Catherine King, Paperback Writer

NEW WRITING HUT

2011-08-21T11:52:00.005+02:00

I adore my new thinking and writing space which has a log fire in the centre. The design is based on the Finnish Kota, used by Sami reindeer herders as they follow their herds across the tundra. Reindeer are essential to traditional Sami culture and provide food clothing and shelter. I have reindeer skins on the seats in my Kota and they are wonderfully warm. I am looking forward to the cold weather!

I can use the central fire pit to cook as well and, in the UK, the huts are gaining popularity for barbecues in our changeable weather. If you are interested in one for your own garden look at www.bbqlodges.co.uk. Sue and Graham Tout, who import, deliver and build them, give an excellent personal service and I recommend them. No, I am not on any sort of commission, I am simply very pleased with my Kota!

And now I must use it as intended and get on with writing my next book.
Best regards
Catherine

The Lake at Lowick's House

2011-07-12T21:21:00.004+02:00

The lawns slope gently down to the lake where water lilies thrive near the edge. Hidden between the two large shrubs lies a secret bridge to a secret tiny island! There are large carp and pike in the lake which have evaded fishermen so far.

After lunch a few of us were energetic enough to walk all the way around the water's edge. With views like this, what writer would not be inspired to pen a bestseller!

Society of Authors Three Counties meeting

2011-07-12T20:41:00.004+02:00

Our summer social meeting was kindly hosted by Marnie and John de Carle in the magnificent setting of Lowicks House in Surrey. The house was originally a hunting lodge for Victorian tea trader and Quaker, Frederick John Horniman, who began trading in 1826 and is credited with the idea of selling tea in packets. At the time, all the tea in the world was traded through London merchants. We authors, however, drank Buck's Fizz with our lunch! The house,approached by a long winding drive through woodland, sits atop a huge lawn that slopes down to a lake containing several small islands. I felt as though I had stepped into an Enid Blyton Famous Five setting! The weather stayed fine and a flock of Canada geese obligingly floated by on the water. Pics of the lake follow in my next blog.

The Af Chapman - Captain's sleeping Quarters

2011-07-11T21:37:00.004+02:00

The original cot bed with drawers underneath is still there, opposite a magnificent desk where I wrote some of this blog on my net book. I spent three nights here, spending my days sightseeing in Stockholm. More about this beautiful city in my next blog.

The Af Chapman - inside the Captain's cabin

2011-07-11T21:30:00.003+02:00

THE Af CHAPMAN - INSIDE THE CAPTAIN'S CABIN
This second pic shows the reception room where the Captain would have dined with his officers and conducted ship's business. Beyond is his sleeping quarters and the heads, now converted into a smart white-tiled bathroom. My next blog has pics of the Captain's bed where I slept for three nights. He wasn't there at the time!

The Af Chapman, Stockholm, Sweden

2011-07-11T21:27:00.004+02:00

THE Af CHAPMAN, STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN

The af Chapman was built in 1888 in the English town of Whitehaven and was then named Dunboyne. She was the last of this particular type of three masted fully rigged ship to be built. The pic shows the stern where the Captain's cabin is situated.

During her first 25 years service, the Dunboyne was a cargo ship, sailing first under an English flag and then a Norwegian one. In 1915, her last year under sail, she was bought by the Transatlantic Line in Gothenburg, rechristened G D Kennedy and converted into a training ship.

The Swedish Navy became her new owners in 1923. She was renamed Af Chapman and was used to train ship’s boys until 1934. She was then laid up in Karlskona until 1947, when she was bought by the City of Stockholm, and the Swedish Youth Hostels Association (STF) was invited to run the ship as a youth hostel. The hostel, sleeping 136, was opened in 1949. She has recently undergone extensive renovations to provide comfortable accommodation with a bar and restaurant on deck. The deck of the Af Chapman is moored opposite the Royal Palace in old Stockholm and commands stunning views.

