#ArmedWithABingois a year-long reading challenge hosted by Kriti Khare & Ariel Joy and this is my end of September update.
The books I read for the challenge in this third quarter of the year are highlighted in gold, but aside from the challenge, I’ve read a dozen or so more. I’ve always read a wide range of genres but the #armedwithabingo challenge has encouraged me to read even more widely. So far this year, I’ve enjoyed every single book I’ve read. What a happy place to be!
My Year in Books 2020 (so far)
If you’re curious to know what I thought of any of the books I’ve read, pop over to Goodreads where you’ll find my reviews.
Have you a book that you’d like to recommend to me? Drop in a response below!
When Sinead lifted her head from Moonsprite’s neck, the emerald-robed woman had wandered off a little way. Moonsprite pawed the ground gently; the woman turned to them and beckoned.
‘Walk with me.’ She indicated a golden-lit path through a flower-filled glade. ‘You have travelled far, Sinead,’ she continued. ‘What news of the Oppressors?’
‘They are defeated, Madam,’ Sinead replied. ‘All of them have been destroyed.’
The woman nodded, pacing on in silence.
‘…are you Mother Earth?’ asked Sinead hesitantly.
‘Me? No, my dear. I am the Gatekeeper.’
Sinead’s hand hovered over the hilt of her sword. Moonsprite whinnied gently. Nothing to fear.
‘But where is Mother Earth? I’ve been sent to set her free.’ Sinead took the Freedom Key from her tunic.
The Gatekeeper smiled. ‘Then we must hasten to the gate.’ She broke her stride and turned to Sinead. Her face bore an expression which Sinead could not decipher.
Image credit: ‘Dreamy Alley’ by Leonid Afremov on Deviant Art
Previous episodes of Sinead’s Final Quest an epic tale, unfolding in tiny 150 word increments.
The setting is very important to a novel: the sense of place, time and social environment contextualizes the story so that the reader can visualize and experience it.
I thought it might be fun over the coming weeks for us to go and visit some of the places where my novels have been set. Each time I’ll give you a little of the background as why these locations were important to my story and important to me, and you can read how they fit into the narrative of the book.
We’ll begin in Rufford, a little village in West Lancashire, England, where my debut novel, The Silver Locket, is mainly set.
My route to work each day took me through this pretty little place with its traditional houses, surrounded by flat, fertile farmland. In the evening, I’d see a hawk hovering over a field, then swooping down to catch its prey, and through the early morning mist, a bright barn owl would fly low across the road, almost touching the windscreen.
Near the centre of the village, there is a big, brick-built Victorian house, set back from the road, in large grounds. I was particularly drawn to the huge old oak tree in the garden. It grew in my imagination and over time, the house and garden became the perfect location for my heroine, Laura, to begin her ‘journey’ through the pages of my story.
Early on in the book, Laura visits St. Mary’s, the local church in Rufford. Here, in the churchyard, we learn some important clues about the past inhabitants of the house that Laura has recently inherited, and we meet a new character, about whom there is a definite air of mystery.
St. Mary’s Church, Rufford, is a real place, although its resemblance to the church and churchyard in my story is no more than a passing one. However, I do share Laura’s passion for visiting old graveyards…
Excerpt from ‘The Silver Locket’
Laura was keen to explore some more of the village. She walked down the twisting side road towards St Mary’s Church. Laura had always loved old graveyards; there was something about the hint of past lives engraved on old lichen-covered gravestones which she found curiously satisfying. As Laura worked her way through the headstones reading names and dates it occurred to her that the inhabitants of Rufford had been a particularly hardy bunch, all living to a ripe old age over the last couple of centuries.
One grave stood out to contradict this. It belonged to the Martland family. She leant forward and read the inscription: ‘In memoriam: Peter, beloved son of Thomas and Sarah, aged 22 years, died in a storm off the New Hampshire coast, 28th April 1912.
