JK 'Strikes' gold again

I have to admit that I am loving 'Strike' currently showing on the BBC and I have read both The Cuckoo's Calling and Silkworm and enjoyed them for what they were; reasonably well written private detective novels.

I didn't question Rowling's motive for writing under a pseudonym or the convenient leaking of the authors real name when the book had only sold a few thousand copies (granted still more sales that a lot of us will ever manage). There have been many articles about reading between the lines and hearing what she has to say about the world of celebrity and the publishing industry but would those questions even have been asked if Robert Galbraith really had written these novels?

However do we really think that had Robert Galbraith been real that he would have got a TV deal after just three 'not bad' books? I doubt it, but change the name of the author to JK Rowling and suddenly a TV deal is a forgone conclusion assuming Hollywood doesn't get there first.
How many novels did Ian Ranking write before Rebus hit the small screen? or Val McDermid, Colin Dexter and the thousands of great authors whose written words never gets anywhere near a TV deal.

The thing I liked about Strike was that it was relatively close to the book with the obvious need for abbreviation to get everything to fit into three episodes. Again I think this is the power of Rowling. If you are a fan of Hamish Macbeth on the TV don't read the books by M.C.Beaton as the only thing that remained the same was the name.

I enjoy Rowling and I believe she is a great writer with a gift to write the best children's books of our generation but I am sure that Strike would not have been made into a TV series with the DVD box set that will obviously follow if the author really had been a debutant by the name of Robert Galbraith.

The difficult second

How often do we hear 'oh well that was the difficult second album?' It seems if you have the talent and the perseverance to make an album or write a book the second one is never quite as easy.

It seems that the first time we do something that is good enough to be shown to the public at large we have been working on it for the whole of our lives up until that point.
Then either through personal or peer pressure the second album or book is required before the furore of the first has died down. So often the second is a disappointment and the star wains until five years later they reappear with a third that is reminiscent of the first.

I looked today and I published my first novel a little over three years ago. I had written it as part of the 2012 NANOWRIMO and had then taken two years to tidy it up and eventually get it to a state that I was happy with and able to publish it.
As part of NANO 2013 I wrote my second novel. Then I got ill. Once I was better and ready to write again I turned my pen to writing about my illness and produced what I consider to be a passable non fiction book about my health struggles and the British NHS.
Then I started to go back to my second novel. It lacked something but it was okay I had an idea. I have sat down twice in the last six months to write that idea and started with all good intentions to  find the following day that I need to go to work and I am too busy to carry on.

Yesterday I saw an article about a fellow writer who has just won an award with Amazon. In it he talks about how he would write at night after the kids had gone to bed and how he discovered self publishing through KDP. Eventually he 'discovers' he has earned enough money to give up his job and write full time.
I read that article and was immediately overcome with jealousy. Wouldn't it be amazing to just discover that the account where your royalties are paid into suddenly has enough money for you to give up work. Why does that never happen to me? Why do I not have an army of fans buying my books? Why can't I write full time?

The reason I can't is because I have published one novel in the last five years. How are people supposed to become fans if I can't give them more things to read? I'm not Harper Lee.

So now is the time to start writing. Time to put aside that 30 minutes each day and get out that old manuscript and turn it into something that will generate fans.
James Patterson has millions of fans but then he has written and co-written hundreds of books.

Time to stop waiting to be discovered.

And so to my difficult second book. Is it worth finishing? Of course it is. Will it take hard work and perseverance? Of course it will. But I've done it once and I sure as hell can do it again.

Teenage Dream

Twitter challenge

This story was written based upon a prompt I was given by Twitter which was:

'It wasn't that he didn't want to be with her, but rather he didn't want her to be with him'.

 

Teenage Dream

Chantel was the prom queen, the one they all wanted and for the last two years she had been on the arm of the star quarterback.

That was until she had caught him making out with her best friend.

Chantel had cried off going to the gathering at Shannon's house, but feeling better later in the evening she had snook out and arrived as the party was in full swing.