Cheam Village

2011-06-06T11:01:00.006+02:00

I was pleased to be invited to contribute to IMAGINE, the London Borough of Sutton's Festival of Arts, this year. Last Saturday I delivered a workshop on Creating Romantic Heroes at Cheam Library, a little way along the road from Sutton. Before the weekend my only knowledge of Cheam was Railway Sidings, East Cheam, made famous by the late Tony Hancock, one of the best original comic talents of my formative years. 'Would you believe it?' from Hancock's Half Hour Tony was as funny to me as 'I don't belieeeeeve it! from Richard Wilson's later comic creation.

I chose to drive to Cheam because, according to my satnav, it was only three streets away: the M27, the A3 and the A2043. The journey was surprisingly easy including negotiating the much-dreaded traffic queue at the Hindhead Tunnel roadworks. The tunnel opens next month and I can't wait! I planned to arrive early for my workshop so I could take a look at Cheam and get a feel for the area. I wish I had allowed more time. Cheam is wonderful! I drove through Sutton, which has a thriving busy shopping centre, and out of the other side knowing I was nearly at my destination. I could not believe it when I arrived at this beautiful historic village, clearly with its own distinctive identity, called Cheam. I wandered around centuries-old, white-painted, timber-framed houses, one of which was a museum, until I found an expanse of well-kept public parkland that had once been a private estate. It sounds a cliche but it was, truly, an oasis of quiet calm a few steps away from a busy London route. I wished I had brought a picnic!

I could not linger too long as I was there to work, but noted a Waitrose to sample later, after my class. I really enjoyed my workshop. Some of the participants were acquainted from prior creative writing courses they had attended at the Festival. We had a lively discussion on who our male and female heroes were, and why we thought of them as heroic, then I asked participants to create and write about their own fictional hero. At that point I knew that everyone in the class was a writer. The room went quite and they were away, inventing characters suitable for books and stories. It was pleasing for me that all participants created memorable protagonists and were confident enough to read their work to the group. We could have gone on but time ran out and we had to say our goodbyes.

I have happy memories of my visit to Cheam, not least of which is that parking was easy and the charges were very reaonable. I hope I have an opportunity to return one day.

With best regards

Catherine

Every woman needs a Wendy House

2011-05-14T20:56:00.003+02:00

Hello, I hope you and yours are well.

Since my last post I have discovered that the town where I live has urban deer. People out and about at night report seeing them walking along the deserted roads.

I'm a writer, as you know, and I need 'space' to do my writing. This is not just physical space but mental space too. Virginia Wolfe identified it as a Room of One's Own and I concur that it is essential to any writer. However, I believe it is important to any woman if she wishes to develop her creative ability to the full. Men may need this too but I cannot (and wouldn't dare!) speak for them.

Historically, women have had 'The Home' as their domain and I recall as a young housewife being very possessive and controlling about what went on in my kitchen. That's okay as long as your man doesn't cook, but lots of them do nowadays. The living room, too, is shared and if you have children, the spare bedroom disappears as well! So what is a woman to do?

When I was a little girl in nursery school we had some wonderful toys including a make believe cardboard house painted in bright colours with a door and windows (no glass). It was big enough for tots to play 'house' inside and was known as a Wendy House after, I believe, Wendy from Peter Pan. I adored it.

As I grew older, life became more complicated and busier and there were times when I thought nostalgically of a play house where I could escape to my own space. Even my office in the house isn't totally my space because paperwork for running my home and lifestyle is in there, and isn't that complicated these days!

I wanted a Wendy House and why not? Men have their sheds or garages or boats for their escape so I decided I would have my hut; just for me, for my personal space, for my personal survival. Visitors are only allowed in by express invitation. My hut is a beach hut and I have to take the car to get there, but it is worth it. At the moment it is known by its number but I am thinking of calling it Wendy. 'Just going off to Wendy for the afternoon' sounds hugely liberating. I recommend it and as the weather gets warmer I shall blog more about it.

Next week I am in London for a few days and I'll Tweet about the fun. If you're interested, follow me on Twitter @cathkingauthor.
Enjoy your reading
Kindest regards
Catherine

Bambi in my garden 1 May 2011

2011-05-03T13:21:00.003+02:00

You have to look closely but there is a young deer in the shade under my old apple tree. He stayed in the garden all day and had gone by the following morning. I hope he found his mother. He must have negotiated a few urban roads to reach my garden. I suppose the pickings are good - apple, hazel and beech leaves with wild violets for pudding. My garden is about 400 metres from busy shopping centre!