Then beneath that: ‘Captain Thomas Edgar Martland, aged 49 years, lost with his ship “Ariadne” and all her crew, 14th April 1913.’ There was a poem:
‘Safely moored amongst the peaceful dead And from his labours rests his weary head, With Neptune’s waves many times he’s fought, Yet the blow was struck when least was thought.’
and underneath that…
‘Rest in peace: Sarah, loving wife and mother, died of a broken heart, 15th July 1916, aged 45 years.”
“So sad,” someone said softly behind her.
Laura started. She hadn’t heard anyone approach. She turned to see a big, powerful-looking woman with thick greying hair drawn up into a bun. She wore a brown coat and sturdy-looking shoes.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She spoke with a trace of an Irish lilt in her voice. “So sad, both Peter and the Captain gone and Peter’s first time at sea too.”
“They died within almost a year of each other,” said Laura, looking at the dates.
“That’s right. Peter was on his way back from his first trip to New York and the Captain, he was lost at almost the same time the following year. His poor body was never found. Mrs Martland was never the same again, losing them both… and then…” her voice trailed off. The woman shook her head, gazing beyond the gravestone into the distance. “Sad, so sad…”
“You remember them?” But how could she, thought Laura. The captain and his son had perished 75 years ago. “No, surely it was too long ago?”
The woman smiled back her, her expression far away.
“Do you live round here?” asked Laura. “I’ve just moved into my aunt’s old house in the village.”
“So you have,” said the woman in agreement.
Laura looked at her, wondering how she knew. News travelled fast in a small place like this she supposed. Memories too, would be in the psyche of the village.
“It was my home once.” the woman replied. She reached inside her coat and consulted a small silver fob watch which was pinned to her dress. “I must go now.” She turned abruptly and walked away, her upright figure disappearing behind the west wall of the church.
The Silver Locket: available as a paperback, ebook and on KindleUnlimited
The heavy door clanged shut behind her. Sinead wheeled around, drawing the Sword of Elshain for protection. The weapon glowed only dimly: no threat was apparent.
Sinead advanced through a lofty hallway, which opened into a still larger, circular atrium. Double doors swung open at the far side and a warm, fragrant breeze wafted in. Sinead hastened forward, filling her lungs with the scents of fruits and flowers, and tasting the honey-dewed air.
She stepped out into patchwork of verdant greenery, laid out in manicured magnificence. Was this really the place where Mother Earth was being held?
‘We’ve been waiting for you.’
A woman, neither young nor old, dressed in flowing emerald robes emerged from a blossom-filled orange grove. Moonsprite was at her side, whinnying gently. Sinead dropped her sword and ran towards them, burying her face in Moonsprite’s mane.
In that moment, their reunion was all that seemed important.
Image credit: ‘Alley Of Roses’ by Leonid Afremov on Deviant Art
Previous episodes of Sinead’s Final Quest an epic tale, unfolding in tiny 150 word increments.
Purple robes from the snot of snails, rays from the tails of mango-fed cows. Colour-wash fades, dribbles down the page, Feeble brush strokes weep over wet paper.
In a misery of contempt she kicks the traces of her fractious art. Screw it up and start again!
Ground from stones, hewn from rocks poisonous pigments from the artist’s jewel box cobalt and lead, one blue, one red the venomous tools of her craft.
Carving curves with furious angst passions explode and erode while careless cadmium spatterings join dread smears on the studio floor.
Scissoring through shards of purple-pink silk the blood on the carpet of despair raising her brush she rages on rending the canvas in two.
Written in response to Sadje’s What Do You See #47 photo prompt. Image credit: Elena Mozhvilo – Unsplash
To set the scene for you, this is (sort of) where it first began. I based the house where characters Lucy, Gina, Gary and Cynthia live with their landlord, Tony Wong, on the bed-sit in Liverpool where I once lived.
I’ve taken the photo from Google Maps. I didn’t have a camera back then. The house has been smartened up a bit since I was a tenant in the 1980s when the rent was just £10.50 a week (that’s about US$13.50). My room was on the ground floor on the right.
The warning lights are still flashing on the empty flight deck outside the Tardis. The Time Rotor screeches and wails while the Doctor battles with its controls.
