Tag Archives: Relationships

Write a Story? Easy Peasy #writing #Stories # Books #ChatGPT

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Arran, where I am lucky enough to go on a writing retreat with four brilliant author friends. The surroundings always inspire. This is Glen Rosa.

I was at a meeting the other day. It was a roomful of lovely, interesting people, many of whom I talked with, many of whom told me fascinating stories – letting me catch a glimpse of their lives, of themselves.

Glenashdale Falls (Eas a’ Chrannaig), Arran. looking down is a little scary – but really gets the brain/ emotions working

But it was one man who I spoke with for a few minutes who has left me with an impression I wasn’texpecting … or needed, to be honest. He was asking about my creative writing class, and I was in my usual enthusiastic mood about the stories we all have within us, that everyone has a genre they can excel at, and how he would be so welcome to join our group – when he stopped my gallop (as my mother would say). He said that he really didn’t need or want to join in with a collection of people trying to write from their experiences in life. He knew all he had to do was to, “Put a few ideas into ChatGPT, take the story it produced, and tidy it up…” It was something he’d been doing for a while apparently. And it worked for him. When I asked how he “tidied the story up,” he looked blankly at me, and then said, “you should know, the punctuation etc.” It was the “etc” that told me that I should just smile and say something benign like, “okay. Or each to their own” or some such – and leave.

Tides out. Looking over towards Holy Island from Kingscross.

Instead I asked him what about all the different experiences we have as we move through life? The memories of the world at a certain time, of observed situations, of the people we met, lived alongside. Of our interpretation of all those things, and the way we reacted. Of using all of our five senses to bring a story to life, to hopefully evoke a response, a reaction to our reader?

On another trip to Arran, the Photographer and I were walking along a track with Mount GoatFell in the distance. The path became narrower and narrower – until we saw …

Whereupon I and Dusk, our gorgeous companion lent to us by our friend, refused to go any further.

Relaxing by the side of Loch Garbad after a bit of a trek from Eas Mor.

As I was speaking to the man I became aware of his smile growing wider. Now I swear it was a smirk (I was getting increasing frustrated inside by his calm indifference to my side of the discussion – and it was a discussion, not an argument – I learned the difference between them many years ago – see: https://tinyurl.com/yssmpde7. But my husband says the man’s smile was one of sympathy and understanding that I “simply don’t know how the world of writing works these days.” Yes, he did say that, obviously allowing that I was too old, was too set in my ways to accept the way things are now.

And yes, it still discourages me seeing his belief written here.

Giants Graves – above Whiting Bay.

But there is nothing I can do about that. So here I am, flogging away to get the right words to fit together to get the right ‘feeling’ in this part of the book I’m writing at the moment. Trying to bring a scene to life, using all that I have in me, all that I have experienced, learned, over the years. Using my imagination. And the fleeting moment of wondering if I’m wrong, that some inanimate object, ChatGPT, can do it better than me, is only that … a fleeting moment. Because there’s only me in my head, there are only my memories, my thoughts, my emotions in my brain.

My effort at a picture. Looking back at the steps from the Giants’ Graves, leaving the Photographer behind as he …

… disappears through the grass on the hill overlooking Whiting Bay – ever in the search for ‘the best shot’.

And if what I write, my stories, are not what some (or many) readers want, that’s okay. Because there are as many different readers as there are authors. It’s all subjective. And I know I won’t stop writing – because I can’t.

I should end this by saying I’m not judging; it’s not my place to judge anybody. And I’m not saying I’m right and it’s wrong to use ChatGPT. We all do things differently. I’m only saying it’s how I’ve always felt about my work, it’s how I write. I don’t judge.

I just wish that man hadn’t smirked at me. Despite what my husband says, I just know he smirked!!!

******************************************************************************************************

I have written a few posts on our walks on Arran. I’ve included three here, if anyone is interested:

https://tinyurl.com/nhksb2b5

https://tinyurl.com/8smcnbz3

https://tinyurl.com/3t4em75f

Judith Barrow Author

Where We Walked #The National Botanical Gardens #Carmarthen #Wales #Walks #Photographs

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Or rather sauntered, because that’s the only way to take in these glorious grounds and to study the abundance of plants that are Indigenous to so many countries in the world’s largest single-span glasshouse.

The National Botanic Garden is located at Llanarthney in the River Tywi valley, Carmarthenshire, Wales, not too far from our home. So, not only are we lucky enough to live near the stunning Pembrokeshire coast, these impressive gardens are also almost on our doorstep. How fortunate are we!

And, on the day of our visit we had the one day of glorious weather that week.

The National Botanic Garden of Wales is on the former Middleton Estate.

Middleton Manor. Image courtesy of Landed families of Britain and Ireland:https://tinyurl.com/3ffsxv9p

The Middleton Estate was so named after the three Middleton brothers from Chester, who helped set up the East India Company in 1600 in order to trade in highly profitable spices.

Two hundred years later, in 1789, William Paxton returned to Britain from being the Master of the Mint in Bengal for the East India Company. With the fortune he had made in India and together with his business associate, Charles Cockerell he employed Charles’ brother the architect Samuel Pepys Cockerell to design Middleton Manor. Paxton had the park laid out: planting trees, damming streams to form four lakes and waterfalls, having bridges and bath houses built. He also had a folly constructed to commemorate Nelson’s heroic deeds in the Battle of Trafalgar, named Paxton’s Tower.