The lovely weather continues but my lawn needs some rain.
Best regards
Catherine

2011-04-21T11:35:00.002+02:00

APRIL 2011
After a long silence I have determined to find the time to produce a blog once a month telling you about my life as a paperback writer. Topics will vary but as it is Spring and this is the best time of year to be in an English garden I shall update you on mine.

In 1990 I planted a Christmas tree in the garden. Now, my garden is a decent size but Norway spruce grow big. I mean BIG and in 2010 it was higher than a three storey house and casting huge shadows across the lawn so, with great reluctance, it had to go. I argued (with myself!) that conifers are not indigenous to this part of the UK so my decision was ecologically sound.

At the same time, quite by chance so it must have been fate, I was clearing a neglected strawberry barrel and found, I kid you not, a tiny oak tree sprouting from an acorn, hidden in one of the strawberry pockets. I do have a visiting squirrel or two that steal my hazelnuts and bury them in the lawn. But I’m not aware of an established oak tree in the neighbourhood so my little acorn must have travelled quite a distance. I live in a semi-urban locality – small town with lots of big gardens – so it’s not inconceivable that there is an oak tree around and I shall search for the nearest.

Last autumn I carefully extracted the tiny sapling, re-potted it and left it out on the patio. The winter weather was unusually cold and harsh for Hampshire and I wondered if it would survive. It has rewarded me by producing new leaves and I have given its slender stem a supporting splint. At the moment I have no idea where I can plant it but I think I have a good few years before I must decide. The space beneath my sacrificed spruce has already been turned into my new vegetable plot, complete with three marked out beds for crop rotation.

As I write this my fruit trees are a picture of spring. Plum and pear blossom is beginning to drop while the cherry and apple are in full bloom. Bumble bees are in evidence, my frog pond is full of tadpoles and the wisteria smells heavenly. The sun is surprisingly hot for April and I am already set up for outdoor eating. I wonder how long the good weather will last . . .

On the writing front, I have recently finished editing, and have submitted, the manuscript for my next book The Lost and Found Girl (you read about it here first!) My editor likes the story and the design team at Sphere is already working on the cover. The hardback is due out in late autumn. Since then I’ve been quite excited about an idea for the book after that and have started to research and sketch out some scenes.

Thank you for reading and look out for my next blog before the end of May
Best regards
Catherine

TREECAT

2009-08-28T13:31:00.003+02:00

I am a cat lover and have had cats for years until recently. My writing life prevents me from having more cats as I travel regularly. My last cat was a large Tabby, called TreeCat because he lived in my neighbour's tree. I immortalised him in a short story that was published in the April 2009 edition of YOUR CAT magazine. I've reproduced the story here for those of you who missed it.

TREE CAT

'The trouble with working from home is that there is no-one to talk to in the office,’ Lauren reflected as she took her mug of coffee to her upstairs study and switched on her computer. After an hour she realised she was being watched through the window, from next door’s tree. It was a gnarled old tree, much too tall for her neighbour’s garden. But it was close to their party wall and Lauren enjoyed its welcome shade in summer. Crouched in a fork in the branches was the biggest tabby she had ever seen.
‘Hello, Cat,’ she said. It continued to stare at her and did not move.
She went back to her computer screen. ‘It’ll take a while to get established locally, she thought, ‘but a marketing plan for a charity shop is a start. Cat watched her on most mornings and she talked to him about her project. It helped her ideas along.

‘Puss, Puss, Puss, Puss, Puss,’
Lauren heard a voice from the other side of the wall as she sowed rocket and radish in her small vegetable plot. She was enjoying the lengthening evenings.
‘Come on, Puss. Come down now. Nice din-dins for you.’
She grinned at the language from such a masculine voice. A few minutes later she recognised the clatter of a metal ladder being extended and stood back to watch the action.

He didn’t notice her at first because he was concentrating on reaching the cat. Cat growled as he approached, but this guy was made of stern stuff. Well, he looked as though he might be, Lauren observed with interest. She hadn’t seen much of her neighbour. He was a commuter and she sympathised with his long days at the office. An older woman visited him sometimes. His mum, she guessed. And a younger woman brought a little girl round every other weekend.