As she walked in people turned and stared. The room had fallen silent of the general roar of a teenage party and only the banging base continued to beat out from the stereo.

The glances towards the garden sent her running through the crowd. Teenagers easily parting. No one even attempting to stop her. No one wanting to get involved.

As she emerged into the garden she was ignored by the couples making out. She looked around unable to see what she already knew she was looking for. Then she heard it. Shannon's giggle and she knew what she would see even before she pushed through the bushes into the back corner of the garden. There snuggled under the arbour with his hand up Shannon's top and slobbering into her left ear was Brad.

Before Chantel knew what was happening and before the two lovers could realise they were being watched she grabbed the hose conveniently lying on the ground and she blasted them with ice cold water.

Shannon lunged towards her soaker, almost halfway there before her brain registered what her eyes where seeing.

'Chantel,' Shannon stopped dead. 'I thought you were ill.'

Chantel dropped the hose and turned, pushing her way through the crowd that had gathered to see the inevitable cat fight. 

                                                ***********************************************

That was how I ended up with Chantel the prom queen.

I'm Andy. The head of the debate team and used as a punch bag for the football team even since high school began.

I have spent the last five years dreaming over Chantel. Offering to carry her books home and buying her shakes if I ever see her in the diner without the other cheerleaders and football jocks.

Last Sunday she was there alone and I offered to buy her a drink. She accepted and asked me to join her. We talked about the debate team and somehow ended up discussing the role of women in Tolstoy's War and Peace.

Before long I had to go and mow Mrs Petersen's lawn but we agreed to meet to next day.

I walked into the diner the next day and there she was surrounded by the rest of the cheerleader troop.

'Chantel. I'm here,' I said as I walked over.

'Beat it geek. We're busy.' Shannon said from her place next to Chantel.

It looked like the natural order had returned. I dipped my head, turned and headed to a booth the other side of the diner.

I ordered my food and sat with my head bowed.

'Can I sit here?'

I looked up and there was Chantel.

'I thought you were with those guys,' I said nodding towards the cheerleaders sitting in the booth by the door.

'They sat with me while I was waiting for you. Shannon isn't the sort of person I want to hang around with anymore.'

I nodded at the seat opposite and then waved at Mindy, my favourite waitress, to let her know to bring Chantel a milkshake along with the rest of my order.

 I was halfway through my frothy coffee when, as if the gods of tension had decreed it, the jukebox stopped and Brad walked in.

He started heading towards his usual crowd when out of the corner of his eye he saw Chantel sitting with me.

'Chantel why you sitting in Geek corner?'

'I'm sitting with Andy because we're together. You've got Shannon now.'

'Come on Chantel. You're the one who let me down. You weren't expecting me to go to the party alone were you?'

'Seriously Brad, this is my fault?'

'I'm glad you realise that now why don't you get back where you belong?'

'Brad I was being sarcastic. I am not coming back with you. I'm with Andy.'

'You,' Brad said pointing at me. 'Will regret this.'

Brad walked towards the crowd and grabbed Shannon, kissing her full on the lips

'Let's go, this place is getting to geeky for me.'

The rest of the afternoon was me and Chantel. It was the best afternoon of my life. That evening I walked her home and she kissed me. The sweetest strawberry lip-gloss kiss.

I was still floating on air as I walked across the playing field and round the back of the school towards the alley way that cut through towards home. I entered the alleyway not aware of anything. It was only when I was half way along that I noticed the two large shadows at the end. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed a similar two shadows approaching behind me.

'She's mine Geek,' one of the shadows said as all four of them piled into me.

The next thing I remember was waking up in hospital with a young woman sitting by my side.

'Chantel?' I whispered.

The girl blew her nose, wiped her eyes and squeezed my hand.

'It's me,' she said. 'Mindy. I was so worried about you.'

'Mindy?'

'Yes. Chantel popped in but she left with Brad. It seems they're back together.'

'But Brad did this?'

'Then you need to let the police know. He can't get away with this.'

Just then the door pushed open and Chantel appeared.

'Andy, can I have a word?'