In the 1930s there was a fire that destroyed Middleton Manor. The remains were subsequently demolised in 1954. Only the foundations arestill visible.

Ty Melyn is now a venue for conferences, board meetings, training days. seminars, presentations, exhibitions etc.

Other buildings which survived were the stable buildings (now a café (( delicious food!!)) a gallery and offices) an ice-house and the double-walled garden with the remains of its Peach-house.

There is/has been acknowledgement of the unease about the heritage of the land that the Botanical Gardens stands on. Read more on this: https://tinyurl.com/227k9eyc. And there is an excellent article written by Meurig Williams under the umbrella of Nation Cymru: https://tinyurl.com/52v3ckf5.

But this shouldn’t detract from the initial and ongoing aims of National Botanic Garden of Wales, which is a charity backed by the Welsh Government. Since its opening it has been dedicated to research, conservation of biodiversity and sustainability, and lifelong learning and the enjoyment of the visitor.

Opened in May 2000, the site of the gardens was partly chosen because it was an example of the grand scale garden design of past eras. And the fundamental principles of the National Botanic Garden of Wales are strictly adhered to.

We’ve visited the gardens many times over the years, different times, different seasons, for different events. There is always much to see, much to enjoy.

This time I also learned that a certain Welsh Suffragette lived here at one time. During my research for the prequel of my Haworth Series, A Hundred Tiny Threads, I discovered that many Welsh Suffragettes and Suffragists joined the peaceful march to London in 1913. I’ve given many talks on that event. Tempted to write a post about her…

My Review of Hopes, Fears and Reality: Stories, Poems and Personal Tales by Alex Craigie

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Book Description:

Hopes, Fears and Reality

What do a terrified boy, a ruthless beauty queen, a fairy godmother from hell, and a group of quietly rebellious pensioners have in common?

In this eclectic collection of short stories, poems, and anecdotes, everyday moments uncover the hopes we cherish, the fears we try to hide, and the realities that shape us.

Inside this collection:

• Gently humorous pieces that find laughter in life’s small absurdities
• Reflective moments that explore the experiences that shape who we are
• Sharper, unexpected stories that catch you off guard and linger

Meet unforgettable characters and moments:

• A child facing what lurks beneath the bed
• A teenager consumed by image
• Elderly friends with secrets—and mischief—of their own
• Twists on the familiar that don’t go quite as expected

Many of these pieces are brief and powerful, born from creative challenges—flash fiction, structured poetry, and writing shaped by rules and constraints—alongside glimpses drawn from real life.

Perfect for readers who enjoy:

• Short, impactful reads
• A mix of humour, reflection, and edge
• Dipping in and out whenever time allows

Open the book anywhere.
There’s always something waiting—something to make you smile, pause, or see things a little differently.

My Review:

I’ve long been an admirer of Alex Craigie’s writing, so I was thrilled to discover that she has published this collection entitled Hopes, Fears and Reality.

Over the years she has produced an extensive range of genre. From her earlier books, stories threaded through with themes that provoke thought – to her wonderfully successful series of all things that were (and perhaps in some cases, still are) beloved by Baby Boomers. These later books, entitled The Rat In The Python, contain brilliant descriptions and images (whether clothes, shops, furniture, and household appliances) evoke memories for those of us at a certain age, and/or gasps of amazement and even disbelief in younger readers.


But I digress, this review is about Hopes, Fears and Reality. And the title says it all for me. In this book whether it’s in prose or poetry there are those moments in life that live forever in our memories. The characters we meet are multi-layered and unforgettable, their dialogue individual and reveal personalities, and the settings of the stories all give a brilliant sense of place.

I have favourites in this anthology, there are too many to list them all, so I’ll just mention one or two: Fear from the Past will stay with me, as will the poems Alone and Our World of Beauty and Hope. I chuckled at Stayin’ Alive and I was fascinated by the anecdotes of the author’s grandparents.

Alex Craigie’s work consistently portrays the emotions she intends to reveal in everything she writes. and instantly evoke a response in the reader.

And so I have no hesitation in recommending Hopes, Fears and Reality to any reader. Please read and savour every word.

Where We Walked Craig Varr Kinloch Rannoch Loch Rannoch @Scotland #walks #photography #mountains #lochs

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Craig Varr is a truncated spur; a ridge cut off by the glaciers of the last ice age around ten thousand years ago. The result of the ice erosion is a cliff close to Kinloch Rannoch and a ridge that leads northeast to Beinn a’ Chuallaich (Mountain of the Herding”) .

Craig Varr – the first walk that the Photographer had identified when we knew we were going to Kinloch Rannoch. We perhaps should have taken notice of the warning: ‘Very steep initial ascent on a wide path; then pathless and boggy for a section before a final rough ascent’,

Especially when, on the day we arrived, it snowed!

But the Photographer was keen – very keen – to take some photographs, particularly of the mountain to the south, the triangular profile of Schiehallion. He was convinced that if we could climb only a short way up to Craig Varr, he would get a decent phtograph. As you can see, he did!

We often forget how old we are. And it was with this oblivious attitude that we set off in hiking boots and with poles.

We left mid morning: the snow had disappeared from the roads, the sun shone, the air was quite warm, and from the path overlooking the loch it felt like a lovely Spring day, despite it only being February.

Against the clear sky the loch was impressive through the trees.

The Photographer stopped often to take photos.