‘You can’t stay here all night again, Puss,’ was followed by more growling.
Suddenly he stretched forward and clamped his large hands around the fluffed up fur. The ladder rocked and creaked, then settled. There was a brief struggling spat which, Lauren noted with surprise, the man won. He bundled the cat, teeth and claws firmly under his old parka and looked at the ground. That’s when he noticed her.
‘Can you give me a hand here?’ He sounded desperate. ‘Hurry up. He’s ripping me to shreds.’ He clambered down awkwardly and said, ‘Follow me.’
She did and helped him shove the protesting creature into a cardboard box waiting in his kitchen. The growling grew worse.
‘He doesn’t like it in there,’ Lauren commented.
‘Well, he can’t live in my tree anymore.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s a stray. Somebody must miss him.’
‘Is he a him?’
‘No idea.’ He gestured towards the growling box. ‘Do you want to look?’
‘No thank you. What are you going to do with him?’
‘The pet shop said there was a cat rescue centre somewhere.’
‘Didn’t they say where? Or have a leaflet to give you?’
He shook his head.
Well, she thought, ‘wherever the rescue centre is, it needs a marketing plan. She said, ‘Do you have a telephone directory?’
He brought it from the hall. ‘You search and I’ll make coffee.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Mark Thornton. I moved here a few months ago.’
I know, she thought. She grasped his hand. ‘Lauren Banks.’
The growling turned to a plaintiff crying.
‘He must be hungry,’ Mark said and went to the fridge. ‘I’ve bought cat food... and a feeding bowl.’ He looked around. ‘Where is it?’
‘It’s at the bottom of the tree, with fish in it.’ Lauren remembered the smell.
‘Oh yes.’ He searched the top shelf of a cupboard for a saucer.
‘You’ll have to let him out to feed him.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll close the door to the hall.’
It was a mistake. The cat leapt out of the box and raced around the kitchen in a fury, banging into the table legs and cupboard doors. Lauren jumped from her chair and opened the kitchen door. The cat shot outside into the failing light.
Mark stared at her in disbelief. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘He was frightened. He was hurting himself.’

They walked outside in time to see the cat scrabble up the tree and settle into his nest.
Mark groaned. ‘I think he was a bird in a former life.’
‘Sorry,’ Lauren said.
Mark examined the scratches on his hand. ‘I’m not carrying him down again. Not tonight anyway.’
‘He seems to like it there. Why don’t you let him stay?’
Mark looked surprised. ‘What if he belongs to someone?’
‘You could ask around. The rescue centre will know if anyone’s lost a cat.’
‘Did you find them in the book?’
‘Yes. They’re not far.’
‘I’ll go at the weekend. You seem to know about cats. Can you come with me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Will he be all right up there until then.’
‘He comes down sometimes.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We’re friends. I talk to him.’
His eyebrows went higher. They were dark and straight and his eyes were blue. ‘I work from home.’ She pointed to her back bedroom window and added, ‘That’s my office.’
He called up to the cat. ‘All right, Puss. You can stay.’
‘Puss? He needs a better name than that.’
‘Well what do you call him when you talk to him?’ he demanded.
‘Cat,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘Let’s think.’
‘He might be a girl. So it has to be non gender-specific.’
‘Non gender-specific?’ she laughed.
‘Sorry. I do staff training.’
Ah yes, she remembered doing that herself.
‘What about Treecat,’ he suggested.
‘Original,’ she commented.
‘Suitable, I thought.’
She agreed and said, ‘Goodnight, then. Treecat.’
He heaved a sigh. ‘Would you drink something stronger to drink? Wine, for example?’
‘I would.’
He smiled for the first time that evening and she heard a purr from somewhere.

KILLER HEELS AT THE RNA

2009-08-22T16:43:00.004+02:00

FROM MY ARCHIVE
Last year my novel, SILK AND STEEL was shortlisted for the Romantic Novel of the Year Award and I wrote this blog for my publishers’ newsletter.