'Mindy do you mind?' I asked.

'No problems. I'll go get a coffee. I'll be back in five minutes.'

Mindy got up, left and Chantel took the seat she had left.

'How are you?' Chantel asked.

'I've been better. What the hell did Brad think he was doing.'

'What do you mean? Brad didn't do this.'

'Chantel, Brad did this. I heard him.'

'You can't prove it. He was at football practice. I saw him there.'

'Chantel how can you say that? I had just left you at home.'

'Brad wouldn't hurt you. He had no reason to. And he's not that kind of guy.'

'Has he threatened you?'

'Don't be so silly. I don't know why you think he would hurt anyone.'

'Chantel I thought you were better than that. Brad has hospitalised me and he cheated on you with your best friend. How can you defend him?'

'If you're going to start slagging my friends off I think its best we don't see each other anymore.'

'Chantel you are a beautiful girl but you really need to choose your friends better.'

Chantel stood and turned tossing her mane of perfectly coiffured hair over her shoulder. She stomped towards the door, pushing it outwards and nearly knocking the cup of coffee from Mindy's hands as she headed back into the room.

'What's wrong with her?' Mindy said as the door closed behind Chantel.

'She feels that her boyfriend isn't the type to beat anyone up.'

'You are joking. She knows he did it.'

'But she and the rest of the cheerleader, football player gang are going to give him an alibi.'

'So what are you going to do?'

'I thought I might keep my head down, get better and then see if the best looking diner waitress in town wants to go out sometime.'

Mindy put her coffee cup down on the nightstand and leaned in towards me for a kiss that beat any strawberry lip-gloss kiss by a mile.

Documents in the Rain

Charlie was rushing home when he first saw it. If it had been a beautiful sunny day he would have been looking around him, taking in the beauty of the university grounds. Charlie loved the walk through the grounds. From the lecture theatre to his digs took him through the arboretum, around the tennis courts and finally across the end of the lake.  Charlie was always amazed by the different types of flora and fauna he experienced on his walk home. So different from Birmingham city centre where he had been brought up. The concrete jungle with the odd tree and small patch of grass put in by overspent councils to try and give it some semblance of nature and break up the grey monotony.
But on this day he had had his head bent down, trying to fight against the driving rain. At first he saw a spot of red out of the corner of his eye. He didn't want to stop, he was getting soaked and needed to keep moving fast but the flash of colour caught his eye and his curiosity. He dog legged across the pavement and stopped. Looking down he had to look twice but there in the gutter was a copy of the I Ching. He picked it up and carried on home.
When he got home he threw the book into the sink and started undressing. A while later after a hot shower and a change of clothes he came back and looked at it. It was wet through and in danger of disintegrating but he picked it up carefully and opened the front page. This book belongs to Billie Yang.
Charlie couldn't believe his luck. Billie Yang  was the most beautiful girl he had every seen. She was in his english literature group and he had been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to her for weeks. Now here was the ideal opportunity.
Charlie carefully laid the book out on the hearth mat and turned the gas fire on to low. He wanted to dry the book out so that he had something special to give to her.
The next day Charlie was sat behind Billie. Every time he tried to get her attention one of her friends or the teacher would say something. All day he tried and tried but always something distracted her. In the end Charlie knew he was never going to get her alone and he would never have the courage to talk to her with her friends there. What was he going to do? As he was walking towards the science lab for his last lesson of the day he walked passed the notice board. Of course that was it.
By the time Billie walked passed the same notice board an hour later there was a new notice in the middle of the board for all to see.

If anyone has lost a copy of the I Ching contact Charlie Somersby.

'Thank goodness,' Charlie heard one of Billie's friends say, in the large crowd gathered around the notice board. 'He lives over by the new mini mart you can pick it up on your way home.'

