Historical romance author Jessica Blair was unmasked as 93 year-old British grandfather Bill Spence. In the past, female writers like Charlotte Brontë had to adopt male pen names in order to get their books published. But the tables were turned for former war hero Bill Spence after he wrote a series of romance sagas.
The grandfather from Ampleforth, North Yorkshire, was told his books would need to be printed under a feminine moniker if he wanted them to sell – and so his pseudonym Jessica Blair was born.
Bill has various genres published under another name but has written 26 novels under the female pen name. In 1993, his first book was “The Red Shawl”. In 2017 his current title is “The Life She Left Behind” about a young widow, with futures to secure for her two daughters, who is torn between remaining at her beloved estate Pinmuir in the Scottish Highlands or following the plans her deceased husband made to join his brother in America. Hmm, that outcome could go either way.
My congratulations, Bill, on longevity in both writing and living!
I was a huge fan of the Brontë sisters, Emily, Anne and Charlotte. Now I’m older, wiser and had a couple of love affairs, I see that their work, in particular Emily Brontë’s novel “Wuthering Heights”, reflects their own thwarted love lives.
Due to society, etiquette, the parsonage, limited opportunities for women in 1847, and through no fault of her own, Emily Brontë was greatly restricted when it came to writing about doomed male/female relationships. To me, “Wuthering Heights” mirrors a lack of follow through, this inability to write a believable mental and physical connection between two people doesn’t come about because there’s no inherent knowledge behind it. Although it could be argued that it’s a fictitious story, even in her sheltered life as a clergyman’s daughter, I think the themes of domestic upheaval, male aggression and marrying for prestige was something she may have encountered. One man I almost felt sorry for in the novel is Edgar Linton, the second-best husband with good prospects. To quote from Catherine “Whatever our souls are made of, his (Heathcliff) and mine are the same, and Linton’s is as different as a moonbeam from lightning or frost from fire.”
Nevertheless, I have re-read this novel and could just about smack the protagonists heads together and say “get real, guys!” If I were Catherine I would have stayed well away from Heathcliff, walked off without a backward glance. Either that or suggest he has counselling; obsessive and vengeful man that he is. No, wait, they both needed counselling! Catherine certainly had issues. She says of Heathcliff “I’d as soon put that little canary into the park on a winter’s day, as recommend you to bestow your heart on him!…He’s not a rough diamond, nor a pearl-containing oyster of a rustic; he’s a fierce, pitiless, wolfish man” but she doesn’t heed her own warning. To add to the angst, her brother Hindley is a nasty fly-in-the-ointment with his uppity treatment of adopted Heathcliff. Gotta have someone to abuse, hey Hindley, especially Heathcliff with his uncontrollable gypsy blood, right?
The sense-of-place is strong for me, dark, brooding Yorkshire, and I shiver when reading some of the almost poetic descriptions. But from my viewpoint, to say Catherine and Heathcliff were passionately in love is overstating their affair when they caused each other so much misery. Their families are destroyed and their agonising love does not redeem them in the end. This novel is billed ‘romance’ but for me, from my modern perspective, it seems a turmoil of mixed emotions between two foolish individuals who should have known when to call it quits.
It’s a pity that Emily Brontë died young and this is the only book she wrote, published under the pseudonym of Ellis Bell. Today we know that she could have elaborated and perhaps gone beyond the ill-fated Earnshaw family.
Dales
I want to rate “Wuthering Heights” highly but even allowing for the fact it was written in another time, another era, I can’t bring myself to go past three stars. Don’t let me put you off, if you are into Gothic torment and unrequited love, this is the book for you!
Over the years I have read a handful of self-help books aimed at emerging authors, including the iconic Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron and famous memoir On Writing by Stephen King, but recently I came across these two quite diverse publications which really gave me a nudge in the right direction.
“Use Your Words” by Catherine Deveny 2016 published by Black Inc. “See Me Jump” by Jen Storer 2016 published by Girl And Duck.
Catherine Deveny’s book is written in plain straight forward language, and she gets right to the heart of the matter. There’s no place to hide once the momentum starts rolling. Be warned, this book is for adults. Catherine uses impolite language and bad manners to push you forward, sometimes against your will. Then you see that glowing light at the end of the tunnel, er, book. Well worth reading this boot-camp style book.
