Friday, 29 April 2016

Author Interview - LKJSlain @LKJSlain



 Author, LKJSlain is looking for readers to check out her latest book.



Hello, I’m Lisa. My pseudonym is LKJSlain. I have been writing for over twenty years now and I am not published. I need critique’, guidance and a chance.

MY: His Lisa, it is a pleasure to have you on the blog today.  Could you tell us about your writing journey so far.

 LS: Currently, I’m not published. Unless you consider my work online published. This is definitely my goal but I have been more than a little careful about doing it. My work needs editing and criticism. I know this. I need a lot of help. I’ve been doing this for over twenty years now, but I have never been to an editor or publisher. I am trying to make this the year, and this novel the book.

MY: What does your average ‘writing day’ look like?

LS: Lots of glaring intently at the screen and screaming for it to write itself. HaHa. To be honest, when I get on a roll, I get on a roll. I finished this novel beginning to end in about six weeks.

MY: Are there any authors that you particularly admire? And if so, why?

LS: You know, there are not tons. It sounds silly, (I know) but I’m not a big reader. (Please no one throw tomatoes?) I can tell you books that I’ve read that I loved- among them are, “Redeeming Love” by Francine Rivers. “Altered” by Jennifer Rush. “The House of the Scorpion” by Nancy Farmer. “The Lord of the Flies” by William Golding. “The Phantom of the Opera” by Gaston Leroux.

MY: What are you currently working on?

LS: Oh goodness, I’m always working on ten, twenty things? I can’t seem to stop. Also on wattpad is “ThyaTyra” which I am actively writing. It’s a sci – fi / romance about a married couple who are guardians of their sector and their first really difficult “mission” involving an ancient man and an old book. I’m also working on a collection of short stories (also on wattpad). The book is titled “Midnight Oasis.” I could go on, but that’s where there is for the moment. 

MY: If you could give advice to an aspiring author, what would it be?

LS: Don’t write what you know. Research, reach outside the box, etc. Try not to always write      “you”.

MY: Authors are often portrayed as being cat owners who drinks a lot of coffee. Is this true for you?

LS: HAHA, guilty. I own two sweet female kitties, and I (used to) drink a TON of coffee. I no longer      do due to some pretty serious health conditions.

 MY: What does your ‘perfect’ day look like?
           
LS: Time alone to myself. Lots of “Seven Days to Die” (it’s a video game) and the computer open so I can always jump on word and write. Evening with my husband and a great movie and possibly some friends and games.

 MY: What is your biggest vice?

 
LS: Eeek!

MY: If you could meet anyone from the past, who would it be and why?
           
 LS: Yeshua / Jesus Christ. Yes, I’m a believer, but I think it’d be interesting to sit and have a conversation with Him and attempt to understand what He thinks, feels, and believes about          the world today. I have a feeling He’d do/ say a lot of the same things, but I’d still be curious to   know.

MY: Where do you see yourself in five years?
LS: Hopefully published, hopefully in contact with someone trying for a film of my book. Also,    healed of my illness

                

Book excerpt -


As I lay in my daybed with lavender duvet pulled up to my neck, alone and groggy, only one thing passed through my mind; Why was it so quiet? I don’t remember it ever being so quiet.

            When I woke up, I remembered that it was October. The air had gone crisp when I last closed my eyes and all last week and the week before that, the leaves on the trees by the borders of my lawn had turned a myriad of brilliant yellows, browns and oranges. 


            I lifted my head to check the clock on my nightstand only to find it blinking that familiar 12:00… 12:00… Had the power gone out in the middle of the night? It must have. 