The track, though rough, was easy at first. We resolved to walk as far as it proved so.

But soon we encountered more snow and ice

Common sense kicked in – we turned back. The climb would be for another day, preferably a long summer’s day. Or at least a day when there wasn’t any snow.

Back at the lodge we agreed that tomorrow’s walk would be on lower ground – probably around the loch.

N.B. For interest:

Schiehallion: the mountain that weighed the Earth

This superb quartzite mountain was chosen in 1774 as the site of a famous experiment to weigh the Earth; today it is an unrivalled viewpoint.
Six to seven hundred million years ago the area that now forms the Grampian Highlands was a shallow sea. Layer upon layer of sediment was formed from mud eroded from the land, white quartz sands, and limy deposits. As these layers were buried and compressed, they became mudstone, sandstone and limestone. At that time Scotland was at the edge of a continent which included North America, separated by the deep Iapetus Ocean from the rest of Europe. Plate tectonic movements closed this ocean 470 to 430 million years ago, subjecting the buried rocks to great heat and pressure. Mudstone became schist and slate; sandstone became very hard, creamy-white quartzite; all were folded and fractured in complex patterns. At the end of these earth movements the rocks were uplifted to form the Caledonian Mountains.
Perhaps one of the most amazing things about Schiehallion is that this folding and fracturing of the rock layers is so pronounced in the area around the mountain that the mountain itself is almost ‘upside-down’! In other words, the older rock layers can be found at the top of the mountain and the younger layers at the bottom.
Several different rock types can be seen on the main path up Schiehallion,. You may come across a limestone pavement with water-worn fissures and potholes. Locally, these limey soils support unusual plants. The same rock can be seen in quarries and a restored 19th century lime kiln at Tomphubil. . Most of the ridge is grey to white quartzite, with current bedding in a few places and an occasional band of pinkish brown microdiorite. In the Tempar Burn to the northwest is the famous Schiehallion Boulder bed, an ancient glacial tillite.
During the Ice Ages of the last two million years, glaciers flowed east from Rannoch Moor, carving the hard quartzites of Schiehallion into a streamlined ridge and digging deep valleys on either side. The ice has carried blocks of granite and schist, and dropped them all the way along the east ridge, up to a height of about 980m. From there to the summit the path goes over bedrock with only local quartzite boulders.
The experiment of 1774 to weigh the Earth involved measuring the deflection of a plumb line resulting from the gravitational pull of a nearby mountain. Schiehallion was considered the ideal mountain, due to its isolation and almost symmetrical shape. The tiny deflection of a plumb-line from the vertical must be measured relative to the fixed background of the stars, which requires extremely careful measurements on either side of the mountain. The mass of the mountain can be worked out from its volume and the density of its rocks. These values can be used to find the gravitational pull of the Earth, and thus its mass.
Text contributed by Carol Pudsey for https://www.scottishgeologytrust.org/

Where We Walked – Marloes Sands #BoxingDay #Pembrokeshire #Wales #Walks #Photographs #memories

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The last time we were here was last summer, on a warm and sunny day. After parking the car we’d walked down the winding track to the beach. The tide was well out and we’d strolled along the edge of the lapping gentle waves on the long stretch of sand.

This time: Boxing Day 2025, so bitterly cold that initially it took away our breath. But the sun was shining and the sky was a gloriously clear blue. It was good to be outside after days of rain. We sauntered down the track to the grassy path that led to the beach

The tide was in. In the distance we could see Skomer Island which we’d visited inJuly. An adventure I’d written about here and here.

We turned away from the beach and, after only slight hesitation, we crossed a small footbridge over a stream and followed a path to the top of the cliff that we’d not walked on before.

It was a little hair-raising to be honest. But the views were wonderful. After half an hour along an ever rising, and narrowing path we came to a halt at the top of steep and winding steps that obviously led down to the beach. Go on, or go back? We’re not very good at going back on walks, however lost we are, or in this case, however daunting the steps. So we decided – in for a penny and all that…

It took us ten minutes of walking sideways down each step and being very grateful for the walking poles we’d debated on bringing with us – (After all, it’ll only be a beach walk!” I’d said, foolishly).

I don’t know who’d built those steps but they’d obviously decided that anyone who could navigate them thus far would be fit enough to leap over the last two metres of sheer rock at the bottom to reach the beach.

Before I could decide to either slide down the rock on my backside, or roll down through the gorse bushes on either side of the path I heard a cry. ” Bravo! You are legends!” A lady appeared below. “Stay there. I’ll help you down, you legend. Grab my hand.” I was, I have to say, very grateful for the help.

Until, finally on level ground – (levelish – i looked it up, there is such a word, specially invented i guess for rocky beaches) – I looked at this lovely lady – and realised she was probably around our age.

To be clear though, she did tell us she’d arrived at this particular spot at low tide, and had walked along the wide stretch of sand from the other end of the beach – where we’d we’d originally planned to walk from. And also that the steps we’d come down were locally know as the emergency exit steps for when someone was caught out by the high tide. So that was the answer – whoever built the steps knew that anyone wanting to use them would probably be swimming to them – and not by choice; to escape being trapped by the tide.

Luckily for us the tide was on its way out. There was no way I was tackling those steps again to the top of the cliffs. We judged that, if we took our time, we could navigate around and over the rocks to get back to our originally planned starting point at the other end of the beach.