Charlie didn't wait to hear the reply but turned and ran out of the building. Chess club would have to be missed if he was going to get home and look smart enough when Billie got there.
Charlie showered and changed, and changed and changed. He didn't want to look too geeky but he didn't want her to think he wasn't intelligent. Finally he settled on his best checked shirt and his new blue jeans, just in time, he was still lacing his converse trainers when the door bell rang.
He raced down stairs but too late Mrs Jones who lived in the ground floor flat had got there first.
'Oh hi, does Charlie live here?' asked an extremely gruff voice. Charlie couldn't see who was at the door from where he stood but it obviously wasn't Billie.
'Yes,' said Mrs Jones. 'Oh look here he is now.'
Charlie slowly walked down the stairs to see Brian Matthews the school bully and resident idiot standing there.
'Hi Brian,' smiled Charlie, it wasn't wise to upset Brian. 'What can I do for you?'
'Billie said you had my book.'
'I've got a book but it's not yours. It's Billie's'
'No it's mine.'
'I don't know what your game is Brian,' said Charlie sounding a lot braver that he felt, 'but it's Billie's. It's got her name in it.'
'She gave it to me.'
'Course she did. Why would you want a copy of the I Ching?'
'Because I'm interested. So go get me my book.'
'No.'
Brian grabbed hold of the front of Charlie's shirt and pulled him close. Charlie could still smell the remnants of the shepherd's pie the canteen have served for lunch on Brian's breath.
'It's Billie's book and I am not going to let you have it.'
Brian raised his fist just as Mrs Jones reappeared from her flat. He looked at her, shrugged and pushed Charlie away. Charlie landed in an untidy pile on the floor and Brian turned and headed off up the street.
Before Mrs Jones had chance to ask Charlie what was going on he picked himself up and rushed back up to his room.
Charlie sat in his room flicking through the book. It had Billie's name in the front and there were notes in the margin all in her beautifully delicate handwriting. The book had to be hers but why was Brian trying to get hold of it? Just then the doorbell rang again. On the third ring Charlie realised Mrs Jones must have gone out and he went down stairs to answer it.
Charlie opened the door to find Brian standing there again.
'Look Brian I don't know what you want but I am not giving you the book.'
Brian stepped aside and behind him was Billie.
'Hi Charlie.'
'Hi Billie,' Charlie blushed.
'I wanted to thank you for standing up to Brian about the book. It couldn't have been easy.'
'Not a problem.'
'But the thing is it really is Brian's book. I gave it to him.'
'Oh. Oh well I best get it for him then.'
Charlie slowly walked up the stairs and fetched the book. He returned and without looking up he handed the book to Brian.
'Thanks.' Brian took the book and started to walk off.
'Look Charlie,' Billie said. Charlie looked up and was happy to see she was smiling. 'I wondered, as you've been so gallant about the book and everything.'
'Yes,' Charlie replied.
'Do you fancy going for a drink sometime? Maybe tomorrow?'
Charlie could only nodded and grin as Billie turned and ran off after Brian.

Changing Baby

Changing Baby

Shirley lift the baby up in front of her, placed her nose next to the nappy and sniffed. Why do people do that? she though to herself, you could smell the nappy from three streets away, there was no need to double check that that was where the stench was coming from.
Shirley grabbed the change mat and carefully laid the baby down. Dragging the bag with all his change things in she whipped off the dirty nappy and quickly fasten it inside a scented disposal bag. She then carefully set about cleaning him.
She smiled softly to herself as she went about her task. She was so lucky to have him. Her smile fell as she remembered the doctor telling her all those years ago that she wouldn't be able to conceive. The pain and the anguish she had gone through, the tests and finally the numerous attempts at IVF. After the third attempt her husband had tried to persuade her that there was no point going on. He didn't understand what it meant to her, she needed to have a baby.
Her husband walked out in the end. Claimed that she had gone mad and that she never had anytime for them anymore. He said he hated feeling like she only wanted him for his sperm.
It had been hard at first, being alone after so many years. She had picked herself up and when she got the job at the nursery she knew she was going to be okay.
She gently wiped the baby's bottom, applied a little nappy rash cream and a little talc before popping on his clean nappy. She was just starting to fasten the velcro on the sides of the nappy when there was a knock at the door.
'They'll have to wait, won't they little man?' she whispered to the baby. She got his legs back inside the baby grow and was struggling with the press studs when the banging on the door came again, this time louder and more insistent.
'Oooh someone is impatient.' she smiled at the baby and lifted him into her arms, placing him gently against her shoulder as she tidied away the change mat, carefully putting all the used wipes into a disposal bag.
'Mrs Jones,' a voice shouted as the banging on the door started again. 'Mrs Jones, this is the police. We know you are only looking after him but you need to let us in now.'
'Shit.' Shirley mutter as she stood up. She grabbed the change bag, her handbag and rushed towards the back door.
She had only made it as far as the hallway when the front door imploded inwards and four very large, very loud policemen came barging through.
She could see the shadow of others at the back door. The game was up. The last month had been the happiest she had ever known. She held the baby close and sat down on the bottom of the stairs, holding him to her and rocking him gently.  