            Squeezing my tired eyes shut and then forcing them open again in a failing attempt to make them focus, I glanced around my room. My lamp was still on and as I turned, my open book fell from my chest and closed against the bed, revealing the title. “After Dark.” I moved it to my night stand and forced myself to sit up. My arms were shaky and felt like lead. I couldn’t understand why it seemed as if they couldn’t hold the weight of my own body. It was as if when I got to my mirror, I’d discovered that I’d gained at least seventy pounds in my sleep and when I put my feet to the floor and tried to stand, my legs felt the same way. My first step was shaky and I nearly fell over. Placing a hand on my mattress, I kept myself steady. “Get it together, Zora,” I said aloud, nearly laughing. “How much did you have to drink last night?” I turned my head to the nightstand to see the half full glass of wine. Apparently, not that much.

            I shambled over to my vanity and squinted at my reflection in the glass. I looked a complete, ghastly mess. The woman looking back at me appeared as though she’d had the worst night of her adult life. I had to chuckle as I pulled my bottom eyelid down and glared at the giant red spots around both of my peepers. My thick black hair was tussled to one side, and I was still wearing all of my clothing from yesterday. She looked like a ghost, her skin as white as paper with a hint of sickening yellow. “What did I eat?”

            I leaned over my vanity for a moment to think about it. I recalled stumbling in from my job at the office, taking phone calls from several angry people wanting to know why their insurance didn’t cover such and such, turning on the oxygen network, pouring a glass of wine, and popping in some left over chicken with rosemary butter and green beans. Then I ate alone, watched some Nora Roberts adaption that I didn’t like very much, and crawled into bed to read about Tokyo nightlife and drift off to sleep. All in all, it was a pretty boring night. 


            The night was perhaps made more boring and depressing by the fact that yesterday was my twenty eighth birthday… sad. 

            I went about my regular morning routine in the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and then came back to my room to turn off my lamp and gulp off the last of my wine, before realizing how hungry I was and going down the stairs to my small kitchen.
            Half way down the carpeted steps, something pricked my skin and caused me to freeze in my place. Again, I was struck squarely in the back of my head by how quiet it was. I stood very still for a few moments wondering why I felt this way. Are my ears plugged? Have I not registered the fact that I am awake yet? Am I sick? 

            My mind moved mercilessly over a massive amount of internal questions as I listened, barely moving, to the world around me. Where was the sound of the birds chirping? Where were my noisy neighbors saying goodbye as the husband jumped into his gray SUV and drove off to work? Where was Layla Rene’s dog barking loudly at the mail man? Or the sound of cars? Where was the sound of my corner neighbor’s kids? They almost always fought around this time of the morning for the front seat. I always heard them!

            “Relax, Zora. Maybe you just overslept,” I sighed, then forced myself to go down the rest of the way. The moment that I got to the kitchen, I knew something was wrong.



           

Where can I check out this book?


Thursday, 28 April 2016

Author Interview - Debra Benson @bensondebra



      Is that the sun shinning?  Dare we go and sit in the garden to conduct today's interview? Oh why not... we will wear our coats!  Let's give a warm welcome to author 
Debra Benson

While Debra and I find out coats, why don't you take a quick look at Debra's latest book.

      Andrea’s life fell apart when she was laid off from a good paying job, but she found comfort in church, and then in the gentle arms of the Reverend. That would have been the perfect solution if he wasn’t already married to her best friend, one thing led to another and things just happened. What happens when two people in need of love find each other? Can Andrea and Melvin find their way past sin and salvage their personal lives, as well as their standing with God? 
*** 
    MY: Hi Debra, it's great to meet you. Could you tell us a little bit about your journey to becoming a published author.
DB: In 2005, I received a post card advertisement in the mail from a company named Long Ridge Writers Group.  It suggested to write the book you have always wanted to write and to fill out the card and request more information.  I did.  I enrolled in their  ‘Breaking Into Print’ correspondence course first and then their ‘Shape, Write, and Sell your Novel’.  I completed both  classes in about four years.  I learned a lot overall.  
 
In 2010, I believe is when e-books began their popularity.  I was still working full-time and trying to finish my story, my novel; which actually turned out to be a short story, ‘Perfect Wedding’ now titled ‘Dreams of Marriage’, the next couple of years I spent time arranging and rearranging my story still trying to learn point of view, dialogue, the difference between show and tell and much more in order to get my book published. 