Having navigated rocks near the sea’s edge we made our way to the top of the beach near the cliffs where there was a gap between two tall, jagged rocks. A group of people came through as we were deciding on our next move. If they could do it so could we! Yes, I know … mad!! But we don’t like to be beaten.

We made it to the other side. “No problem,” said the photographer (He was standing on the sand taking this photograph with the path that leads up to the track, and on up to the car park, behind us). I ignored his confident smile; there were a few moments when I’d thought we would be needing a sea rescue.

N.B: Just as a matter of interests, Marloes Sands was the filming location for: Snow White & the Huntsman (September 2011). The Lion in Winter (1968).

And could I, should I, leave this post without a small metion of my books?

As I’m hoping the book I’m working on at the moment, and hope to publish in 2026 (Well, one can always live in hope!), I guess not. So here is the link to my Amazon page.

Thank you to all my readers; I appreciate each and every one of you.

A Hundred Tiny Threads #Prequel #familysaga #histfiction #WW1 #reviews #family #relationships #Poetry

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It’s eight years this month since the prequel, A Hundred Tiny Threads, to the Haworth Trilogy was published – so a little celebratory post – with an extra personal memory at the end – for one of my oldest books.

It’s 1911 and Winifred Duffy is a determined young woman eager for new experiences, for a life beyond the grocer’s shop counter ruled over by her domineering mother.

The scars of Bill Howarth’s troubled childhood linger. The only light in his life comes from a chance encounter with Winifred, the girl he determines to make his wife.

Meeting her friend Honora’s silver-tongued brother turns Winifred’s heart upside down. But Honora and Conal disappear, after a suffrage rally turns into a riot, and abandoned Winifred has nowhere to turn but home.

The Great War intervenes, sending Bill abroad to be hardened in a furnace of carnage and loss. When he returns his dream is still of Winifred and the life they might have had… Back in Lancashire, worn down by work and the barbed comments of narrow-minded townsfolk, Winifred faces difficult choices in love and life

A couple of reviews:

“When I emerged at the end of this book – during the reading, my immersion was total – it was with a sense of having experienced it all first hand, and of having deeply felt every moment. This was story-telling at its very best… and a book that will long linger in my memory.”

“I loved it… A page-turner that keeps you hooked. The story line has lots of twists and turns and you feel yourself moved on so many different levels. As the book unfolds it gives you moments of tenderness and love, hatred and spite all blended together with conflict, prejudice, guilt, grief and a desperate longing for change. Judith describes the period so well, with some very graphic, cruel and harrowing episodes, enabling you to empathise with each character in turn. I particularly like the fact that the story held together to the last page.”

Three year earlier, on the exact date – the 17th August – the book was published, I’d written the following…

My Grandad

grandad for sally's blog

My grandfather died seventy years ago this week. Obviously i never knew him and have only one small black and white photograph of him on my study wall. He’s standing in the backyard of the terraced house they lived in in Oldham. Lancashire. This is a poem I wrote about him a long time ago. My mother said he was gassed in WW1 and never recovered. 

My Grandad

I look at the photograph.

He smiles,and silently

he tells me

his story…

In my backyard I stand,

Hands wrapped around a mug of tea.

Shirt sleeves, rolled back,

Reveal tattoos – slack muscles.

I grin.

All teeth.

Who cares that they’re more black

Than white.

Underneath

That’s my life;

That’s the grin I learned

When burned

By poison

Spreading

Like wild garlic.

That’s the grin I wear

When I look

But don’t see

The dark oil glistening,

Blistering, inside me.

When I hear, but don’t listen

To my lungs closing.

I posture,

Braces fastened for the photo,

Chest puffed out.

Nothing touches me –

Now.

Later I cough my guts up –

Chuck up.

I trod on corpses: dead horses,

Blown up in a field

Where grass had yielded

To strong yellow nashers.

And in the pastures

I shat myself.

But smelled no worse

Than my mate, Henry, next to me

Whose head grinned down from the parapet –

 Ten yards away.

He has perfect, white teeth.

Much good they’ve done him,

Except for that last night at home

When the girl smiled back.

The Winter of Discontent: The Background to Part Two of The Stranger in my House. #CreativeControl #Families

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Part Two of The Stranger in my House is set against what is now called the Winter of Discontent – A term that comes from Shakespeare’s play Richard III, but it was used in an interview by the then Prime Minister James Callaghan and was taken up by the media. It lasted between November 1978 to February 1979 in the United Kingdom and, following opposition from the Trades Union Congress (TUC), took on the form of widespread strikes by both the private and public sector. Trade unions demandied pay rises greater than the limits Prime Minister, James Callaghan, and his Labour Party government imposed in an effort to control inflation.

It was also the coldest winter in sixteen years. Heavy snowfall and freezing temperatures disrupted transport, businesses, and energy supplies.

In January 1979 (between the 1st and the 14th), some 20,000 railwaymen held four one-day strikes. There were strikes by haulage drivers, petrol tank drivers, and eventually municipal workers – 1,250,000 of them organised a one-day national strike on 22 January 1979.

The most notorious incident was the grave diggers’ strike on Merseyside, which hit the headlines with the press vilifying trade unions for their lack of sympathy with the bereaved, and, it was argued, with the needs of the nation.

But it was a strike by refuse collectors that came to symbolise the complete breakdown of UK public services. Local councils rapidly ran out of storage space as the binmen continued to strike, so rubbish was left in streets and open public spaces instead.

