SueJEaton

Despite being up against a very strong field I was lucky enough to have had my submission chosen to be read last night. I have to say, that despite it sounding a tad far-fetched it is actually a true account of one particular day in January 2017. It’s funny now but …

The Call of the Keyboard
I lie for a delicious moment in that euphoric state of warmth and well-being that only exists between waking and the realisation that you actually have to get up.
It is too quiet. This is not good. I reach out to discover that my husband is not asleep. He’s up! During My Time! On a Thursday, my designated, guilt free writing day. It’s five thirty-five and my husband is not only up, he is playing cards on my laptop with the radio on and no tea made.
I make tea and stand at his shoulder to help him play his game; something which usually annoys him enough to give in. “Do you know what I fancy?” he says without stopping. “Some ginger biscuits.” He moves a card. “And I need more flavoured water.”
“That means going to a supermarket,” I say. We live in the country and the location has many advantages but shopping is not one of them. It means a fourteen-mile round trip. I’m not spoiling him. He has been ill and the fact that he wants to eat anything is cause for celebration.
“You can post your letters while you’re out,” he suggests as if this will make it alright. I have some correspondence to send out for the church.
I head for a bath. Water soothes me and helps me think. I write and rewrite the chapter I’m working on in my head as I wallow in the warm bubbles. I only get out when the water cools and shouldn’t be amazed that it’s now seven fifteen.
The radio is still on although hubby has moved and left my laptop for me. I cannot think with the news on so I quickly dress and rush through the household chores. I have got all day – after shopping.
It is now getting on for ten o’clock and I have eighteen envelopes to address, eighteen letters to fold and enclose and eighteen stamps to place. Of course, the computer has a mad moment as I attempt this. Why on earth it should jump into flight mode without warning me is beyond belief.
It then occurs to me that I am going to a major supermarket, a place I go without fail on a Friday to do the weekly shop. There’s no point going twice in two days so I make a quick list. By ten fifty-five I am ready.
While I have been busy redirecting flights and making lists the local surgery has phoned my husband with a request. “It’s a good job you’ve decided to go out a day early,” he quips. “You can drop this off …” He hands me a freshly filled sample bottle. “… and make me an appointment while you’re there.” And breathe … I can always start to write after lunch.
After five minutes in the supermarket, I remember why I don’t shop on a Thursday. The aisles are full of the more mature out for their weekly social. I nimbly negotiate the little knots of chattering elderly but it’s twelve forty before I get back into the village and I still need to pick up a prescription.
God is good (ish). He has provided me with a parking space but the prescription isn’t ready. I have no intention of coming back because the space won’t be there. I wait.

I put the shopping away and make lunch. I will not feel guilty for sitting for half an hour because my head is spinning and I’ve got all afternoon. I am about to take my fingers from my sandwich as it settles on the plate when the doorbell sounds. Oh goody, visitors.
It turns out to be a cousin who can never stop but is usually still here three hours later. Today I’m lucky – I think. The phone goes shortly after she sits with her first cup of tea. It’s another cousin who wants to visit as she’s heard hubby is ill. Could she and spouse come over at three? Fabulous, couldn’t be better. Cousin One decides she’s better out of the way but still waits until the last minute.
Fortunately, Cousin Two and spouse do not stay long and I shut the door behind them after half an hour only to open it for the vicar a few minutes later. He, too, has heard that hubby is ill. He’s barely sat down when the phone rings. It’s the frozen food man to say he will be arriving shortly with our order. Jolly good.
By the time everyone has left and the frozen food has been packed away I realise it’s teatime on my special writing day and the laptop has given up and shut itself down.

It is eight thirty and I am about to reopen the computer when my husband announces that he is very tired and needs helping to bed – and could I make sure he has everything he might need within easy reach?
Nine thirty-five, all is quiet and I am ready to start. I have the corkscrew I just need to decide – red or white?

Anyway, it seemed to go down rather well. Thank you everyone who appreciated it. Oh, if you did, why not try the novel I was trying to write on that Thursday.