My first mistake to getting published was to choose the wrong publisher because I was exhausted from trying to learn, study, and write a novel along with working full-time.  I wanted to get published right away.  Self-publishing was new upon the scene.  However, I thought I could hire a good publisher to do the editing, publishing, and promoting for me; it would be great.  I would pay them to do a good job.  The problem is I chose a vanity publisher from the phone book to my regret, and it cost way too much money and stress to get them to do what was promised.  However, this is how my first book got published ‘Dreams of Marriage’.  I was very proud of the accomplishment.  I received all of my rights back from the vanity publisher around 2013, I then joined the ranks of Indie Publishing, and I love it this way. 

MY: Could you tell us what you are currently working on? 

DB: I’m working on book 2 for this series The Endless Affair. 

MY: Where do you see yourself in five years? 

DB: I hopefully will be retired and writing poetry and short stories and arranging cut-flowers. 

MY: Last question, would you mind sharing an excerpt of your work with us?  

DB: It would be my pleasure.


Chapter 1

The Egg & I in downtown Cypress was warm, cozy, and the smell of fresh ground coffee and the sweet smell of breakfast cooking, wrapped me in a blanket of treasured memories. When I invited my sister to meet me here for breakfast, it was to confess it all, but was I ready? We considered this place to be something of a lucky charm because the issues we discussed here always seemed to work out for the best. 

I was nervous though; I had some disturbing news to share with my sister. I really needed her advice. I knew what she was probably going to say, but I needed to hear it out loud. 

I gulped down the water the waitress brought, but it didn’t help much to settle the butterflies battling in my stomach. Maybe a cup of wine would help, but what with my still-thin finances, wine was out of the question. Besides, wine for breakfast? I don’t think so. 

I needed to be able to explain it all – get it out in the open. I needed to stop all the hiding. I prayed Julie wouldn’t be too angry, but I already knew she wouldn’t approve. I know I wouldn’t if our places were switched. I just hoped she would still be my loving sister. 

Who was I kidding? I was such a bad person. Having an affair with my best friend’s husband was bad enough, but having an affair with the reverend of our church who was also married doubled my crime. 

Someone came in and the chill autumn air raised goosebumps all down my arms and back. I guess I should have worn something heavier than my yellow windbreaker; there was supposed to be a few more hot days left of the summer, but I guess today wasn’t one of them. I tried to rub the shivers away, and when that didn’t work, I picked up the menu hoping to distract myself.

The waitress came over. “Are you ready to order?”

Her rich southern drawl surprised me; it wasn’t common to the area. Absently, my finger pushed my glasses up my nose. Having something warm to drink would be perfect. I could do with a cup of coffee, and I couldn’t resist indulging myself just a bit. “I’ll take a cup of coffee with the hazelnut creamer.” I took a deep breath and pushed back in my seat then I went back to the menu.

As if all my distractions weren’t enough, my legs began to tremble. I tried to stop them, but it felt like they had a mind of their own. I knew it was nerves. Not so long ago, my life had pretty much fallen apart, and most recently it had taken a most unexpected turn. My stomach wanted to add its own tremors to my day. 

The waitress returned with my coffee, and I closed my eyes to immerse myself in the experience. The warm nutty aroma of the hot coffee seemed to appease my stomach for the time being. 

“What else would you like to order?” asked the waitress, her hand poised over her pad.

“Just coffee for now. I’m waiting for my sister.” After I said that, I spotted Julie at the door just as another chill burst of air hit me. “There she is now.”

The young waitress looked toward the door. “No problem.” She put her pad in her apron pocket. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

My sister, Julie, looked so good in those light blue skinny jeans. I was a little jealous. I’d been trying to lose twenty pounds for months now, but while working at the food bank and helping out at the shelter ensured me some change in my pocket, and food on the table, it did nothing to further any kind of dieting. I was losing that battle, and here my little sister was skinny as a toothpick without any effort at all.