Photograph courtesy of The Guardian
Photo by Evening Standard/Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

A gripping ‘cuckoo in the nest’ domestic thriller

After the death of their mum, twins Chloe and Charlie are shocked when their dad introduces Lynne as their ‘new mummy’. Lynne, a district nurse, is trusted in the community, but the twins can see her kind smile doesn’t meet her eyes. In the months that follow they suffer the torment Lynne brings to their house as she stops at nothing in her need to be in control.

Betrayed, separated and alone, the twins struggle to build new lives as adults, but will they find happiness or repeat past mistakes? Will they discover Lynne’s secret plans for their father? Will they find each other in time?

The Stranger in My House is a gripping ‘cuckoo in the nest’ domestic thriller, exploring how coercive control can tear a family apart. Set in Yorkshire and Cardiff, from the 60s to the winter of discontent, The Stranger in My House dramatises both the cruelty and the love families hide behind closed doors.

“Judith Barrow’s greatest strength is her understanding of her characters and the times in which they live.” Terry Tyler

Grateful for this reader’s review. One of the first for The Stranger in my House, when it was published in November 2024.

Received the book today and finished it in the one sitting!

Judith Barrow’s done it again! The Stranger in My House is a book that showcases her renowned credentials. The characters are superbly drawn, the tension grows steadily and with each turn of the page your heart is gripped by the dilemmas facing the young protagonists, twins Charlie and Chloe, and their well-intentioned father. As with The Memory (shortlisted for Wales Book of the Year) it’s the way Barrow takes the ordinary and everyday, that we recognise and identify with, and skilfully uses her eye for human behaviour to turn it into something that becomes a nightmare we can readily believe in.
The story begins in 1967 and over the following decade the sense of time and place is expertly done without being intrusive. At the core of the tale is coercion and the reader can see how cleverly the others are being manipulated by the woman who undermines them and shatters their family bonds. My dislike for Lynne and her son Saul built with the book’s momentum. There was that fear that they would get away with unimaginable cruelty and malice. To counter that, were those whose innate love and kindness provided a heartwarming buffer.
From the start, I was gripped and that grip tightened inexorably. It’s becoming a cliché to say that you couldn’t put a book down – but I couldn’t. I had to know what was going to happen next. It mattered. That is the hallmark of a great author.

My Review of Nine Lives by Terry Tyler #ShortStories #Review #Reading

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Book Description:

Winner of ‘Best Short Story Collection’ in the 2014 eFestival of Words, “Nine Lives” comprises nine short dramas in the vein of Terry Tyler’s well-loved novels, some funny, some sad, with her usual unpredictable twists. The first chapter of full-length novel and tale of sibling rivalry, WHAT IT TAKES, is to be found at the end.

The stories:

Angel – The perfect wife of the perfect husband is tempted by the fruit of another.
Shut Up And Dance – Paul says he will love Laura whatever size she is. But will he?
Mia – The threat of ‘the other woman’…
Kiss Your Past Goodbye – Zoe finds out what happened to her first love, who broke her heart.
We All Fall Down – Two old friends meet for a drink – just a swift one, of course!
Bright Light Fright – A tale of vengeance, a burglary, and a nasty shock.
Mama Kin – Emma and Melanie have very different approaches to childcare – oh dear!
Don’t Get Mad – Get Even – Kevin and Marcus have been best friends

My Review:

At the moment I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on reading ( well on anything actually). But, having been a fan of Terry Tyler’s writing for a long time I was pleased to come across this collection of short stories. Not a clue why I haven’t found it before!

The one thing (well, not only the one thing – I could expound on this for ages) that I love about this author’s work is her ability to get inside each character’s head, whoever they are, whether a protagonist or the antagonist … or even a minor character. She brings them alive instantly – and draws the reader into the story.

Each of these stories are short, but they pack a punch and made me think. There is always something beyond the words, the characters, the plot. I think it’s life – and the general affliction of humanity; whether it’s pride, or greed, or revenge- or whatever else that lies beneath the facade of what is called ‘real life’.

They may be short, they may be easy reads on the surface – but they dig dip and I loved them.

And the book was the winner of ‘Best Short Story Collection’ in the 2014 Festival of Words, which says everything.

So … highly recommended … to any reader.

My Review of Variety is the Spice of Life: A blend of poetry and prose by Sally Cronin

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Book Description:

Variety is the Spice of Life is a collection of poetry and short stories about relationships with others, including pets and animals inhabiting the world around us. The connection with others brings love and friendship, excitement and sometimes surprises, danger, mystery and sometimes the unexpected.

The poetry explores human nature, the fears, desires, expectations and achievements. Nature offers a wonderful opportunity to observe animals both domesticated and wild. Even in a back garden you can observe a wide variety of creatures and the daily challenges to survive a harsh environment.

The short stories introduces you to a healer whose gift comes with danger, a neighbour determined to protect a friend, a woman on the run, an old couple whose love has endured, an elderly retired teacher who faces a life changing accident, a secret that has been carried for over 70 years and a village who must unite as they face devastating news.

My Review:

I read Sally Cronin’s Variety is the Spice of Life quite a while ago, and recently when ‘tidying up’ my kindle I was surprised and somewhat dismayed to see I’d made notes on this lovely collection of poetry and prose that encompasses such a variety of themes – and not reviewed it.