The cobbles of remembrance

I had been enjoying the hot Sunday afternoon, lazing in the sun. They were having a birthday party next door and Cheneice was over there and Jim was away on business for another week. It wasn’t often I get to sit and do nothing but today was a perfect day to do just that.

So far I had worked half way down a very weak jug of PIMS and I was had almost finished the Jackie Collins that had been sat on my bedside table for the last few months.

I had heard a few screams from over the fence but that was kids being kids. Besides Marjory was watching them all and she was far more capable than I ever would be. I think she had a couple of the other mums helping her and as long as that lush, Emma Marchbanks, wasn’t there they would all be sober.

‘Mummy, mummy.’ I heard a voice that changed in pitch as it called out. Knowing it was my Cheniece but praying it wasn’t, I closed my eyes.

‘Mummy, look at me.’ I slowly opened my eyes to see my daughter’s head appear over the top of the fence and then vanish behind it again. Seconds later she appeared again.

‘Cheniece, what are you doing?’ I called as I slowly rose from my sun lounger.

‘Daniel has a trampoline. He got it for his birthday.’ She called back, still appear above the fence every few seconds.

‘And where is everyone else?’ I asked, now standing on tiptoe to see over the fence and realising my daughter was alone.

‘They are playing pass the parcel but I lost in the first round, so I came out to play.’

‘Cheniece, those things can be dangerous. You need to have someone to watch you.’

‘Well you can watch me now, can’t you?’

At that point Marjory appeared and saw me staring over the fence. ‘Way to keep an eye on the kids Marjory. Should you not have a net around this thing?’

‘We ordered one,’ Marjory rushed down the garden steps to stand close to the trampoline and my still jumping daughter, ‘but it didn’t turn up in time and I couldn’t not let them use in today. Could I?’

‘Well keep an eye on her will you.’

‘Of course.’ Marjory turn to Cheniece. ‘Time to come in now, we are about to start the birthday tea.’

‘Fantastic,’ shouted Cheniece as she seemed to jump higher in the air one last time and land on the ground, not the trampoline.

I looked at Marjory and before either of us could move Cheniece had run off back inside the house.

The relaxation of my afternoon spoilt, I went into the house and decided to tidy round ready for Cheniece’s return.

Before I knew it the clock in the lounge chimed six o’ clock and I grabbed my keys and headed next door. I was four steps out of the front door before I realised that I had forgotten to put any shoes on. All afternoon lounging around the garden, followed by a few hours mooching around the house I had not bothered to put anything on my feet. I looked down, looked at the house and then looked at next door. It was a smooth concrete path right up until Marjory’s driveway which was made up of old fashioned cobbled stones. ‘Sod it,’ I thought, and continued towards next door and collecting my daughter.

A couple of sharp stones made me reconsider my rash decision but I was nearer Marjory’s than home by then so there was no point turning back.

I walked onto Marjory’s driveway and felt the cobbles under my feet. I walked four steps before I stopped dead in my tracks. I could hear the noise of an engine turning over and suddenly I was twelve again.