“Hey, sis.” I stood and we hugged like we hadn’t seen each other in ages; it was always that way, but it always felt so good. “You look good. One day I hope to get down to your size.” She grinned, sharing my joke. She was so petite; I was never going to fit into her jeans, and we both knew it.

“I wish I had your hips and those plus-size boobs,” said Julie. “Then I’d really have it going on.” She tried to sashay her thin frame, but there just wasn’t much to move around. We both laughed. I had my hips and boobs since I was about ten, and she was still trying to catch up.


Where can I purchase I Can I will ?






About the author
Debra lives in the Lone Star State of Texas. Writing has helped her become a better communicator and live a less stressful life. She writes bite-size fiction, poetry and non-fiction and hopes to one day be able to write full time. She also teaches courses about the benefits of writing. 
Useful Links  
Facebook
 



Wednesday, 27 April 2016

Book Spotlight - Signs of (a) life @liamsamolis

Signs of (a) Life   

Let's give a warm welcome to author, Liam Samolis.

 
Much like his beloved – and somewhat decrepit – cars, Liam Samolis (NOT his real name; that was changed in order to protect his wife and children from ridicule on the off chance some of their friends will read his work) is hurtling towards 50 with the brakes failing. The painful loss of his father leads Liam to look back at his life as he contemplates the legacy he is leaving his own children; resulting in a hilarious, often self-deprecating, and ALWAYS brutally, side-splittingly, honest glimpse at the path that has lead him to become the man that he is. With stories about growing up as a painfully shy child in England, going to an all-boys’ school, and what can only be described as the most uproariously hysterical bar scene EVER written, Liam also recounts his days as a police officer, the births of his children, and saying goodbye to his father. What began as a legacy to his children will send readers into peals of raucous laughter, likely leading them to tears and other unexpected bodily functions. If you read one book this year, Signs of (a) Life should be it – nowhere else will you be so moved by a man simply living. 

***

Let's delve into the covers of this book and look at a brief extract.
My dancing - and I'm using the term ‘dancing’
loosely here - was learned mostly at disco dances at
my local rugby club. Therein lies a clue to my choreographic
expertise...Most male rugby players tend
to be reasonably large, and if not corpulent, rather
muscular. Now, while a strong/fat/muscular frame
used to be a useful asset in playing the glorious
game, it is by of course no means the whole package;
and as demonstrated by most of my worthy fellow
players, tends, among other things to not result in
the most supple or acrobatic of dancers. I’m being
kind, of course - what really needs to be said is that
rugby club dancing (for the male members at least)
generally involves a rather subdued shuffling of the
feet, half a pace to each side and almost, but – and
this is the crucial part - not quite, in time to the beat.
Accompanying this, by hunching one’s shoulders,
the hands are raised halfway to the waist level where
they hang nervously and awkwardly, waiting in vain
for something to do, and somewhere else - anywhere
else - to be.
It’s an attractive picture isn’t it? No...not really, I
know. In fact; not at all. I was of course aware that
such indolent mooching around the dance floor
achieved little, except perhaps to reinforce Mr.
Darwin’s assertions upon the evolutionary process, and maybe to propose a whole new (and ongoing)
ending to the theory of Neanderthal Man’s ‘demise’.
However, despite this issue being something that I
was familiar with, I was doomed by my training to
perform this same strange ritual of sliding around the
floor without apparently lifting my feet. Occasionally,
when dancing with my girlfriend - or if not a girlfriend,
the latest in a short line of deeply unfortunate
dance partners - I would try to vary my ‘moves’ (or
more honestly: spasmodic twitches) with what I considered
to be hilarious and endearing gyrations of the
arms and, for some inexplicable reason, the face. Yep;
sexy. I was sometimes (usually with the aid of liquid
intoxicants) able to kid myself that I attained some
level of dancing proficiency above the standard rugby
club level, however I’m forced to admit that in reality
all I ever managed to create was a vague impersonation
of an immature baboon having some kind of
seizure while trying to remove a parasitic insect from
its crotch.
Immune from such reservations on this night,
however, I launched myself upon the dance floor
and the tender mercies of the delightful ladies in the
immediate vicinity who until that moment had been
enjoying themselves. It was a tactic which had the
same effect as throwing a fresh cow turd into the midst
of a gathering of germophobes. At the sight of my
‘dancing’, women scattered in every direction; some
hugged their friends, some ran away looking over
their shoulder in open alarm, and some simply burst
into tears on the spot. A full, busy dance floor almost
instantly became an empty wasteland, across which
blew an occasional tumbleweed (well; a napkin). It
took me a little while to notice of course - just long
enough, that is, for me to look like a complete pratt,
shuffling and gyrating quite alone around the parquet
square in blissful, alcohol-assisted ignorance of the
effect upon my surroundings. Once I did notice what
was going on, of course, my stomach leapt up into
my mouth, my heart fluttered, and I began to panic. I
was faced with the classic dilemma - whether to get
out of sight immediately or bluff it out in the hope of
people returning to the vicinity...
 



