Join us for an evening of books & mince pies!

 

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Like I’d ever let you REALLY have the last mince pie…

 

Do come and join Darren O’Sullivan and I at Waterstones in Peterborough on Thursday 20th December where we’ll be talking about, and signing, our books, along with answering any questions you might have from 5pm.

Peterborough is beautifully Christmassy in the evening with gorgeous lights, and if that doesn’t put you in the festive mood, we’ll also be bringing mince pies!

 

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Writing with sound – Placing a reader in the scene #writingtips

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“The world has music for those who listen.” William Shakespeare

My son is home for Christmas from uni with a mountain of both coursework and laundry. Studying media, one of his assignments is to record a two minute piece of writing of his choosing and add any sound effects he thinks should accompany it.

When we last spoke on the phone I knew he’d be doing this and he was on his way to get approval from his lecturer for the piece he wanted to record. What I didn’t know was that piece is the opening to my debut, ‘The Sister’. His lecturer thankfully said he felt right in the scene as he read it and that it is the perfect piece to record.

I’ve written before about bringing the senses into prose when writing (you can read that here). Making the reader feel as though they are right there with the characters, feeling what they feel, seeing what they see, hearing what they hear.

Sound is one of the most powerful senses, believed to be the last thing to go when we die. When I’m out with my dog I never listen to music or scroll through my mobile. Instead, I drink in my surroundings, taking note of where I am and I close my eyes. What can I hear that would place me in my scene? What is unique to it? What can I use in my stories? These are the things the reader needs to hear.

Today, my son and I went to the park with his recording equipment to record the sounds that accompany ‘The Sister’. Although I believe I am mostly mindful, mostly attentive, I was stunned by the multitude of sounds I could pick out when I stood still and really allowed myself to listen.

Layers of noise, all demanding attention from a chainsaw to bird song, kids playing, dogs barking, to the more subtle sounds, the wind against a leaf, the snapping of a twig under footfall in the distance. We’ve had a fabulous afternoon recording and have returned home with a memory card full of noises and I’ve a head full of inspiration.

If you’re writing a story, take a minute to read it back. What sounds would you use if you could? Are you doing enough to set the scene? A reader who feels is a reader who will keep on turning the pagers.

Here’s the sounds we’ve inserted into The Sister: –

Stepping out of my car with heartbreak-heavy legs (car engine, car slowing, stopping, engine cut, car door slam), I zip my jacket (pulling on & zipping a coat) and pull on leather gloves (the stretch of leather gloves being pulled on) before (walking on a hard surface) hefting my spade and bag from the boot (unloading something heavy. A chink of metal): it is time. (footsteps on gravel) My wellingtons slip-slide (footsteps through mud) across the squelching mud to the gap in the hedge. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. I shiver as I enter the forest; it’s darker than I’d thought and I take deep breaths (breathing) of the pine-scented air to steady myself. I fight the urge to go home and come back in the morning, remind myself why I’m here and drive myself forwards. (Walking. Leaves. Snapping twigs).

My smartphone lights the way as I look out for rabbit holes I might fall down. I take giant steps (larger strides) over fallen limbs of trees I’d once have hurdled. At twenty-five I’m not too old to run, but my load is cumbersome; besides, I’m in no rush to get there, I was never supposed to do this alone.

I stop and rest the spade handle against my hip (spade sticking in the ground), splay my fingers and shake out my pins and needles. There’s a rustling in the bushes (leaves rustling) and I have a sense of being watched. My heart stutters (gasp) as two rabbits dart out, (louder rustling) bounding away when they see my light. ‘I’m OK,’ (voice) I reassure myself, but my voice seems loud and echoey, reminding me how alone I am.

My rucksack feels tight across my shoulders and I readjust the straps (the sound of straps sliding) before marching on (more purposeful steps), snapping twigs underfoot (twigs). I’m beginning to think I’ve taken the wrong fork when I reach the clearing with the lightning-struck tree (stop footsteps. Breathing). I wasn’t sure it would still be here, but as I look around it seems nothing has changed – but of course, everything has. Memories of the last time I was here hit me so hard I feel winded. I sink to the ground. (Clothes crinkling as sitting. Dislodging leaves). The dampness of the leaves and earth seep through my trousers, as the past seeps through to my present.