It was a day the same as any other and I had been out all day playing with my friends on our bikes, swimming in the canal. All things health and safety don’t let kids do these days. I had got home at six and was surprised Mum hadn’t been standing out on the front looking for me. My trainers were hanging round my neck tied together with their laces and I dumped my bike at the street end of the drive and started walking towards the house. As I walked up the drive I could hear an engine running but couldn’t see any cars in the street. I couldn’t work out where it was coming from.

I got to the front door and pushed the same as always. But the door didn’t move. I jangled the handle but nothing. I pushed the bell and still nothing. Where could Mum be? She was always here and she would never have gone out without me.

I walked passed the front of the garage towards the back gate and as I did the noise of the car engine got louder. I looked out into the street and there was still no sign of the car I could hear. I got to the back gate and pushed the latch down. The gate opened easily and I headed into the back garden. As I walked down the back passage I looked at the back door to the garage and realised the noise was coming from in there. I pushed the door and it swung open.

The smell was something I hadn’t ever smelt before and the garage was engulfed in a dark cloud. The engine noise was louder than anything I had ever heard. Why was the car engine running? What was the hose pipe doing? I slowly walked to the car and tried to open the door. Through the smoke and the haze, I could make out someone was sitting in the driver’s seat. I started coughing as I pulled at the car door. It was locked. I pulled and pulled and pulled. I don’t know what I expected to happen. I was coughing harder now and breathing seemed to be something I had to think about.

I suddenly realised I needed help and I tried to run towards the door. It was like running through treacle. The door to the garage was open and I could see the sun streaming through, but it didn’t seem to be getting and closer. My breath was getting heavier and I was coughing too much to take deep breaths.

As I collapsed on the floor, the light from the door clouded. As if a cloud had tracked across the sun at that precise moment. There were voices but no noise I could make sense of.

 

‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Cheniece was clinging to my neck and I was lying on the floor.

‘Are you okay?’ Marjory ran from the front door and bent down to be level with me. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing I must have just had too much sun I guess,’ I said smiling at Marjory and kissing my daughter on the top of her head as I slowly picked myself up.

 

That night as I was tucking Cheneice into bed she lifted her little hand and stroked my cheek. ‘I love you mummy.’

‘I love you too my sweetheart.’ I smiled and lifting her hand kissed it carefully.

‘Daniel’s party was great and he had two grandma’s there. Why have I only got one Grandma?’

I looked at my daughter carefully. She was so insightful sometimes. ‘Shall we have a story before you go to sleep?’

‘Yes please. George and Dragon?’

‘Of course.’

Waiting for Charlie

She sat looking out towards the sea. The water from the damp grass slowly wicking up her trousers. The trees behind her protecting her from the wind blowing off the land and out to sea. She liked sitting here. She was hidden from view by the outline of the trees and the road in between her and the beach but she knew when she saw him she could come out of cover and get to him before they got to her.

‘Megan, Megan,’ voices called from inside the woods.

She didn’t turn. She just kept looking out to sea. They would be upon her soon but she needed to concentrate. Today might be the day.

She felt hands grip her arms and pull her to her feet.

‘Megan. Come on now, time to go back. You know you’re not supposed to be out here.’

Megan slowly turned her eyes away from the beach and looked up at the young woman holding her arm. ‘When Charlie gets back he needs me. I’m his support team.’

‘Not today Megan, come on we need to get back now.’

‘No Charlie needs me.’ Megan wrestled her arm away from the woman and started to get up. As she rose the woman stood in front of her blocking the beach from view.

‘Get out of the way. I need to look for Charlie,’ Megan shouted trying to push the woman aside.

‘Come on now Megan, Charlie came out down the coast we need to go to him,’ a man appeared out of the trees and took hold of Megan’s hand.

‘Really.’

‘Yes. You know what the currents can be like. He drifted off course and the other team have him. Come on back to the house now and we will see him there.’

The young woman looked at the man and started to say something. He shook his head and started to lead Megan back to the house. They walked through the forest one either side of Megan, both alert and talking slowly to her.

