poor health, yes I could blame commitments and yes I could blame my own reticence and idleness at times. The stark naked fact is that I simply shouldn’t have made those claims in the first place.

Because now, I look like a fool for saying them.

As a verb, it’s even worse!

I feel like I’ve deceived my readers by making such bold statements. I’ve fooled people into thinking they’re going to be reading Joe’s next adventure in the near future when in reality it might not even be this year.

I mean, I’m doing my best and I’m hopeful it’ll be released before Christmas but the truth is I just can’t promise that and I shouldn’t have given people the wrong idea when I said it would be ready by Autumn.

Ok, it might well be ready by Autumn if I get my foot down but then again it might not. I just can’t say for certain.

And to think, I convinced myself and all of you that I thought it possible that I’d write three chapters a week. I’m a fool whose fooled.

So I’m sorry everyone. I’m not going to make any more bold promises or set myself time-based targets that are just unrealistic and unfeasible. Instead, I’m going to knuckle down and write my ass off as and when I can and instead of focussing on the release date I shall focus on producing the best book that I can. Quality over quantity must now be my mantra when it comes to the daily word count.

I think, as a writer, I should be aiming for more mystique and less foolishness.

Incidentally, a fool is also a kind of pudding. It’s pink, fruity and not very healthy. Now, who does that remind you of?

Death By Teapot – The Answer

Ok, so a few months ago I wrote my first ever comedy murder mystery story and it was well received actually. I was chuffed with it at any rate. But what I didn’t reveal in the story was the identity of the culprit. I mentioned that the police arrested the wrong person but left it for you, the reader, to work out who really bludgeoned Mrs Baggley to death with a heavy earthenware teapot.

So here is the answer to the mystery…

If you recall, the bulk of the story took place at the PCC meeting in the church. There were five people at the meeting – the vicar, Mrs Baggley herself, Mrs Windebank, Mrs Wenlock and Mrs Dunwoody.

Well, barring the deceased (it wasn’t suicide: one does not commit suicide by bashing one’s own head in with a teapot) that leaves four people who all had a motive.

The Vicar – Mrs Baggley had threatened to report the vicar to the bishop over things that were said at the meeting.
Mrs Windebank had a motive after Mrs Baggley bluntly insulted her French ancestry.
Mrs Wenlock was accused by Mrs Baggley of being a sex maniac; not something that a PCC member would want bandied about.
Mrs Dunwoody’s mother was exposed as a drunk by Mrs Baggley. She was most upset about this.

There are other factors to consider as well.

Mrs Baggley was killed by a violent blow to the head from a heavy earthenware teapot. During the meeting Mrs Windebank had spoken of such a teapot as the ideal replacement for the current one and had passionately exclaimed that she would “buy the bloody thing myself.”
Mrs Dunwoody and Mrs Wenlock both expressed their dislike for Mrs Baggley. Mrs Wenlock said she would “swing for her myself” and Mrs Dunwoody went as far as saying she wished Mrs Baggley were dead.
The vicar had said he would reimburse Mrs Windebank himself for the teapot. Could it have been that he did so the night before the murder and taken the pot with him?

So what do you think? Have you worked out which of them committed this dastardly deed?

Which of the four was responsible for Mrs Baggley’s untimely demise?

…

Well actually none of them were.

…

If you recall there was a sixth person in the church at the time – Eric the organist.

Think back now:

Eric was a devoted follower of not just the church but the vicar also and was prepared to do anything for the good of both.
He’d recently had a new hearing aid, which whilst not helping his organ playing any, did mean that he overhead every part of the PCC conversation and Mrs Baggley’s threat to the vicar.
He also heard Mrs Windebank mention the earthenware teapot and her impassioned declaration of buying it.
When the vicar left the church, Eric was playing the hymn Nearer My God To Thee. A clear portent of what was about to befall Mrs Baggley who was soon to be a lot nearer to God.
Finally, Eric was known as a kind and gentle individual. Who would suspect him of doing it?

So there you have it.

Eric the organist finished his practice session in the church, he then went into town, purchased an earthenware teapot, hid in the bushes in the churchyard on Sunday morning and when Mrs Baggley went to unlock the church he crept up behind her and brained her with the pot thus speeding up her entry into the next world.

Did you get it right? Did the detective in you suss out that it was Eric? If not, who did you suspect and why?