What REALLY happens at an author Christmas party… #HQmasParty

Authors are often solitary creatures, introverted. Much of our days spent alone with only a laptop (and in my case a cat) for company.

B A Paris & Louise Jensen

Every so often there’s a chance to get out, a literary festival, a bookish event, a party. Today, was my publisher’s author Christmas bash and it felt odd to be discarding my pyjamas in favour of real, actual, normal clothes (if you can call tinsel, Rudolph earrings and a present fascinator normal clothes.)

Darren O’Sullivan

Alice Feeney, Louise Jensen

An author party isn’t just an excuse for drinking (okay it is a bit). It’s a chance to catch up with old friends and make some new. To connect. To realise that however alone we can sometimes feel, we all have the same fears, not matter what stage of writing we are at; that we’ll run out of ideas; that our current book won’t be as well received as out last. We all have the same love/hate relationship with our current WIP.

Louise Mangos & Roz Watkins

After a civilised start to the evening, with a gorgeous meal in the London Bridge Hotel, we headed over to the News Building, which houses Harper Collins. On the 17th floor we were met by caterers with glasses of prosecco and canapés and gazing out across the stunning river views I felt a million miles from home.

Lisa Hall, Louise Jensen, Darren O’Sullivan

The writing community is super supportive and one I’m very grateful to be part of. Tomorrow even though I’ll be back in my editing cave, back in my pyjamas, I’ll know I’m not alone.

Louise Jensen & Darren O’Sullivan

Vicky Newham & B A Paris

Louise Jensen & Roz Watkins

Darren O’Sullivan, Lisa Hall, Louise Jensen, Alice Feeney, Mel McGrath, Louise Mangos

Phaedra Patrick & Lisa Hall

B A Paris, Phaedra Patrick, Louise Jensen, Diane Jeffrey, Sally Gardner

How many authors can you fit in a lift..?

Coping with chronic pain – that lonely 3am

Image courtesy of @jontyson

There’s nothing quite as lonely as 3am. The house is quiet; my family asleep. At times like these it’s easy to feel alone. My pelvis is fire, my back screaming in agony each time I shift my position. But I have my blog, words. I can let my pain travel through my fingertips and onto the page. Whether I post this or not, it will be therapeutic to write.

I thought I’d got a handle on my health the past couple years. Along with treatments from a fabulous hospital, I’ve overhauled my diet, take light exercise where I can, meditate daily. My pain had decreased, mobility improved. Lately though there’s been a sense of slipping backwards while trying desperately to cling on to the good days, not let the bad days take over.

Tonight is the worst I have been for a long time. It hurts to move. It hurts to stay still. It’s been an odd day, much to celebrate. My super agent has sold my book rights to Korea, a brand new territory for me – my twenty-fourth. The Date is in Apple’s top 10 biggest selling books for 2018. I put both things on Facebook and instantly received a direct message. ‘You’re having such a good day! You’re living my dream.’

From the outside looking in, my life does seem perfect, except it isn’t. No-ones is.

My evening has been spent upstairs because we don’t have a downstairs toilet and I can’t face going up and down the stairs.

Worries fill my mind – How can I do my Christmas shopping if I can’t get out? Am I going to have to change my weekend plans as it will be uncomfortable to travel? Will I miss my first author Christmas party with my new publisher on Monday? Gradually these thoughts, as thoughts do, become darker. Sharper. Swelling, along with the panic inside me. Am I going to end up in a wheelchair again?

My mind is in overdrive; anxiety over the future overshadowing my present where, relatively speaking I am okay. I am safe.

I am loved.

I reach for my gratitude journal and this is what eventually calms me. Replacing the negatives with positives and really, I have so much to be grateful for, from the strangers who support me online to the dog who snoozes on my bedroom floor who is always overjoyed to see me when he wakes, regardless of my mood.