They emerged from the forest onto a large manicured lawn with an old country manor nestled on the opposite side. Five concrete steps led up to open French doors and what looked like a large sitting room. They led Megan into the house.

‘Charlie. Is he here?’ Megan looked at her two guardians. Her eyes glancing from one to the other trying to work out what they were hiding from her.

‘He’s in the house.’

Megan released herself from their hold and ran inside. She instinctively rushed upstairs to her room. He wasn’t there. Where was Charlie? Megan turned and was about to run back down stairs when a nurse appeared.

‘Megan. There you are. It’s time for your medicine.’

‘Charlie, I need to see Charlie.’

‘He is resting now sweetheart, just like you should be.’

‘But I need to see him.’

‘Once you’ve had your tablets.’

‘Not Now.’

‘Don’t be stroppy now. You want to be your best for him don’t you?’

Megan nodded, sat down on the edge of her bed and held out her hand. The nurse passed her a little plastic cup containing two tablets and a plastic beaker half full of water. Megan swallowed the tablets as she knew she must. She was asleep before the nurse left the room.

 

                                *********************************************************

‘Morning Megan and how are we feeling today,’ the nurse called as she pushed open the door with her large backside and entered the room backwards pulled a large trolley in with her.  She was halfway across the room before she brought the trolley to a halt and looked over at the bed. In the half light of the room she couldn’t make out Megan and assumed she was still asleep. The nurse left her trolley and walk over to the window.

‘Come on sleepy head,’ she called as she quickly yanked the large curtains open. She turned and looked twice at the bed. There was no Megan, just a lump of duvet and pillows that might have been an effort to make it look like Megan, or it might have just been the way the bed linen fell when Megan got up. The bathroom door was closed.

‘Megan, Megan are you in there?’ the nurse called as she knocked on the door. ‘Megan.’

The door swung open and she stared into an empty room.

‘Shit.’

                                ***************************************************

Megan walked onto the beach just as he walked out of the sea.

‘Charlie, Charlie, you made it,’ she ran up and threw her arms around him.

‘What the?’ he tried to push her off and as she stepped back he collapsed onto the sand.

Suddenly people were rushing round, ignoring her, wrapping towels and body warming sheets around him. Someone else was trying to feed him an energy bar. Megan stood still as all the people rushed around her. After a few minutes they help the man to his feet and ushered him towards a campervan park at the side of the road by the beach.

Megan stood still, ‘Charlie, please Charlie. It’s me.’

She was still stood there twenty minutes later. The man looked out the window as they pulled away. ‘Who was she?’

‘Who knows? Just some doddery old dear. Maybe she’s a fan.’

                                *****************************************************

 

‘Megan you have a visitor,’ the nurse shook Megan awake.

‘What? Who? Is it Charlie?’

‘No Megan, It’s a young man. He says he met you on the beach yesterday. Do you remember?’

‘I went to the beach yesterday?’

‘You remember we had to bring you back again.’

‘I have to wait for Charlie. He needs me.’

‘Megan let’s get you dressed and then you can meet Ian.’

The nurse help Megan get dressed and took her down to the breakfast room. As Megan walked into the room her face lit up as she saw the young man sitting by the window at her table. She rushed over, a quick slipper shuffle. The young man stood up and helped her into the chair next to him.

‘Megan, Megan Smithson?’

‘Charlie, oh Charlie. It’s you isn’t it.’

‘No Mrs Smithson. My name’s Ian. I met you on the beach yesterday.’

‘You’re not Charlie? But I saw you coming out of the sea. Charlie was supposed to come out of the sea.’

‘Mrs Smithson. I came to see you because I was hoping you could tell me about Charlie. I have read so much about him. He’s the reason I’m a cross channel swimmer. I was hoping you could tell me about him.’

‘I have photos somewhere but the nurses, they don’t let me look at them. They say it gets me upset.’

‘How about I ask them and then I come back later and we can look at them together.’

‘Would you? That would be nice.’

‘Okay I’ll see you later.’

