CABBAGE BOY! AVAILABLE FROM TODAY ON AMAZON

A WARM AND FUNNY NEW BOOK FOR TEENS, YOUNG ADULTS - AND THEIR PARENTS

I'm delighted that my new book, CABBAGE BOY, was published today and is available on Amazon in paperback or on Kindle.

I don't usually believe in coincidences but it just so happens that I was writing the final chapter on the day that a new form of manure was introduced into the 80 acre field behind my house - and probably elsewhere in my home town, which also happens to be the setting for my book.

Without giving the plot away, manure plays an important role in the story of teenage Nick, a worrier, with more than a dash of OCD. Almost sixteen, he longs to be taller, braver, more athletic, more popular with the girls, more one of the guys. He also suspects that he's the only one in the class who's still a virgin.

Life brightens when he finds a girlfriend and falls in love with her. They've been together for four weeks and he's kissed her eighteen times, according to his notebook.

But when Nick meets a strange and scary mutant and is forced to protect and hide him, his life becomes unbearable. Who can he turn to for help?

Mum and Dad are busy line dancing, big sister Becca has lost interest and his girlfriend Chloe has moved on to a handsome six-footer who's captain of the school football team. As for friends, Nick doesn't 'do' friends. Or rather, they don't do him.

Full of humour, warmth and tragedy, CABBAGE BOY can be enjoyed by both sexes.

By the way, I'm planning to send a copy to our local Borough Council's Environmental Protection Department!

THE CABBAGE BOY SAGA

PATIENCE, PATIENCE!

Charlston, South Carolina. This is where my latest book, CABBAGE BOY, is being printed. A beautiful city where life is just s-l-o-w and easy, judging by the number of weeks it takes to ship a proof copy to me!

It's a place that's been on my bucket list forever but one I've never managed to visit.

Seems strange that in recent years my connection should be a literary one, but better than nothing.

FUNNY? NOT FUNNY?

HUMOUR - WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?

I love to include humour in all my books, whether for grown-ups or children but I can never be sure who will find it funny, as when I tell a joke that makes me fall apart it's often met by blank bewilderment.But I came across this quote from an old radio show today (THE GLUMS, Frank Muir and Denis Norden). Maybe it will amuse some of you (I'm still on the floor!)Name me one thing she went short of!Well - food. Clothes. Coal . . . Teeth.

CABBAGE BOY! Available Shortly

Cabbage Boy - Just Weeks Away!

My latest book, for teens, young adults - and their parents - will be on sale in a few weeks, both in paperback and as a Kindle e-Book. Watch out for sale dates.

HOW DIFFERENT CHARACTERS CAN AFFECT A STORY'S THEME

A MAN AND A WOMAN, EACH LIVING IN THE DARK. HOW WILL THEIR STORIES DEVELOP?

At my writers' group last month we thought up some ideas for short stories and discussed how a character can affect a theme or how the theme can change the main character(s). Either way, whether you're writing a short story or a novel, there has to be change.

One member suggested a double glazing salesman who lives in a windowless basement flat and longs for a greenhouse. It reminded me of one of the characters in an A to Z of Silly Verse I wrote several years ago. This is U for Ursula

Ursula the usherette worked happily in the dark

Of the cinema (centre aisle) at Upper Tooting.

She lived her life in cellars

And hid behind umbrellas

If she ventured out in daylight to the park.

She'd have liked to be a mole

Or a miner hewing coal

Or a submarine commander out at sea.

But at least she had the leisure

To indulge her greatest pleasure

Of travelling by Underground all day.

Two characters, both living in the dark but with very different desires - opposite, in fact. If they were suddenly transposed to a place of light and sunshine, how would each be affected? How would the story end? Would the character change - or would the character change the theme?

WHAT IS A SHORT STORY?

HERE'S A DEFINITION

A short story can be anything from 500 (flash fiction) to 10,000 words, although the most popular length (for short story competitions, etc) is 1500 to 1700 words.

The short story is usually restricted to a single theme, a single mood, a single conflict, a single incident, a single episode in a character's life, a moment that changes someone's life or attitude in some way. It doesn't necessarily have a beginning, a middle and an end. Sometimes it can be circular, but usually something changes, something is resolved, the main character is affected in some way.

There should be few characters, and usually just a single viewpoint, past or present tense.
There's no room for waffling, wordiness or over-long description.

Every word counts, every action is significant.

It should leave the reader feeling entertained, mystified, amused, thoughtful, disturbed, pleased or sad but, in one way or another, satisfied. Ideally, it should remain in the reader's mind for at least as long as it takes to read. A bit like a good poem, really.

Although it's short, that doesn't mean it's easy to write. In fact, it can be quite a challenge.