So here I’m rectifying that.


The poetry at the start of the book is almost a study of the world around us. It’s an invitation to look once more at nature, however small and seemingly insignificant, and is portrayed through wonderfully insightful and sensitive words, so evocative that each piece evokes an image. I remember how, the first time I saw the poems, I read each of them out loud, relishing the sounds, the rhymes, the rhythms. And I would invite any reader to do the same – they come alive in that way, as does all good poetry. Sally has a way of capturing emotions and sensitively showing the uniqueness of the world around us – and the many layers in human nature.


The theme of the individuality, the variety of actions and reactions we are all capable of, is repeated over and over again in many subtle, and sometimes overt ways, throughout her prose. I was tempted to quote, to unpick each of the eight short stories, to describe the core, the main premise that runs through them. But, sticking to my decision not to reveal any spoilers in my reviews, I would just urge any potential reader to discover them for themselves. All reveal the writer’s natural gift for storytelling, of capturing the essence of characters and the world they inhabit. Some stories brought chuckles and a wry smile, others the feelings of sadness, of sharing fears and loss. And tears. Writing a short piece of prose is not an easy task; wrapping up a scene or a journey into a package that reveals a whole plot to the reader in so few words requires a special intuition on the part of the author. Sally Cronin shows she has a talent for such an understanding.


I can do no more, having given Variety is the Spice of Life a second reading, than to stress how much I recommend this offering from Sally. You won’t be disappointed.


A last word on the cover – a brilliant spicy image of the promising within!!

About the author

Sally Cronin is the author of eighteen books including her memoir Size Matters: Especially when you weigh 330lb first published in 2001 which followed her weight loss of 150lbs and the programme she designed to achieve a healthy weight and regain her health. A programme she shared with her clients over her 26 year career as a nutritional therapist and on her blog. This has been followed by another seventeen books both fiction and non-fiction including multi-genre collections of short stories and poetry.

Her latest book Size Always Matters is an extended and updated version of her original book Size Matters and now includes the nutritional element to losing weight and some recipes with ingredients that provide the nutrients necessary for healthy weight loss and continued good health.

As an author she understands how important it is to have support in marketing books and offers a number of FREE promotional opportunities in the Café and Bookstore on her blog and across her social media.

After leading a nomadic existence exploring the world, she now lives with her husband on the coast of Southern Ireland enjoying the seasonal fluctuations in the temperature of the rain.

Find Sally through the following links:

Smorgasbord Blog Magazine: https://tinyurl.com/5xskmavn

LinkedIn: https://tinyurl.com/3tn378xb

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sally.cronin

X: https://x.com/sgc58

My Review of A Stolen Future ( A Shade Darker Book 4 by Georgia Rose

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Book Description

A rival to overcome… A truth to reveal…

A family firm. A long-held promise. What will it take to protect all she loves?

Alice Fraser has everything she needs. A comfortable home. A few good friends. A satisfying career. But when the promise made doesn’t materialise and everything changes at work she finds herself losing control of all she once held dear.

She could have left. She should have left. Instead she decides to dig in, and make life uncomfortable for her tormentor.

Petty revenge, she calls it. And that’s how it starts. But one day she is pushed too far, and once she takes the next step there is no going back.

A Stolen Future is a gripping domestic suspense novel. If you like character-driven action, suspenseful storytelling and unexpected twists then you’ll love this psychological thriller.

My Review:

From the word go I’ve loved this series from Georgia Rose. In fact I’ve loved all her books, whatever genre. But A Stolen Future is the fourth story that is special, because it’s set in the same village, Melton, and besides being centred on the protagonists and her antagonist, it also touches on and includes characters, now minor ones, whose lives we have seen in depth before.

To that end, I woud encourage any reader to begin – as they say – at the beginning: so it’s

https://tinyurl.com/5n8v36v2

https://tinyurl.com/mw7y2f7b

https://tinyurl.com/55d8brph

I always try not to give spoilers in my reviews, and feel that I’m in danger of doing just that, so I’ll stop there. But what I do need to say is that all these characters are multi layered and immediately identifiable through their dialogue, both spoken and internal. And, together with a cast of wonderful minor characters,, they are embedded in a community that is indicative of so many villages and small towns. And as with all of Georgia Roses’ books the descriptions of the settings give a good sense of place, so I almost felt like on onlooker to life in Melton.

I thoroughly agree with the books description: A Stolen Future is a gripping domestic suspense novel. If you like character-driven action, suspenseful storytelling and unexpected twists then you’ll love this psychological thriller. It’s a book I thoroughly recommend.

About the Author:

Georgia Rose is a writer and the author of the romantic and suspenseful Grayson Trilogy books: A Single Step, Before the Dawn and Thicker than Water. Following completion of the trilogy she was asked for more and so wrote a short story, The Joker, which is based on a favourite character from the series and the eBook is available to download for free at the retailer of your choice.

Her fourth novel, Parallel Lies, encompasses crime along with Georgia’s usual blending of genre and its sequel, Loving Vengeance, has now completed The Ross Duology.

Georgia’s background in countryside living, riding, instructing and working with horses has provided the knowledge needed for some of her storylines; the others are a product of her passion for people watching and her overactive imagination.

She has also recently started running workshops and providing one-to-one support for those wishing to learn how to independently publish and you can find her, under her real name, at http://www.threeshirespublishing.com.