                                ****************************************************

Ian visited Megan every day for a week. She lit up when he came into the room and only mistook him for Charlie once. They talked about all of Charlie’s swimming and how he first got into open water swimming.

‘This photo here this is on the coast of France when he was starting his cross channel swim,’ Megan pointed to a photo of a smiling man, wearing goggles on his head and covered in Goose fat.

‘Were you with him in France?’ Ian asked

‘No I was part of the back-up team here in the UK. I was waiting on the beach ready with warm blankets and food and drink.’

‘What happened Megan?’

Megan slowly stroked the photo. Gently touching the smiling face. A tear fell onto the photo.

‘I’m so sorry Megan. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Ian held her hand.

‘He’s not coming back is he?’

‘No Megan. They lost him mid channel. Did they not tell you?’

‘They tried but I just sat there waiting. That’s why I always go back to the beach, just in case.’

‘Megan it’s been fifty years.’

‘Fifty years. Has it really been that long?’ Megan looked up at Ian and then down at the photo. ‘He’s not coming back is he?’

‘No Megan.’

‘Can you give me a minute please?’

‘Of course. I’ll fetch us some tea.’ Ian patted her hand and headed off to the lunch room to see if he could round up a cup of tea.

‘Ian. How’s Megan today?’ a tall man in a white coat approached Ian as he was pouring boiling water into the tea pot.

‘Good afternoon Dr Sheppard. I’m afraid I may have upset her a little. We talked about the day Charlie went missing.’

‘Really? She has never talked about that day before.’

‘I hope I haven’t done anything wrong.’ Ian place the tea pot onto the tray with two cups.

‘No, not at all. She has needed to talk about Charlie for a long time. Maybe she can finally get closure. Do you mind if I join you for tea?’

‘Of course not.’ Ian placed a third cup on the tray and carried the tray into the sitting room. Megan was sitting back in her arm chair with her eyes closed hugging the photo to her chest in her right hand. Dr Sheppard quicken his pace to overtake Ian and lifted her left wrist. After a few seconds he shook his head.

‘I’m afraid she’s gone.’

Ian slowly lowered himself into the chair, the tea tray still in his hands. ‘I can’t believe she’s gone just like that. She seemed so well.’

‘Maybe she did get the closure she needed. She finally admitted that she didn’t need to wait for Charlie. He was waiting for her.’

KDP – How I became a bestselling author

Sales for the Stripper of the Yard had gone well for the first three weeks but having run out of family and friends, I needed to find other ways to get the news of my book out to the world at large.

First I advertised on a number of free author platforms. Unfortunately there is no way of knowing if anyone is viewing these. Still no new sales.

Then up pops a request for me to support another author’s thunderclap promotion. I had never heard of thunderclap and for those who haven’t, it is a crowd sourcing platform. Rather than asking people to give you their money, it asks people to give you access to their social media platform. You need to get a minimum of 100 people to offer you their support and if your target is achieved at an appointed time a tweet or Facebook advert is sent out to all the connections of your supporters. I was amazed that my book was being tweeted to over 217,000 people.

My book was tweeted and while I am still hopeful, I have yet to see any new sales.

Looking for new ideas I was quite pleased to see my monthly newsletter from KDP pop up into my in box.

There at the top of the email was a link to a YouTube video of a KDP bestselling author. These appear each month and unfortunately this one was exactly the same as all the others. In the video an author sits and tells of her journey to bestselling authorship through using KDP and createspace. Yet again when it gets to the point as to how the author attracted readers she says she did nothing and that the readers came to her.

How can this be?

How does this help those of us who need to attract readers?

Why does KDP feel the need to only share the stories of people who magically sold thousands of books over night?

I do not begrudge the success of other authors but can’t we see the story of an author who struggled in the start, but has achieved greatness now. It would be great to know that one day all this hard work would pay off. If the ability to attract readers is all written in the stars is there any point pushing my book? There must be some way to let readers know I exist without being ‘traditionally’ published.

Come on KDP give those of us who are struggling some hope. Show us authors who never gave up hope and struggled to start with. Show us how the hard work is worth it.