Jen Storer’s book is slim yet informative with small sketches dotted through the pages. Her style is easy, encouraging, friendly and humorous. It’s a book for adults but those with a yearning to write good books for children. Note the chapter 4 heading “Don’t let adults fix your character’s problem” which is a must for kids literature. Many of Jen’s sentences make memorable quotes, my favourite “Be brave. Don’t wait to create.”
“What I do for my work is exactly what I would do if nobody paid me”…
Gretchen Rubin is an American author, blogger and speaker and has written several books including “The Happiness Project”, “Happier At Home” and “Better Than Before”.
The only thing Gretchen Rubin and I have in common is our first name. When I was growing up, my name was a burden among all the Anglo-Saxon children during my school years. I was never ashamed of my first name, just upset with people when they couldn’t come to grips with it, and I didn’t understand why people had so much trouble pronouncing it. Now, thanks to the global village, it’s a cinch.
As for working, I’ve always worked for financial reasons and if the job was a good one that was a bonus. From insurance, travel, advertising, promotions, administration and library positions, I am now at the stage where I am free to pursue my writing career. I can sit and pound away on the keyboard to my heart’s content and nobody pays me.
I was listening to the audio recording of “The Princess Diarist” by actress Carrie Fisher, read by Carrie Fisher, when she passed away. I was already freaked hearing her true tales from the first Star Wars movie so the news bulletin got to me.
Carrie Fisher delivers a robust narration of her early acting career and famous mother Debbie Reynolds, whose death followed her own within days. Admittedly Carrie’s use and abuse of a variety of substances had ruined her voice and it could not be likened to that of youthful Princess Leia, but her naïve discontent and vitriolic humour pepper the story.
A frank look at the early life of a young woman shaped by Hollywood and eventually defined by George Lucas and his sci-fi series. The extraordinary 1977 Star Wars movie launched her fame, hair buns and an affair with Harrison Ford, making this book a slice of Tinseltown history with big appeal for fans of the first Star Wars production.
My books are almost in every room. All genres and categories, all shapes and sizes, new and old, popular and obscure, loved, liked and even loathed. I will refer to them, quote them, yet perhaps not always re-read them. I prefer the next book, the next Great Read, something new to me but not necessarily a blockbusting bestseller.
As mentioned, I read about three books at a time, not to show off, but to suit my mood during the day. The books can be in any format, paper, ebook, large print, audio as long as it holds my attention, sparks my imagination, gets me interested or teaches me something new. I’ve been through my non-fiction period, my classics epoch, my intellectual stage, my steampunk phase, my romance jaunt and different levels of humour, while dabbling in between with things like sci-fi fantasy and horror, but I keep coming back to perennial crime fiction.
For me, the ‘must have’ is a good strong lead character, someone I want to know about, someone I want to tag along with throughout the day, or night. On the weekend I read in the garden under the palms with a cool drink but mainly I read at night. A good crime novel can be detrimental to my sleep! Apart from a nicely twisted plot, the characters are who I care about the most. Currently my favourite murder mysteries are written by Australian and British authors.
While I enjoy writing reviews, my ego is under no illusions that anyone would find my reviews earth-shattering or even interesting. It’s a hobby for me and my suggestion to you, dear reader, is that you should make up your own mind on any book. Blurb can be misleading! It would be nice to see more conflicting, controversial reviews and posts by readers who are not looking over their shoulders at freebies/writers/publishers/fans or the next thumbs up.
I recommend books I’ve liked and occasionally pan those I’ve disliked. My thoughts may differ from yours so if you have never written a review, why not give it a go? Write a couple of paragraphs and see if it deepens your appreciation of the book. My thoughts lead me to writing down the key words and hey-presto. Get along to book launches and author signings for insider information. And grab a copy of “Francis Plug: How to Be a Public Author” by Paul Ewen. Kooky, hilarious and factual, it delves into the fan/author relationship with real consequences.
NOTE: Reading three books simultaneously for maximum brain gymnastics means, for example, one on public transport, another in a lunch break, and a third at bedtime. Happy reading!