Following a long stint working in the law Georgia set up her own business providing administration services for other companies which she does to this day managing to entwine that work along with her writing.

Her busy life is set in a tranquil part of rural Cambridgeshire in the UK where she lives with her much neglected husband.

Grateful for this promotion and review of my next book from Sally Cronin of Smorgasbord

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Smorgasbord Book Reviews – #Thriller #Familysaga – The Stranger in my House by Judith Barrow

The Dilemma of Promoting my Books #MondayBlog #books #readers #promoting #socialmedia

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Promoting my books has always been something of a dilemma with me. Going to book fairs, giving talks, book signings, not so much; I always assume people are there because they want to be. They want to chat, to look at my books, to discuss the way I write – sometimes they way they write. It’s fun, I love meeting people. I love talking about my books, why I wrote them, how I came up with ideas, what they mean to me. The reviews readers have given them. I’m always grateful.

But how to talk about my books with people I just have met, casual acquaintances- even perfect strangers? It’s not something I do. It even makes me uncomfortable if I’m in the company of someone who does this, especially in public places, spaces that have nothing whatsoever to do with books, reading or writing. Although I admire that writer’s ability to pluck the subject of their work out of the air and present it to someone they have just met, or engineered a meeting, it’s not something I could do. After all, would I want anyone to feel cornered into buying a book, to be pressurised? Well, no, I wouldn’t. I’ve seen it happen, I’ve seen the reactions of the ‘cornered one’.

It’s a fine line in talking to a potential reader, to presenting my books to someone who might not be interested at all – who escapes with relief, albeit having had to buy a book!. Embarrassing!!

Social media, I know, is different in that there is no real life face to face appearance – it’s one step away. Even so, having followed many writers of all genres on the various platforms, I’ve seen those who singlemindedly try to sell their work, and those who use social media in it’s true sense (as a friend once said to me ” the clue is in the word ” social”). And there are those wonderful people who, so generously share the work, the promotions, the blogs and reviews of others. I’m grateful to those I have ‘met’ and become friends with in real life, as well as on social media.

And there’s another predicament for me when it comes to promoting my books – which platform am I most comfortable with. Which platform can I share general news and chat with, as well as publicity for my work … and which not.

Lately I decided to delete my Twiiter/X account. When the name changed I wondered why it had, what would be the difference, how would this formerly named Twitter be used. I have/had many friends who used and still use this platform in the way I did – to chat about life in general, to talk about books, reading, and writing.

But, gradually I saw something change on the feeds I received on Twitter/X. I’m not talking about all the “retired Generals/ Government Officials/ Admirers of our profiles etc. Bots, eager to get to ‘know’ us, that anyone on this platform (and other platforms, of course) receive. I mean the constant barrage of race/gender/political hatred, that was suddenly there. People, real people, eager for (bullying) us to join in, to follow whatever drum they are so fanatical about. For me (and I stress this is only me), it all got too much. I retreated – with a sigh of relief.

In a way it’s made me sad. Through the years I built up a moderate number of followers on Twitter; people I followed, who shared my passion for writing, for books; a lovely community. But the insiduous invasion of nastiness became something that affected me, my moods, my emotions. Perhaps I need a thicker skin? I was told by some of my real friends to ignore the constant chatter of predudice. But I couldn’t, and disn’t want to. It was too much. Circumventing these things in real life can be difficult enough, why did I need to be confronted with it on the screen? The screen where I write stories that I enjoy writing, where I chat and share emails, enjoy other social media platforms? So I made the decision and left Twitter/X.

I’m hoping by joining Instagram/Threads, and continuing on other platforms I will, eventually, connect again with the writers I got to know over many years. But, for my own peace of mind, it will never again be through Twittter/X.

Because I write about family dramas, family situations, I’ve always been aware of the relationships between people, between family members: the love, the loyalty, the friendship, the instinctive support. But also, I’m aware of and write about the dislike, the jealousy, the rivalry, the misunderstandings, the battle for control.

I don’t need it in the surreal world as well.

And so, a footnote: I’m not going to try to promote my books here. But … I do have links!! If you care to look for them…

Just a plug for my publisher: https://www.honno.co.uk/

Memories Make the Story #MondayBlogs #Memories #families #sisters #secrets

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Many people have asked me what was the inspiration for The Memory and my answer is always – memories: memories of being a carer for two of my aunts who lived with us, memories of losing a friend in my childhood; a friend who, although at the time I didn’t realise, was a Downs’ Syndrome child. But why I started to write the story; a story so different from my other four books, I can’t remember. Because it was something I’d begun years ago and was based around the journal I’d kept during that decade of looking after my relatives.

But what did begin to evolve when I settled down to writing The Memory was the realisation of why I’d been so reluctant to delve too far into my memories. The isolation, the loneliness, that Irene Hargreaves, the protagonist, endures; despite being married to Sam, her loving husband, dragged up my own feelings of being alone so much as a child. That awareness of always being on the outside; looking in on other families, relationships and friendships had followed me; had hidden deep inside my subconscious. And now, as content with my life as I am, it unsettled me.

Many people, and as an occasional creative writing tutor I’m one, say that writing is cathartic. Working through Irene’s memories; especially that one memory that has ruled her life, made me acknowledge my own. And that’s fine. I always say to my students, if you don’t feel the emotions as you write, then neither will your reader.

In The Memory I’m hoping the reader will sense the poignant, sad times with Irene, but will also rejoice with her in the happier memories.

