Hump Day Hook.

Hi everyone…it’s Hump Day again and time to read some amazing excerpts from loads of talented writers. So to indulge in some brilliant reading visit this site and enjoy.

Following on from last week and my WIP Ellis Stephen and Ellis are planning how Stephen can sneak into the house without his Mum seeing the tear in his trousers…..now read on;

‘ Mebbe you could sneak into back yard and into the lavvy and…and…’ Ellis stood there, still staring at the offending rent while rubbing a grubby finger up and down his snub nose; always a sign that he was thinking. I knew what he meant, and still smarting and annoyed I snapped, ‘And what, eh? Run passed me mam without me bloody trousers on?’

‘Ahm sorry, Stevie, I was only trying to help’. Ellis’s eyes pooled with tears,his bottom lip trembled and I was immediately contrite. I couldn’t stay angry with Ellis for long…and moving to his side, I laid a hand on his thin,narrow shoulder. ‘Sorry Ell..ah didn’t mean to snap’.

Ellis sniffed and wiped his sleeve along his snotty nose.’Well it might work yer know if yer mam’s busy in’t kitchen’, he said, his sun kissed freckled face brightening, ‘she’ll have ‘er back turned and she mebbe won’t see if you run fast’.

Oh, Ellis, Ellis, how simple things were for you, and us then.

A-Z Challenge

is for Night Owl. And many writers will admit to being night owls and staying up until stupid-o-clock because they are much more efficient and creative during the wee small hours. I know….I am a self-confessed Night Owl.

As soon as the sun begins to disappear over the western horizon and the sky glows red and gold….I start to come alive. Any feelings of being down or mildly depressed disappear, the creative juices start to flow and my Muse yawns, stretches and hops out of bed eager to begin writing.

I think also that I feel safer at night. No one can ‘get’ me when the rest of the world sleeps. No one will knock at the door (at least no one who I want to see) my phone won’t ring so there are no demands for my attention. And even as a child….I was never afraid of the monsters under the bed or ghosts who may be lurking in dark corners.( The only thing that I can remember which scared me silly was an episode of the 50s western series ‘Cheyenne’ when the hero of the title met the Native American mythological creature…The Wendigo. Now that’s really giving my age away. But I was about 4 or 5 at the time. )

The downside of being a night owl though is that most of your family and friends are ‘Larks’ …the opposite of ‘Owls’. Or if they are naturally ‘owls’, they’ve had the good sense to force themselves to change their natural rhythm because of work or family commitments. So when they are off ‘up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire’ at ten-o-clock, you’ve hardly started. Many are the times I’ve phoned/texted members of my family at midnight and beyond and had sleepy, slightly irate voices or return messages asking me ‘Do you know what bloody time it is?’ Er…..yes of course I know. And why are you in bed so early? And worse, they come knocking at your door at eight thirty when you’ve only been in bed for four hours.

And apart from writing more efficiently at night, you get to see, hear and feel things that ‘larks’ miss while asleep.
In summer one can occasionally see beautiful lightning dancing around the clouds and if one is really lucky, there’ll be some thunder as well. Foxes with their cubs coming to scoff the old cat food I used to put out at night, and hearing them barking on cold, misty nights. And one very memorable evening…I felt this;

The 2008 Lincolnshire earthquake struck Lincolnshire, in the United Kingdom, on 27 February 2008 at 00:56:47.8s GMT. According to the British Geological Survey, the quake registered a reading of 5.2 on the Richter scale with the epicentre 2.5 miles (4 km) north of Market Rasen.
(Wikipedia)
Now that was really exciting, but had I gone to bed at a ‘decent’ hour I might have missed it.

I believe it’s true that…”"Blessed are the owls, for they shall inherit the mystery and magic of the night”. And there is, for me at least, nothing as magical as seeing the first inky white glimmer of light in the eastern sky on a May morning, and hearing the first jubilant notes of the blackbird’s song as it resonates around the empty streets.

The late Margaret Thatcher famously said that she only had four hours sleep a night and thrived on it….I can believe that. And here is a list of other famous Night Owls;

Florence King
Fran Lebowitz
Hunter S. Thompson
Adolf Hitler during World War II slept from about 4 to 10 am and napped from about 5 to 7 pm.[13]
Charles Bukowski
Winston Churchill
James Joyce
Marcel Proust
Joseph Stalin
Keith Richards
Elvis Presley
Nick Drake
Van Cliburn

Good Night.

Hump Day Hook

It’s Wednesday and that means…..Hump Day! Lots of lovely authors (and me) share snippets from WsIP or published stories and books. So if you want to read them, go to This Site for the list of participating authors and enjoy.

We follow on from last week with my WIP, Ellis.

Even in here I can hear the gulls screaming over and around us, and they seem to mock me; Go on, tell him, tell him….we dare you.

The sound of them still has the power to invoke memories. Memories of long summer days when, in our world at least, the sun always shone; and winter when we waited with the others for the fishing boats to sail safely back into harbour. Even in our fear we had each other and that was comfort enough as we stood by the harbour wall, peering through curtains of icy, wind blown rain.
The women’s faces creased with anxiety and concentration as they too waited for a glimpse of a sail, and the weather and worry added more silver strands to already greying hair and more lines to the life maps that were their faces.
And always the gulls, screaming and wheeling around the headland and the cliffs, and always there is Ellis, my beloved Ellis.