My list grows and my pain doesn’t feel quite so all consuming anymore. I know soon I shall be able to sleep.

I have a roof over my head, a warm bed. A family who love me. I know I’m one of the lucky ones.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow things will be different because they alway are. The only thing you can rely on is change and I find this comforting because I am certain that just as things can get worse, eventually they will also get better.

This too, shall pass.

Creating characters AKA you don’t need to know where the postman lost his virginity

I never set out to write a book. I’ve shared before that I started writing to lift my mood after a change in health left me with a disability and chronic pain which led to clinical depression.

It was easy to fall in love with Grace and Charlie, the characters I thought I would try and write a story about. It was easy to find a hook – Charlie’s last words to Grace “I did something terrible, please forgive me.” It was easy to write page after page. It was when it reached a point where it was no longer a short story, and I thought ‘The Sister’ could possibly be a book, that it suddenly felt very, very hard.

I had no idea how to write a novel.

Anxiety was my default setting and I let it consume me. How could I ever think I could write a book? I had no education beyond a handful of GCSE’s. No training. No degree. No idea what I was doing.

Frantically I turned to Google – how do you write a novel – relaxing when I saw the number of hits that appeared. There were people who knew and they were willing to share. It was all going to be okay once I learned the magic formula – or was it?

I didn’t question who the writers were imparting their knowledge, whether they’d published, sold, whether I’d read and enjoyed their stories. I just took it for granted that everyone knew absolutely more than me. I knew nothing. I would do whatever they told me, and I did.

One of the first blogs I read said you could never write a convincing story unless you knew your characters inside out. That made sense to me. I already felt Grace and Charlie were fully formed, real to me but as I read on I knew that they couldn’t be.

Did I know their shoe size? Umm no.

The first flavour ice cream they ever tried? Can’t say I did.

Their best holiday? No idea.

Lucky for me the writer in question had designed a ten page character sheet questionnaire she was giving away free if I signed up to her newsletter. And I did.

I printed out the sheets and filled them in for Every Single Character because ‘there are no minor players in novels.’

For two weeks I did nothing except get to know my characters.  I even knew where the postman (who is only in one scene delivering a letter) lost his virginity.

When I returned to my manuscript it felt different. What had felt natural before now felt a little like wading through treacle. The direction the plot was naturally taking didn’t fit the personalities I was trying to foist upon my characters. They weren’t acting like the people on my character sheets. I began to question whether I was too inexperienced to write. Whether I needed to do a course.

Later, over a glass of wine with my husband he wondered whether knowing where a fictional postman had fictional sex was really that important to the story.

It wasn’t.

I’ve never filled in a character sheet since. That’s not to say they don’t have a value, all authors ultimately find their own way of working, but I prefer to let them evolve naturally, jotting down things like eye colour etc. as I go to ensure continuity.

That said, before I get too far into a novel I do like to know the character’s internal flaw. The thing that stops he/she getting what she wants. The thing that will have readers rooting for them and cheering during that all important change that happens along the character arc.

For my second book, The Gift, I knew that Jenna my main character didn’t know where her place in the world was anymore after a heart transplant at a relatively young age left her feeling set apart from her friends and boyfriend and that was all I needed to know to begin writing. For a satisfying ending, Jenna needed to find her place whether she reached her external goal of tracking down the donor’s family or not.

Incidentally, Jenna gets several deliveries of mail throughout the story. Her postman probably has sex but I’ve no idea who with, or even of his name.

And what’s more – I don’t care.

My new book deal, book 5 blurb & an evening of crime!

I was over the moon yesterday to share the news that I’ve signed a three-book deal with the Harper Collins imprint, HQ. You can read the official announcement here. I’m very much looking forward to working with their dynamic, creative team.