As a dyed-in-the-wool Jasper Fforde ffan, I recommend Shades Of Grey. No, not that one!
Shades Of Grey deviates from Fforde’s brilliantly off-kilter, zany other-Britain adventures of Thursday Next, a LiteraTech operative for SpecOps-27, a crime fighting division inside literary fiction – literally – but there is some serious world building going on. The Fforde trademark of inventiveness and unusual plot twists is there but the tone is sombre, the protagonist Eddie Russett lives in a tightly controlled world with a rigid hierarchy based on primary colours. However, Eddie is not stupid and rises to the challenge of solving a perplexing mystery with the aid of some ‘colourful’ locals and a feisty Grey woman, Jane.
I have to say it is not my all-time favourite book in Fforde’s repertoire: Thursday Next wins. I found the ending unsatisfying (except discovering where spoons go) although I do think it has been left open for a sequel. If you’ve read the odd humour of Douglas Adams or inimitable Terry Pratchett and want a neo-noir version, try Jasper Fforde for ffun. There’s enough books to keep you going!
Fforde has also written humorous Nursery Crimes series, and The Last Dragonslayer series about teenager Jennifer Strange. Her agency, Kazam, employs weird and wonderful wizards who create magic and mayhem.
Julia spun around and saw a tiny green blur scurry across the bookcase. A scrabble of feet, a tiny sneeze, something squeezed out of sight. A book of fairytales flew off the shelf and hit the floor with a thud. “Who’s there?” Julia imagined a spiky grasshopper.
Carefully, so carefully, she put the book back where it belonged.
A tiny hand, a papery scrape, a puff of dust and the book whizzed off the shelf again.
“Ouch!” It hit Julia right on the nose. “That wasn’t very nice.” Zing, clunk, thump! She heard a chuckle as more books pinged off the shelf.
“Stop that.” Julia rapped on the bookcase. “Don’t you like books?”
“No!” a tiny voice squeaked. “Hobgoblins hate books!”
And out of hiding came a tiny green hobgoblin.
He had a gold buckle on his pointy hat and gold buckles on his pointy shoes.
She replied firmly. “Then please leave my books alone and go away.”
“Was planning to make a pile of books up to your window,” he grumbled.
Julia thought for a moment. “Use a chair.”
“Can’t move a chair all by myself,” he mumbled.
The hobgoblin watched as Julia pushed the chair under the open window.
“Difficult for me to get way over there,” he huffed, arms folded.
Quickly Julia gathered the books and stacked them like a staircase.
It wobbled but the hobgoblin skipped down as light as a feather.
He tapped his foot while she built another staircase up to the seat of the chair.
He scrambled onto the leather seat and stopped. “Can’t grab the window ledge.”
With a voice like her mother’s, Julia said “Try.” Bounce, bounce! The tiny hobgoblin tried kangaroo hops.
Several books shook, but it didn’t work.
He changed his frowny face into a crooked smile.
He raised his tiny green arms. “Would be most grateful if you’d pick me up.” Julia felt uncomfortable, she wondered if he might bite. “Miaow.” Julia’s cat prowled into the room.
With a squeal, the hobgoblin jumped high in the air and flew out the window.
In a flash, the cat raced after him.
Julia ran to the window and saw the cat jump down as the hobgoblin flew up.
The hobgoblin’s tiny, shiny wings caught the breeze and he flew over the fence.
Julia looked down at her wide-eyed cat. “Well, that was a mystery.”
The window stayed open as Julia heaped her books higher and higher and higher.
She placed her favourite book of fairytales on top. Meanwhile her cat sniffed at a speck of green on the window ledge. It was a tiny pointy hobgoblin hat.
Julia snatched it up and something fell out.
A teeny tiny book with a gold cover.
She laughed. “He does like books after all!”
Something tiny and green hovered just outside her window.
My documentation is office-organised but my writing approach is organic. I will have four or five manuscripts simmering away then one will bubble to the top. That’s The One. I pursue it to the end. Sometimes those left simmering, sink to the bottom. Other times a new thought will be added and not even stirred into the mix, it will shine immediately and have my full attention.
You gotta love what you’re working on, right!
♥Gretchen Bernet-Ward
“Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble”
Thoughts Become Words 