…

I’m currently working on another comedy murder mystery short story where you will have another chance to play Sherlock Holmes or Miss Marple.

Watch this space.

New Year, New Whatever…

Happy New Year one and all!

Can it really be a full year ago since the blog post – Good Intentions? It blooming well is you know. So here’s a quick review of the good intentions and what I achieved (and didn’t) in 2024.

Well, on a personal level I managed to lose the pitiful amount of 8 pounds in weight. Piss poor even if I do say so myself. At one point I’d actually lost over a whole stone but then Christmas came along and buggered all that up. So I’m more or less back to the beginning with that.

I have almost stuck to one of my goals that I set myself of going outside every day and getting some fresh air, rather than moping in the flat on bad days. And I came so close to achieving a full 366 days but for one when I was enjoying time with some visiting friends so much that I actually forgot to go out. I could kick myself for that one.

But in other ways I have been better. For instance, dry January ran into dry February, dry March and almost dry April. I broke my duck on April 28^th whilst out for a meal with the family and sank two pints of delicious, cold Guinness. And I’m trying it again this year. Going dry for a month I mean, not drinking two pints of Guinness, although I probably will drink a lot more than two pints of it before the year is out.

I’ve taken much better care of myself in many ways but my health has deteriorated with the arrival of cervical spondylosis, which is quite literally a pain in the neck. Fibromyalgia has run rampant like wildfire through my entire body and I had a cist the size of Bournemouth on my back at one point that required some pretty intense meds to shift.

So health wise it’s not been too great.

As for the old writing lark, well, that’s been an odd one. This is the first year that I haven’t published a book since 2019, when the wonderful Ah Boy! made its debut. Mind you, I did publish a weekly serialisation of a novel called Take a Hike that I wrote almost twenty years ago, which wasn’t very good to be honest, and doesn’t actually count as canon even though it does reference Ingleby but is set mainly in Whitby and therefore is something of an anomaly. It’s a bit like when Sean Connery made Never Say Never Again. Yes, it kind of was a Bond film with many of the usual elements in it but it just wasn’t officially part of the series. That’s how I look at Take a Hike.

This ‘ere blog has suffered a bit; I have to hold my hands up and admit to that. You see I got distracted by the glamorous lure of Substack. I envisaged that when I started posting in May of last year that I would be in three or four figures of subscribers by now.

That hasn’t been the case.

I’m still in the low double figures.

Then, on October the 18^th, my mum was hospitalised after a fall at home. The next two and half months saw Ange and I travel almost 3500 miles up and down the motorway to go and visit her every Friday to Monday. We slept on an air bed on my mum’s living room floor and I’ll leave you to guess how that has affected me physically.

And I’ll let you in to a little secret…

At one point I nearly quit!

I did. I nearly quit writing altogether. I just didn’t have the heart for it anymore. The horrible truth about being an independent author is that it’s frightfully hard to get people to take a chance on you. You see, if my name were David Walliams or Richard Osman or even Jamie Oliver (shudder) then publishers would be fighting each other to get a six-book contract into my sweaty little palms. But I’m not a celebrity, I’m a nobody, and nobody wants to read a nobody. If that makes sense?

But, I didn’t quit. Thanks to good advice from close family and true friends and the wonderful support of my amazing wife I feel a renewed determination at the start of this year. For one thing, Ange has retired now and I have to re-double my efforts at selling my books. Blessham Hall doesn’t get many tourists you see, and what with all the renovations to the front terrace and the owls nesting in the west wing, I really need to get myself paid for what I do.

Anyway, here’s the thing. I’m not setting myself any goals or resolutions for this year. I’m going to write when I write and not stress out on the days when I don’t. I’ve got plans for an anthology of my non-novel writing and I do hope to get the next Archie and Aggie Stone novel finished. It would be nice to start on the next Blessham book as well, which has a storyline I’m really excited about.

But if it don’t happen it won’t happen, and I need to keep a philosophical outlook.

I’d like to be sat here in 365 days’ time and tell you that I’m many stones lighter and several jeans sizes thinner but I’ll be happy with whatever I lose and if I can answer the front door without getting out of breath and breaking into a sweat by then, then I shall feel like a winner.

2025 – Bring It On!

Blessham Hall

The Website of Author, Novelist and Blogger Alan Stevenson

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