Where can I buy this fabulous book?

About the author

Liam Samolis was born and grew up in the North west of England, where he lived until 2002. Having served for eighteen years as a 'British Bobby', Liam moved to Canada with his young family, and set out to look at life from a new and different perspective.

With a wealth of enormously varied experiences behind him, Liam draws upon his past, both in England and Canada, as he finds himself gravitating towards the humorous side to almost every facet of life. Despite - as a younger man - having tried quite hard to do so, he finds it impossible to take himself -or indeed life in general - very seriously. This is partly fuelled by the fact that an old friend recently confided in him that the first impression he created thirty years ago was of "...a big dope with a grin." It's hard to ignore feedback of that order.

Liam has published his first book, 'Signs of (a) Life' - a selection of short, and at times distressingly true stories scavenged from the treasure chest of life happenings and is actively engaged on a number of projects, including his reminiscences of English school life in the 1970s, and a dark, crime-driven work of fiction set in a remote BC community.

Useful Links 
Facebook


Tuesday, 26 April 2016

Author Interview - Jessica Norrie @jessica_norrie

This is the life...sat on the "perfect" beach, with an ice-cream in hand - the sea is so blue and so calm. Perfect! This exotic location is the perfect spot to interview contemporary fiction author,
 Jessica Norrie.

So while we eat our ice-creams, why don't you take a quick look at Jessica's latest book.

The Infinity Pool


In this thoughtful novel set on a sun-baked island, Adrian Hartman, the charismatic director of the Serendipity holiday community, is responsible for ensuring the perfect mindful break, with personal growth and inner peace guaranteed. People return year after year to bare their souls. For some, Adrian IS Serendipity.

But Adrian disappears, and with him goes the serenity of his staff and guests, who are bewildered without their leader. The hostility of the local villagers is beginning to boil over. Is their anger justified or are the visitors, each in a different way, just paranoid?

As romance turns sour and conflict threatens the stability of both communities, everyone has to find their own way to survive. This evocative story explores the decisions of adults who still need to come of age, the effect of well-intentioned tourism on a traditional community the real meaning of getting away from it all. 

***

Ice-cream finished - let's crack on with the interview.

         
MY: Hi Jessica, it is a pleasure having you on the blog today. Could you tell us a little bit about your journey to becoming a published author.

      JN: I was suddenly inspired by a holiday I went on – both the setting and the way the holiday was run which encouraged people to be creative. The more I wrote the quicker my ideas came along. It took about three years to write a quarter of “The Infinity Pool” but the fourth year I wrote 60,000 words – whoosh! I was lucky to be accepted by the first agent I asked. After 17 polite, helpful near misses when publishers liked it but “not quite enough”, I got fed up and the agent published it for me.

      MY: Good for you! What does the 'average' writing day look like for you?


