Standing on the threshold, your future unmapped
who knows what adventures lie ahead?
which paths will you take?
which avenues will you dawdle down?
what rewards will you seek?
Everything lies before you
the big world beckons.
Choose wisely, my son
but not too wisely.
Life’s not a dress rehearsal.
Written in response to Sadje’s What Do You See #50 photo prompt.
Image credit: Sean Lee – Unsplash
In the second of my series discussing the settings for my novels, come with me to Alderley Edge, in Cheshire, NW England.
“Alderley Edge is an abrupt and elevated ridge, formerly the site of a beacon, which bears the appearance of having been detached by some great convulsion of nature. … The sides are varied with cultivated land, wood and rock; and the entire mass presents a striking object to all the surrounding district over which it commands a most extensive prospect.” The History of the County Palatine and City of Chester, George Ormerod (1819).
This looming escarpment provides the backdrop to my third novel, ‘Following the Green Rabbit’, which I began writing during NaNoWriMo in 2018. By this time, I’d been living in South Africa for eight years, so I was drawing heavily on my carefully stored memories of the English countryside for the setting.
Alderley Edge still towers over a patchwork of fields and farmland and small villages. It has an ancient, timeless quality. I drove past it numerous times when making the journey home from North Wales to Liverpool, and I can still see it clearly in my mind’s eye: a massive stark shape hunched over the surrounding landscape, dark against the glowing afternoon sky. This, and the open countryside beyond, the wide Cheshire Plain, peppered with old villages that still hold the essence of the past, was the perfect setting for the novel.
This location also provided the setting for two of my favourite childhood novels, The Weirdstone of Brisingamen and its sequel, The Moon of Gomrath, written by British novelist, Alan Garner. Garner lived locally and the timeless quality of the place and the legends associated with it, inspired him too. It’s a place where anything might happen at any time in history.
The towering escarpment, presiding as it does over a flat, low-lying landscape, is a metaphor for the wicked Lord of the Manor in the novel, whose presence looms over the lives of the people who live in the village where my two plucky heroines find themselves.
Excerpt from ‘Following the Green Rabbit’
They stood up, wondering where to run. The sound of the hooves was getting louder. A horse snorted and they heard a man cry out.
“Quick. Behind the house.” Bryony grabbed her sister’s hand and they ran around the back of the damaged building.
Seconds later the clearing was full of stomping horses. The girls cowered under the window at the back of the house.
A man shouted. “Where did he go?” Another voice: “Search the buildings.”
Bethany gasped. Bryony held her tight. Over her shoulder she saw something moving in the bushes. A boy’s head appeared. His eyes were wide-open and startled-looking. He stared straight at Bryony, who froze, clinging on to her sister. Bryony was aware of more shouting at the front of the house. The men were arguing. She focused on the boy’s face. It was scratched and dirty, his hair was sticking out wildly from under his cap and his shirt was torn. He looked to left and right, then beckoned to her, nodding and mouthing words to her.
Bethany twisted around to see what Bryony was looking at. She gasped in surprise. The boy beckoned with greater urgency. At the front of the building the shouting stopped.
Then suddenly, they heard the order. “Find him! Spread out! He’s got to be here somewhere.” The voice was harsh and the accent strange to Bryony’s ears. She looked at Bethany and nodded. They scrabbled into the bushes and followed the boy as he disappeared deep into the undergrowth.
He moved rapidly and the girls struggled to keep up. But they did. The men’s shouts as they rode around the glade on their heavy-hoofed horses spurred them on. Low branches tugged at their hair and their clothes, while brambles scratched their bare legs. They stumbled over roots and crawled over logs for what seemed like ages. The boy glanced back a couple of times to check on their progress, but he didn’t slacken the pace. Finally they came to a steep bank where he stopped.
“Get ourselves over that,” he nodded at the bank, “they’ll not follow. A bit further on there’s a place where we can stop and talk.”
The girls weren’t used to climbing but he showed them how to use the tree roots as hand and foot holds and they soon managed to clamber up. A series of rocky outcrops on the other side made it easy enough for the girls to scramble down.
“Follow me,” the boy said. The girls obeyed, picking their way along the rock-strewn path. Both were grateful to still be wearing their sturdy outdoor shoes from their morning walk into the village. A little further along he stopped again and led them down another dip in the land to a wide flat slab of stone at the entrance to a cave.
The boy flopped down on the ground just inside the cave. The girls followed his example, leaning back against the smooth cave walls. “That was a close call,” he said. “I thought me goose was well and truly cooked.”
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Without another word the emerald-clad Gatekeeper turned on her heel and strode across the lawn to a different path. Sinead and Moonsprite hastened after her. The atmosphere had changed. A cool wind blew across the grass and the trees began to quiver, casting showers of red-golden leaves onto the ground.
The Gatekeeper glanced over her shoulder and quickened her step. When Sinead and Moonsprite caught up with her she was standing before a pair of tall iron gates. A broad flight of steps, edged with tall green hedges, lay beyond.
Sinead took the Freedom Key from her tunic and held it out to the Gatekeeper, but the ageless woman shook her head.
‘These gates are not locked. All are free to pass through.’ She turned and pushed the two gates open with a grand, sweeping gesture. ‘Put the Key away and enter,’ she instructed. ‘I will not be far behind you.’
Image credit: ‘Iron Gate’ by flowerpowerstock on Deviant Art
Previous episodes of Sinead’s Final Quest an epic tale, unfolding in tiny 150 word increments.
Little heart fluttering
in the palm of my hand
what delight to share a moment
with such a pretty little creature!
Won’t you stay awhile?
Scooped from the rail
my tiny bones quake
and now, eyes squeezed shut
I wait for the giant to crush me
in its big, clumsy fist.
Be calm, little bird
do not fear me
allow me to look more closely
admire the beauty
of your bright plumage.
The hand seems gentle
but I shan’t be taken in.
I open a wary eye
prepare for flight
I’m gone!
Farewell, little bird
I’ll listen for your song
here by the lake
me, in gentle harmony
with nature.
Written in response to Sadje’s What Do You See #49 photo prompt.
Image credit: Evan Clark – Unsplash
#ArmedWithABingo is 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!
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 light of experience illuminates
the wealth of knowledge expounds
but the real truth lies
behind the words
in the depths of the speaker’s soul.
Written in response to Sadje’s What Do You See #48 photo prompt.
Image credit: Mohammad Hoseini Rad – Unsplash
Come on a journey with me…
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
luna's on line 