HQ will be publishing my fifth psychological thriller, The Family, next year. The Family has characters I’ve become extraordinarily attached to whilst writing it. It’s the story of Laura who is grieving after the loss of her husband following his sudden death. She’s struggled to hold it together for her daughter, Tilly, and realises she needs help. When all seems lost, she turns to a group of apparently well-meaning strangers. But, as they settle into their new community, sinister things begin to happen and Tilly becomes enthralled by the ‘head’ of their new family, Alex. It soon becomes clear to Laura that she needs to get her daughter away from Alex, but is Tilly too far gone to be saved?

Tilly and her mum, Laura took me through the whole range of emotions whilst writing from fear for their safety to utter heartbreak. I can’t wait to share where the inspiration came from and to get it into the hands of readers when it’s published on 17th October 2019.

 

My first day with HQ kicked off to a brilliant start with their crime writer’s showcase event held in their swanky offices, with stunning views overlooking the Thames. It was a chance for authors, book bloggers and book sellers to connect over canapés and inevitably, plenty of booze.

It was lovely to put faces to twitter handles and meet those bloggers I hadn’t met before as well as authors and this is where I get ridiculously self-conscious, still unable to believe after a lifetime of loving stories that I’m mixing with actual writers – me!

I’m feeling incredibly grateful right now. A BIG thank you to all who have supported me. I’m so excited to see what the future holds.

Louise x

5 reasons why I LOVE book bloggers

 

It upset me greatly recently that there was a flurry of scathing posts on Twitter regarding book bloggers.  Partly because I loathe any kind of negativity (my Twitter bio states ‘In a world where you can be anything, BE KIND’) but mostly because I’ve got to know many book bloggers over the past couple of years and they are honestly amongst the nicest people I’ve met.

Here are five reasons why I LOVE book bloggers.

1) As a reader, I often found myself browsing book shops feeling confused and overwhelmed.  There are SO many books (and I’m incredibly indecisive) it was almost impossible to make a choice. I’m a slow reader, averaging two books a month and with such a low quantity, quality is imperative. I’ve a selection of book bloggers now I always turn to when looking for recommendations. They have similar tastes to me and I trust their judgement completely. If they say a book is brilliant, I buy it. I’ve never been disappointed.

2) Pre book-bloggers I was stuck in a bit of a reading rut. I knew the genre I most enjoyed and was hesitant to step outside of it. My trusted book bloggers have opened my eyes, raving about stories I’d never have found on my own. I now adore young adult fiction, historical and I’ve even read some dystopian books which I’d never have bought without such glowing reviews. I don’t think I even knew what dystopian was…

3) I’m a writer, so I’m going to be honest and say how much bloggers have helped me gain visibility. I signed a book deal for my debut with a small, but fast growing, publisher with a limited budget for marketing.  The publicity manager arranged a blog tour for me and soon, to my utter delight, my cover was prominent on all social media channels. Even if not everyone read the blog posts, although I know many do, seeing the same image over and over is hugely beneficial when a reader is scrolling through Amazon and instantly recognises a cover.  My sales grew through word of mouth. I really don’t think I’d have sold over a million books if it wasn’t for the support of book bloggers and for that I am hugely grateful.

4) Book bloggers have helped me improve my writing. I’ve never had much confidence in myself and I’d never been in a position where I could afford to do a writing course but I was so eager to learn my craft. Looking through some of the Amazon and Goodreads reviews can be soul destroying but I’ve found reviews from book bloggers to be really beneficial. Not everyone who blogs about one of my stories loves them, and that’s okay. What I’ve found is the majority of reviews are fair and constructive. I’ve welcomed that constructive criticism and used it to tighten my writing, develop my characters. To make each book better than the last.

5) Lastly, but by no means least, I love the sense of community and friendship there is within the blogging world. As a blogger myself, although I rarely now review books, I’ve made some life long friends, many of whom I’ve now met in real life (usually at a bar…) Most book bloggers don’t get paid for reviewing books, they give up massive amounts of time because they are passionate about stories. As a child I thought there was something wrong with me. I was the only one in my family who read. I was so utterly absorbed in stories the characters became my friends, their world became mine. To discover there are a multitude of readers who love stories as much as I do has made me feel I fit it. I have found my tribe. That tribe are book bloggers. Leave them alone!