‘Look, Miss Jemma!’ Cee-Threepio points at the viewing screen. ‘I think your star-ship is trying to communicate with us.’
I peer at the screen. Line upon line of text is spewing across my work station monitor. It’s too small to read from here, but it must be important. Otherwise, why would it be there?
It’s my ship, and from the way the Tardis is bucking and rolling despite the Doctor’s efforts, we’re all in trouble. I head for the doors. My place is on my own flight-deck and if Harris and Steven’s are still on theirs… I squash that thought down.
‘Jemma, wait!’ I hear the Doctor call out behind me, but I’ve made my decision. I fling myself through the doors of the Tardis; they snap closed behind me and I stumble over to my seat. The sound of the warning sirens is almost deafening, far louder than I’ve heard them before, but my job is to focus.
I strap myself in and concentrate on my monitor. A series of complex equations scroll before my eyes. Something’s wrong. The equations are incomplete. Basic stuff is missing! I grab the old-style keyboard and my fingers start to fly over the keys. I might not be a gamer like Harris, but I know my basic quantum theory. I hunch over the keys, scrolling down the lines, fixing errors and omissions, and tidying up messy calculations.
It’s like one of the speed tests we used to have back in Cadet College! I finish and flop back in my seat, then look around. Everything has gone quiet.
No red lights, no sirens. I swivel around. No Tardis!
Then I hear low-pitched voices and laughter. Harris and Stevens appear from the back of the flight deck.
‘You should’ve come with us, Jem,’ says Harris.
‘The Rec Room here is awesome,’ adds Stevens. ‘It’s got a top of the range Holodeck. We had a tour of the Millennium Falcon with Han and Chewy…’
‘…and I got to fly a mission attacking the Death Star,’ adds Harris excitedly.
I’m confused. Hold on. ‘Rec Room?‘
‘Yeah, Jem’, says Stevens slowly, as if talking to a particularly dim droid. ‘Starbase 74, you know, it’s recently been upgraded.’ He gives a sideways glance to Harris. ‘Maybe she’s a little low on sugar.’ He tosses a crumpled chocolate bar over to me. It looks like a ‘Snickers’ but it says ‘Banquet Bar’ on the label.
Did I miss something?
Harris crosses to his seat, glancing at the calculations on my screen. ‘You plotted the co-ordinates then. That’s great!’ He rubs his hands together. ‘Our first solo mission.’
Harris and Stevens have both strapped themselves in. They look at me expectantly.
‘Take her out, Captain Jemma!’ says Stevens, grinning broadly.
As I reach across to take the controls, the comms device tumbles from my tunic pocket. The screen flashes on and the face of Matt Smith’s Doctor Who appears. He puts a finger to his lips, and a speech balloon appears over his head. ‘My reality is different from yours,’ it reads. The Doctor winks, then his image is replaced by a cartoon white rabbit disappearing repeatedly down a black hole.
Something is definitely not right.
And so, as Jemma and her crew head out into space again, so concludes series two of Space Cadets, leaving you, in fine tradition once again, with more questions than answers. But judging by the way this has ended,it looks like there’s going to have to be another series. Stay tuned!
The dwarves scuttled back across the cavern leaving Sinead alone once again. Why had they departed so suddenly, almost without a word? Was it the bridge that had frightened them? Or was it the waters over which it led?
Sinead stepped onto the bridge.
She held the Crystal aloft, its soft bluish light glowed a little brighter with every step she took, while the inky waters lapped menacingly on either side. She quickened her pace knowing better than look down into their murky depths.
The bridge ended at a narrow jetty, but its moorings were empty of boats. A single domed archway in the towering stone wall ahead beckoned her, reminding her of the entrance to the Maze of Mandoran.
Courage, Sinead. The words echoed in her mind, just as they had before. So close, so close now.
Sinead placed her hand on the hilt of her sword and entered.
Image credit: omagrandmother on Deviant Art
Previous episodes of Sinead’s Final Quest an epic tale, unfolding in tiny 150 word increments.
luna's on line 