KILLER HEELS AT THE RNA
The e-mail came from my editor just before Christmas yet I had to keep it a secret until the press release on 14 January. I didn’t crack until 10 January, by which time I was bouncing off the walls with excitement. SILK AND STEEL had been nominated for a prestigious award and I was in highly respected company on a shortlist that included two past winners of the prize.

My first concern was what to wear, both for the champagne breakfast to announce the shortlist and the Award Lunch itself in February. Let me tell you that the January Sales is not the time to be looking for something special! After a second unsuccessful expedition I fished in the back of my wardrobe for something reliable, if not exactly stylish.

Half past nine is a good time for breakfast and after my first glass of champagne at that hour of the morning I quickly stopped worrying and started enjoying. The setting was an elegant upstairs drawing room at the New Cavendish Club near London’s Marble Arch. The authors’ books were beautifully displayed and the room was alive with authors, agents, editors and publicists. I think there might have been some coffee and croissants somewhere but I never got around to them.

None of the shortlisted authors knew who the others were until we met that morning, but we were circulating and chatting to each other immediately. The champagne helped of course, as well as the wonderful people from Midas PR, their absolutely charming photographer, and quite a lot of journalists. The photographer was brilliant. He managed to make me feel comfortable and important at the same time. And he was managing six of us!

The whole morning was great fun and right at the very end I was asked to sign my books. I love doing that.

When I had recovered from the champagne, I realised that an even bigger occasion, The Lunch, was on the horizon and I really had to get something new to wear. Well, Oxford Street was just around the corner so off I went with Alex, my very obliging publicist from Little, Brown. Now that, I think, was really over and above the call of duty for her!

Have you ever tried using a ‘personal shopper’? I heartily recommend it. I was lucky enough to find a cancellation slot in one of the big stores and it made my task so much easier. They didn’t charge me any extra for the service, and it was a very good service. My shopper did all the hard work to find colour and size and even brought me items from the sale to try. She was clever and she was kind, and I bought two outfits and a top. I got the killer heels to go with them later, from M & S on the advice of Alex.

The Award Lunch, organised by the Romantic Novelists Association (RNA), was fantastic from the red carpet outside the hotel to carrying home the maroon, red and silver helium balloons at the end. All six shortlisted novelists were treated like royalty, and in great demand from journalists and photographers; with Helen Lederer chairman of the judges, on the red carpet, on the spiral staircase, as a group, as individuals, signing our books, and talking and drinking (more champagne) with friends. Each of us gave a TV interview – the first for me, so I hope they edited it! I really should work on my ‘performance’ skills.

The banqueting room at the Royal Garden Hotel, Kensington was glamorous and glittery with a dark red, scarlet and silver theme. Huge TV monitors, strategically placed, were showing our book covers and wonderful quotations about the value of romantic fiction from Helen Lederer and Amanda Ross of Cactus TV. Each shortlisted novelist was given a presentation red rose as we sat down for lunch. My agent was with me at the Little, Brown table as well as my editor and her colleagues from the excellent team that ensures my book reaches its readers. There were two journalists as well, each interested in an interview about how I came to write the book.

Oh yes, the book. I was having such a good time I almost forgot why I was there. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that, when I sat down to write SILK AND STEEL with all its hardship and misery, it would lead me to such a spectacular event. I’m sure that Mariah Bowes, the heroine inspired by my great-grandmother, would have approved of my silk outfit.

We ate and drank fine food and wine. I hope you’ll forgive me if I can’t remember all of it. The pudding was a soufflé, though, because I recall thinking, how on earth do you produce soufflé for 300 people? Finally, there was the Award; an entertaining talk by Helen Lederer followed by a brief review of each book and the announcement of the winner. After the huge applause, and a beautiful, eloquent response from Freya North, the winner, the atmosphere became less formal and the party began to break up.

The bar stayed open and I caught up with a few author friends, whom I had glimpsed in the distance earlier on. I don’t think we left until about half past four and then only after a search for my killer heels, abandoned somewhere in the vicinity of the bar. It was a splendid occasion and one that I shall always remember. Many, well deserved congratulations to Freya. Also, many thanks to The Romantic Novelists Association for organising the award and the event. And my personal thanks to the Little, Brown team for such splendid work in publishing my book.