The reverend waits patiently for me to begin my story. And I’m afraid that, when he hears it he will look at me not with friendship, but with disgust and revulsion.

‘Very well, I’ll tell you about my friend’, I say, ‘But you promised you would hear me without judging me. And I’m so afraid that you will change you’re mind when you have heard me out’.

‘I cannot judge you, Stephen, I leave that to a higher power’. He says, leaning forward to coax the flames with the poker.
And as I watch him perform that one simple, domestic act, and feel the heat from the flames as they leap upwards, I begin my story……

A-Z Challenge.

is for Death. And the only thing we can be sure about in this life…..we’re going to die some time.

Now, I don’t mean to be morbid or depressing but really, death is very much a part of life. The cycle of life…we are born…we live..and then we shuffle off this mortal coil.

But, mercifully most of us don’t know when Mr G Reaper will come knocking. We hope it won’t be until we are too old or too sick to care and are ready to go with him. However….some unfortunate souls know only too well when they will be sent to the next world, and in the first story I had written for many years, my hero, Edward was one of these. He was about to be beheaded.

Poor Edward; based on a real historical figure, he was banged up in the Tower of London on a charge of treason, and spent his time dreaming of his home ‘Borley Hall‘ in Essex. His last wish was to come back as a ghost so he could walk there again, presumably ‘Sans Tete’.

The story was entitled ‘Twenty Three Steps To Borley‘, the steps of the title being the number of steps Edward counted from the Tower to the block. The final step, the twenty third was the moment the axe fell and his spirit was free.

Then, I had the ‘What If’ moment that many writers have. What if Edward’s valet had harboured a secret love for his master and, at the last minute so to speak, confessed his love to Edward. I wrote Ned & Will, A Love Story and published it on my blog in four parts. I had to change Edward’s last name to Wharton as the original name was Waldegrave (pronounced Wallgrave) and there are still members of that family living….what’s more, they are MPs. I didn’t want to offend or anger anyone with my scribblings.

So Edward and William consummate their love in a mean prison cell with a storm raging over London. (I do love my rough weather metaphors) and its all very sad and poignant but tender and loving. I adored writing it but with a little more experience under my belt, I can see its flaws. But I am very very fond of my two boys and didn’t want to let them go. So, I transposed Edward and Will into one of my WsIP ‘Defying Leviticus‘ which is also the name of this blog.

Now, I have another WIP which begins in a churchyard with the protagonist grieving over his lovers grave.

Hmmm! I’m not morbid, honest. But death can be so wonderfully, gruesomely exciting (in fiction) and, if it is bloody and sudden as in Edward’s case, it is full of high drama and tension; but the quiet death resulting from illness or old age is sad and touching.

And, as an author, you get to play God and choose how your character dies. Now that’s something to think about.

A-Z Challenge

is for Castle. Well, one in particular. Scarborough Castle which stands proudly upon the headland at Scarborough on the NE coast of England. It provides a natural division between the South and North bays and it has stood sentinel over the town since being built by Henry 11 in the 1150s.

The castle started life as an Iron Age settlement, later it was occupied by the Romans and then The Vikings before reaching its hey day in the 12th century. The castle has seen more than its fare share of conflict and strife in its long history.

My association with the castle started in my childhood. Every summer, I…along with my parents and older brother, and later my younger sister would spend at least a week at the popular seaside town where we would indulge in the typical ‘bucket & spade’ holiday of the working classes.

Our ‘digs’, as my father referred to the little hotel we always stayed at (with full board) were just around the corner from the castle on the North side. It was much quieter than the more commercialised South side. More refined if you like. I was happy with that, because even as a child I was quiet and introverted……and very ‘tuned in’ to certain places and atmosphere.

Scarborough castle was no exception. Inside the ruins, along their perimeters and almost all of the area surrounding the ruins made me feel inexplicably melancholy and sad. In fact, thinking about it, most of the town made me feel that way, and still does. And the cry of seagulls too makes me feel sad.

Of course, I didn’t know why I felt this way and I don’t remember ever having told my family at the time. But it was only later in life (in fact it was in 2011 at the age of 54) when I discovered M/M stories and books that pieces of the jigsaw began to fall into place.

I was deeply affected by the stories of these men and their troubles and conflicts with society. Many times I found myself sobbing uncontrollably while reading these stories. I had never felt such empathy with characters as I did with these men. But why?

It was while I was in the throws of a period of crying that I called out the name ‘Ellis’ asking him to forgive me. I was totally unable to explain why I called that name.

But I have wondered…..have I lived before, in Scarborough and perhaps suffered some trauma involving someone called Ellis. I don’t suppose I will ever know for sure.

All these things combined though, did give me the idea for my WIP. A story of two boys, friends from childhood they live in the fishing community of Scarborough in the early years of the 20th century. When Ellis and his friend, Stephen reach their teens they realise that what they feel for each other goes much deeper than mere friendship.

One of their meeting places is….Scarborough Castle.