JN: On a bad day I can fit in a nail bar, a hairdresser, Facebook… On a good day, at my desk by 9am to look over what I did the previous session, chucking out about half and rephrasing a lot. Then I may write another 2-3500 words, and stop for very late lunch. I have an instinct for when the day’s freshness has gone and I’ve started using words in a routine way. Then it’s time to go outdoors or to stop completely.  Sometimes I do a little more late at night just before bed.

      MY:   Are there any authors that you particularly admire? And if so, why?

JN: Well written children’s books – I still enjoy Laura Ingalls Wilder and Joan Aiken. They write of very different things but share a really clear detailed style. You can imagine exactly what they’re describing. They’re very good on mood and character and much more grown up than people realise. I like clever, funny writers – Dorothy Parker and more recently AL Kennedy, and sad writing because it’s often so beautiful: Jean Rhys or Helen Dunmore. They mirror feelings I’ve had myself which helps me get over them. There are brilliant male writers too but women come to mind first.

                  MY: I agree with you!
                  Could you tell us what you are currently working on?

JN: I’m trying a sequel to “The Infinity Pool” but the story’s gone down a dark depressing alley, which I’m not sure I wanted. So I’m writing shorter articles instead for blogs. I’ve been a teacher most of my working life and I have a good collection of stories from that which can make their way into fiction once I’m not identified with a particular school anymore and can’t upset the parents!

      MY: If you could give advice to an aspiring author, what would it be?

JN: Stay off social media if you want to focus on your writing. Notice little details as well as thinking about big plot lines. On the other hand, build up your online presence so readers will know about you. But the writing must always come first. Before the nail bar anyway, although the nail bar’s a good place for noticing how people behave!

      MY: Or stop writing blog posts - that would be another one! Authors are often portrayed as being cat owners who drink a lot of coffee. Is this true for you?

JN: Cats are beautiful but I’m allergic to their fur so I can’t have them. More than one good coffee a day would make my plots go crazy – I’d buzz too much to focus. But my family nickname used to be “teapot” so that tells its own story.


      MY:  What does your ‘perfect’ day look like?


JN: Lie in or go out in early sunshine, write well for two hours, late lunch in the garden, a hour’s successful clothes shopping, play the piano, learn to sing a new song, drinks and dinner with friends and partner, long bath…have I run out of hours yet?


          MY: I think you just described my week! What is your biggest vice?

JN: Not getting down to writing because I’m faffing about on Facebook.

      MY: I think that is the biggest vice of every author! It is so easy to get sucked into the world of social media! If you could meet anyone from the past, who would it be and why?

JN: Any of the great feminists – the Pankhursts and Millicent Fawcett who campaigned for the women’s vote, Marie Stopes who campaigned for the right to contraception,  Virginia Woolf who pointed out the barriers to women becoming artists, writers, and musicians as easily as men could, Simone de Beauvoir who showed why women sometimes build those barriers themselves and how to avoid them.



      MY: Last question then I think a dip in that beautiful sea. It looks so tempting! Where do you see yourself in five years?

JN: No longer teaching (both I and the pupils need a break!) I hope I’ll be well into writing my third novel, having published the second sometime between then and now. That could be at home in London or in a place I haven’t thought about visiting yet. I’ll let you know!

MY: Thank you so much Jessica, for taking the time out of your day to answer my questions. Do you think you could share a excerpt of your book for us?

JN:  Of course. 

