The urge to create something lasting, that will thrill or otherwise benefit others has always given me the tingles. As a child, it fascinated me just how much stories did that. In fact, growing up in Jamaican, back when power-outages were regular, storytelling by candlelight left you cowering under the sheets or giggling at clever Anansi’s antics and Bigboy’s bad-behaviour.
Crab Juice is here at last. After completing four novels: Winter Oasis, The Shamrock Key, Chasing Shadows, and AOB (Any Other Business), I challenged myself to tackle a more urban, inner-city theme. Now readers can decide whether I have succeeded or not and I am made-up at that prospect.
Preikestolen in Norway sits at the end of a steady climb of 1,982 ft (604 metres) to give you a downward view of Lysefjorden that will amaze of terrify you, depending on your head for heights. You can hike up and bask in the sun far from the edge or else sit on the edge and dangle your feet over the empty space below. One fellow I saw decided preferred to hang off the ledge by his fingertips so his lady friend could photograph his best side, we assumed, for his social media following.
This topic is an overused marketing tool employed universally to cause the paying public to hand over their cash (remember cash?), or to reach for their credit cards (remember them?), login into their online back account, or wave their Smart payment App. Sex sells, everything, from fast cars to fruit, and it also entices people into reading a blog about what the pandemic has done for us. Now, I won’t blame you for leaving at this point but invite you to keep going to what I hope you find is a happy ending.
It is a popular word of advice we all receive when we set out on our writing journey. Great advice too. The knowledge we gather in the main tends to involve whatever we feel passionate about and that makes great story material. Of course, we all know someone, hopefully only ONE, who goes can go through the night regaling us of their chosen subject, scarcely pausing for breath. So, when starting out, writing about what you know is good advice. Alas, the reading public needs to understand your story within the context of a world that is much wider than ‘what you know’.
Literary Legacies A very close friend once admonished me to never forget who we are and how we got here. Seems to me, that our modern world is being run by people who readily do exactly that. History, it seems has nothing to teach us. How often have you heard the words ‘lessons were learnt’ right after the repeat of a repeat of a tragedy. No that was not a typo but a deliberate repeat of ‘repeat’.
Growing up in a developing country and a fine section of the British Commonwealth, Jamaica, I went to my mother one day with awe and wonder all over my face. You see I had caught myself ibn the mirror in my mid-teens and made a stark discovery. No, wait for it, you dirty-minded lot. It had nothing to do with avoirdupois nor metric systems measurement. It hit me that day that I was black. My dear mother, looked at me with deep compassion and said, ‘You too?’
As the saying goes, it may indeed take a village to bring up a child. I expect that the speaker may have been pointing out whether one parent or two, in fact an entire community should invest in nurturing a new-born into becoming a fully-fledged contributor to a thriving society, no longer dependent but perhaps having dependents and certainly taking their responsible place in bringing up the next generation. How else would the wheels keep turning? Lately, however, I have been considering the nature of such a village. I am surely not alone in thinking that there are many assumptions being made here, and I would like to include a few as I may have interrupted your village duties with this blog-rant (brant?)
Even a cursory glance at the publishing will reveal one simple fact. It is a business, and, like any business, the aim is profit and protecting the bottom line. The ability to read or write was also once the domain of the privileged few. For common folk it was even illegal to be caught in such endeavour. Hence it will come as no surprise the printed page became a medium by which the powerful presided over the populace.
My crusade to bring a story directly to readers for them to decide what they like, continues. Yes, I spent time and money on the cover and made sure the editting was top grade too. The idea is that readers get the quality they have become accustommed to, or better, while giving them the chance to enjoy something outside the 'main vein' of what gatekeepers dictate they should read.
When I started writing crime fiction, the reader for Hodder and Stoughten at the time, told me she had enjoyed my novel and had to read it to the end. Her criticism however was that my 'bad guys' were simply somewhat 'naughty'. How could I write bad after a life of trying to be good. Being bad was just not me.