The Woman Who Was Not His Wife. Available from me or Amazon.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Woman-Who-Was-Not-Wife/dp0993247229

 

 

 

Have you ever had a day when your pants just won’t behave? You pick a pair of ordinary pants out of your drawer and from the minute you do that they set their face against you and refuse to be worn.
First of all, they refuse to hang straight resulting in your putting both legs in one hole. It could be the leg hole or it might be the waist hole. This depends on how contrary the pants feel. You remove them gripping the side of the dressing table for moral support.
You try again, carefully holding the pants at an angle in order for the opening to be as wide as possible. You carefully insert a toe and ease it down until it touches the floor. All well and good. You try the next foot; using the same technique. Well done you. You stand proud only to find that while you were concentrating on putting one leg in each hole the pants have surreptitiously turned around and you are now wearing them back to front. Off they come again.
You are aware that the morning is beginning to get away from you. You have places to go; people to see. Do your pants care? Not a jot. You are sure that they are sniggering to themselves as you prop yourself up against the wardrobe in a valiant effort to try for the third time. Third times are supposed to be lucky. Not on your life. You find your foot has become entangled in the sheet that’s hanging from the unmade bed and you come to rest with your nose up against the wardrobe door; your pants entangled around your ankle and a rather cross sheet twisted around your foot. You are going nowhere.
You know full well you should have gone downstairs and had a nice relaxing cup of tea before you even thought about getting a pair of pants out of your drawer. It would have put you in the right frame of mind to combat the idiosyncrasies of contrary underpinnings.

I shall be at The Booksmith in Weedon Bec on October 30th for the launch of The Second Corona Book of Horror Stories as I have a story, ‘The Toyshop’ included.

I have just finished proof reading my novel so it’s now one step nearer completion. I think it’s about time you pre-ordered it from Amazon. https://www.amazon.co.uk/Woman-Who-Was-Not-Wife/dp/0993247229

 

My first novel has arrived on my desk. Throughout the process of writing I have had great faith in the outcome. I hope I have been justified.

Taken from her garden Brangwen leaves behind a her family and a comfortable life style for the harsh reality of an alien planet. A planet capable of sustaining life as we know it produces beings who are recognisable in both appearance and nature – and human nature can be very cruel. Unfortunately for Brangwen there is no political correctness to support her and what passes as the police force leaves a lot to be desired.

Brangwen finds herself a slave with no rights and the only people she can turn to are a strange pair of co-joined semi androids who make sure she stays out of trouble with the locals.

Liaisons between slaves and the indigenous people is strictly forbidden but human nature being what it is Brangwen finds herself pregnant by her owner. Rather than face a hideous death they make plans to vanish. Do they make it?

You’ll have to buy the book.

http://www.coronabooks.com

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Woman-Who-Was-Not-Wife/dp0993247229

 

I don’t know what happened to Saturday. It just vanished in a whirl of domestic activities and procrastination. I forgot about the vine creeping into the bedroom until I drew the curtains last night.

I didn’t bother today. It’s Sunday and I went to the 16th century for change of scene.

 

 

 

Friday

It wasn’t there when I went to bed. I’m sure of that. I would have seen the tendrils as I drew the curtain. It stays light so late at this time of the year. I’ll have to cut it back as soon as I have time. I don’t relish the prospect.

 

It took more years and more blood sweat and tears to turn an idea into a novel I considered worth publishing.

I could sit, quietly unfocussed during important staff meetings, and consider the next chapter only to find that by the time I got home the idea had morphed into something entirely different and then a frantic period of re-writing would ensue. All this was in the midst of sorting washing, binning, sorry, filing the mail or making tea. I did try leaving it to my husband but he was continually asking what to do next that it was easier to join him and we would work together.

Eventually, through mundane tasks, illness, disaster, operations and even loss I managed to finish my novel. This book has been my escape, my saviour, my dream. I love my new friends who wanted to be included in its narrative. I want to share this new world with all its foibles and recognisable traits, some nasty but others splendid.

Have you ever wondered what happens to people who disappear without a trace? Those who are never heard of again?  Try ‘The Woman Who Was not His Wife’ for size and see how it fits. It will be published in September 2018.

I thought writing the book was hard but as someone who cannot even see the point of writing my thoughts and fears in a diary I find that getting out there on social media is painful.

Follow me and listen to how I manage that over the next few months.

 

 

As a girl growing up in Northamptonshire I was fascinated by such authors as Ray Bradbury John Wyndham and Terry Nation. As well as science fiction I do love a well written psychological horror story. Now retired after years, too numerous to recall I intend to go on journeys to places real and imagined – and some – well, that’s for you to see.

Thank you for joining me.