Book Except

In this extract from chapter 3, Maria, a nineteen year old local girl who works in her parents’ village café, has just met Adrian, who directs the peculiar holiday settlement nearby. He’s offered her a tour of the facilities: 

Maria was utterly dazzled and excited. The only older men she usually spoke to were in her family, or they were village characters known and taken for granted by everyone. But whatever their status, they never treated her like this. They expected work or obligations from her, good manners and decoration; they joked a little and admired a little but they were stern men and any feelings they presumably had were a closed book to her. Whereas this man, he talked about happiness! About wanting to be happy! As though it were an ambition in itself, worth pursuing above all others, more than a job, marriage, children, home and family. And he looked at her in a different way too. The idea that people from northern Europe could be attractive had never occurred to her before, but this man - she couldn’t quite get a handle on his name - had beautiful deep set eyes and he seemed to listen to her when she spoke. They were talking with each other, not to each other - she had not realised the difference before. He made her glow, and she was aware of it, and glowed more.
(…)
And what he was showing her here! The cabins were so basic; why did all the rich people - for they must be fairly rich - choose to put up with such discomfort in the middle of the summer heat? At home she had heard her father sneer that they were paying for a taste of the simple life, but it all seemed rather complicated now that she was seeing it for herself. What if you needed the WC in the middle of the night, or you wanted light or warmth or to cool down? She was a country girl, so bats and owls didn’t worry her, but what about putting your feet down onto a mouse, or a snake? Didn’t they ever worry about their things being stolen - there was no serious crime that she knew of on the island, but she had no illusions about how some of the locals might feel if they knew all these rich people’s things were unsecured, either from dishonesty or from plain childish curiosity.
 (...)
Adrian gestured they should move on. “What do you think of the cabins now you’ve seen inside?” he asked.

“I think hot, and no space, but nice smell. But why two beds?”

“People share.”

She stopped in disbelief. They were so tiny! And the beds were small, too. “Husband wife?” 

“No, mostly people come on their own. Then we put them two in a cabin. Friends can ask to be together but lots of people don’t meet until they get here.” Madder and madder! Why would anyone want to share with a stranger? And these mad people had money! There was a hotel in the next bay where they could have space, air conditioning, comfort, bathrooms… He laughed at her consternation. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I’ve stayed in the hotel the last few times. I need the space and the time to myself. But then I do have a job to do while I’m here.”

“You stay in hotel?” Maria said. “I never go in there. Is hotel nice?”
“Sure. I’ll take you there for a drink if you like.”

But he had moved too fast.

Constraint came quick and cold between them. The image of the hotel, with a double room that locked and a private bathroom, hung in the air. Maria didn’t understand how her thoughts had arrived at that point. If she had been asked that morning whether she would consider making love with a man before she married him, she would have been adamant in her denial. Yet here she was, propelled into thinking, as she knew he was thinking, about how it might be….with a man she’d met twice, her father’s age, who didn’t live on the island, who didn’t speak her language or know anything of her life, and whose eyes were suggesting so much, when even just a drink in the hotel bar would be stepping way beyond familiar territory. It was too sudden a blow to the values she and her family had built solidly around her all her life. 

Her eyes went cold. She shivered. “Oh no. No, I must go back soon. Thank you. You show me – everything very interesting, but I go now. Thank you.”

She turned, bewildered – the paths were so rambling. Then she heard the sound of a car engine on the road below and it helped her to orientate herself. Refusing his offer to show her the way, she stumbled away, half running. She needed to get out of there.

© Jessica Norrie 2015


 Where can I buy this fabulous book?




About the author 
Jessica Norrie was born in London and studied French Literature at the University of Sussex and Education at the University of Sheffield. She studied and taught in France, and in the UK has taught English, French and Spanish. Her youngest pupil was 3 and the oldest was at least 85! She’s always tried to make language learning approachable and fun even for the most nervous students, a bit like being a kind dentist or driving instructor. She’s also been a freelance translator, published occasional journalism and collaborated on a Primary French textbook (“Célébrons les Fêtes”, with Jan Lewandowski, Scholastic 2009).

Jessica lives in London with her grown up daughter - a translator, and son - a teaching assistant. In her spare time she sings soprano with the Hackney Singers and plays the piano – slow pieces suit her best as she needs lots of time to figure out the chords.

Soon she will leave teaching to concentrate on writing. “The Infinity Pool” is her first novel, drawing on lots of travel and encounters, and she already has ideas for several more.
Useful Links