Here's a circular example, one of mine (THE GOOD NEIGHBOURS OF ROWAN CRESCENT)

The residents of Rowan Crescent are very similar, successful husband, fashionable wife not needing to go out to work, 2.4 children etc. They live in each other's pockets, holding regular parties hosted by each couple in turn, babysitting for each other, sharing their woes and their triumphs. Perfect neighbours with perfect lifestyles.

Until one husband abandons his wife for his secretary. At first the abandoned wife's friends are full of sympathy and offers of help. Their husbands rush to repair her washing machine when it breaks down, fix her roof, mow her lawn etc., the wives shop for her when she has to go back to work, and of course she is still invited to all the parties. But gradually the wives begin to complain and criticise. Their husbands are far too eager to help the forsaken neighbour, it's a nuisance looking after her children so frequently, and it can be awkward having odd numbers at dinner parties etc. Soon they cease to invite her, and it's not long before she is ignored.

Eventually she sells the house and moves away with her children. A new couple with 2.4 children move in. They are welcomed with open arms and offers of help by their good neighbours and the cycle begins again. (About 2500 words)

A SECRET ATTIC

DID YOU HAVE AN ATTIC IN YOUR LIFE?

When I was a child I lived in a house with an attic that 

 stretched all the way from front to back of the house. It had a little dormer window with a casement that opened, in some areas the ceiling was so low you had to crawl beneath it. There was no electric light. A narrow twisting unlit staircase led to its solitary door.

And although my family knew about it, no one else came up those twisting stairs. It was mine. My secret attic, with all my possessions, some old pillows and blankets, a torch, and lots of books.

It's still vivid in my memory, which is probably why I include attics in so many of my novels. The book I'm writing just now will be called THE GIRL IN THE ATTIC. It's for young adults and is about Helen, a teenage girl who was killed in 1948 by her father and whose ghost lives on alone in the attic of his abandoned house.

In the meantime, here's an excerpt from THE MYSTERY OF CRAVEN MANOR, where Matt is taken by Sam to her secret attic:

The attics at Craven Manor were very different. Dark except for the odd chink of light from between the roof tiles, they were crammed with old furniture, pictures and ornaments, chests, toys, and dozens of other objects Matt could only guess at in the darkness. The dust-laden air smelled of musty clothes, damp and mothballs.

“There’s no electricity up here,” whispered Sam, “but I’ve got lots of torches hidden away. Stay there while I collect a couple.”

As she shuffled away he heard other noises. Mice, he guessed. Or even rats. He wasn’t really scared, but all the same he curled his toes. He didn’t fancy being bitten in the dark.

Then Sam clicked on two torches and came back to him. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s have some fun!”

Each attic led to another, and another and another, some quite small, others enormous. Matt lost count of how many he had passed through. His torchlight flashed on a dressmaker’s dummy swathed in cobwebbed shawls. In the next attic a battered rocking horse, minus its mane and tail, lay on its side. There were travelling trunks covered with faded labels, rolled up carpets and rugs, things that sent human-like shadows in the light of the torch.

Matt had no idea where they were in relation to the rooms below.

“We’re over Great Aunt Dorothy’s bedroom,” Sam whispered. “Better tiptoe!”

“Who’s Great Aunt Dorothy?” he whispered back.

“She’s another of them,” said Sam. “Honestly, you don’t want to meet her!”

They passed through another three attics .

“We’re coming to my favourite place,” said Sam.

As far as Matt could see, they had reached a blank wall with just a low chest of drawers against it, but Sam bent down and moved it easily out of the way. “It’s empty,” she said. “I threw all the stuff out.”

Behind the chest was a low opening. “You’ll have to crawl,” whispered Sam. Once through, she quietly pulled the chest back into place and hooked a piece of heavy tapestry curtaining across the opening. “Now we can light the candles.”

There were a dozen or more of them, shoved into candlesticks of every shape and size, and Matt shone his torch as Sam produced a box of matches and shuffled between them.

As the candlelight increased, he saw they were in another large space but this one glowed with colour and gleamed with the silver and copper of the candlesticks. Sam had strewn the bare boards with rugs and old bedspreads in a rainbow of colours, crimson, emerald, purple and gold. Silk and velvet curtains were pinned to the walls with drawing pins, and an inviting tumble of cushions filled the centre of the floor. Carved and painted masks decorated the walls,. A huge dried snake hung between two beams.

Sam flung herself on to the cushions. “This is my secret nest,” she said. “I’ve got my I-Pad and all my favourite books and games up here, and nobody except me knows about it!”

Matt’s mouth fell open with astonishment. It was Aladdin’s cave, the Arabian Nights. All they needed was a genie with a magic lamp. God, she was lucky!

“Well?” she asked. “What d’you think?”

She didn’t deserve it, the way she behaved. He turned away. “You want to be careful, with all these candles. You could set the whole house on fire.”