Over the last few years I’ve moved from writing the historical family sagas of Haworth trilogy, that moves through the decades from 1914 – 1968, and The Heartstone, set during WW1, to contemporary fiction such as The Memory (which was shortlisted for the Wales Book of the Year 2021 The Rhys Davies Trust Award) and domestic thrillers, such as Sisters.

My next book, due to be published in November 2024 is The Stranger in My House:

“A gripping ‘cuckoo in the nest’ domestic thriller.”

After the death of their mum, twins Chloe and Charlie are shocked when their dad introduces Lynne as their ‘new mummy’. Lynne, a district nurse, is trusted in the community, but the twins can see her kind smile doesn’t meet her eyes. In the months that follow they suffer the torment Lynne brings to their house as she stops at nothing in her need to be in control.

Betrayed, separated and alone, the twins struggle to build new lives as adults, but will they find happiness or repeat past mistakes? Will they discover Lynne’s secret plans for their father? Will they find each other in time?

The Stranger in My House is a gripping ‘cuckoo in the nest’ domestic thriller, exploring how coercive control can tear a family apart. Set in Yorkshire and Cardiff, from the 60s to the winter of discontent, The Stranger in My House dramatises both the cruelty and the love families hide behind closed doors.

Sisters

The Memory

The Heart Stone

Discover the Haworth trilogy

Prequel to the Haworth trilogy

https://tinyurl.com/3m5xhnsu

Where We Walked #Llyn Crafnant and LlynGeirionydd #Wales #walks #climbs #photographs #stiles #humour #holidays #Sisters #books #readers @honno

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Llyn Crafnant and LlynGeirionydd are separated by the forested slopes of Mynydd Deulyn (Mountain of the Two Lakes) and lie within wonderfully scenic valleys where the Gwydyr forest meets the lower slopes of the Carneddau mountains in Conwy.”The lakes are about a mile apart,” said the photographer casually. “The walk’s about five miles.” What actually happened was that we took the circular route which covers a distance of eight miles and involved some steep climbing.

But, at this point I have to say that wasn’t his fault. We ended up – or should I say – started off walking in the opposite way to the route in the book, having parked in the car park near LlynGeirionydd, instead of the one near Llyn Crafnant.

This was due to the fact that, at one point, the SatNav took us in the wrong direction. It’s always the SatNavs fault, you know; we once got stuck on a very narrow dirt farm track faced with a sign that joyfully said in large red writing, ” Use your eyes, the SatNav lies”. I think I might have said that before, it’s something I bear in mind when sitting by a certain irate driver having to turn back on a journey.

Anyway, I thought, it’ll be alright; we’ll just read the directions backwards.

I waited on the edge of the grass while the photographer took his first photo of Llyn Geirionydd.

Gwydir Forest is named after the Gwydir River, which takes its name from the ancient Gwydir Estate, established by the John Wynn family of Gwydir Castle, who owned this area (Gwydir is translated as River with Red Banks) The land here was once dominated by lead and zinc mines. Some of the mines have been partially restored and made safe for visitors, but we didn’t visit; our sights were set on getting to Llyn Crafnant Though we did pass an old restored engine-house, and also the waste tips, now left to be naturally covered over.

The First World War had highlighted a shortage in wood production and the forest was stripped bare at the time because many of the early forestry workers, former employees in the forest’s mines, had no experience of forestry. This caused the 1919 Forestry Act to be passed and Gwydir Forest was acquired from Lord Ancaster by the Forestry Commission in 1921.

Most of the original plantations have now been felled and replanted as part of the forestry cycle. We passed quite a few places where this was happening.

The majority of the forest is conifer such as Japanese larch, Norway spruce and Scots pine but apparently, over the last two decades there has been more Welsh Oak, ash and beech planted to give a more varied and softer outline to the forest

“When we get to the top of this track, there’s a little bit of a short climb and the track narrows a bit,” said the Photographer over his shoulder as I puffed and panted behind him. ” Don’t worry, it’ll be so worth it for the view.’

The track did narrow a bit indeed. As the directions said, ‘…into a steep narrow footpath, less than forty centimetres wide (that’s about sixteen inches in old money) in some places, on an unmade and uneven surface, where you can expect mud, rocks and tree roots.‘. The embarrassing thing is, just as I was wobbling leaping gazelle-like from rock to another a young couple (stressing young here!) ran past… with a dog … very quickly. And they even had the breath to wish us a cheerful “good morning.”

Every now and then we caught glimpses of the view. Went past a stile. Down a wider path. Through a gate. Saw the obligatory cow. And then…

The Photographer got his first proper shot of Llyn Crafnant on the northern edge of the Gwydir Forest.

And then lots more. It really is a glorious place

One last look and we walked away from Llyn Crafnant …

Following the arrows we crossed over the road into a small wooded area. And there the arrows stopped. We looked around: there was a stile in the far corner, but it was broken, covered in brambles and branches and looked unused. On the other side of the clearing there was a broad track. After some discussion we chose the track. (later realising we should have tackled the stile).

After an hour of walking up the never-ending road we stopped for breath, and for the Photographer to revell in the scenery and take many photos of the craggy slopes of Mynydd Deulyn.

And for me to have a rest. It wasn’t until we got back to the car that I realised I had somehow managed to take the attractive shot below whilst I was rummaging in my rucksack for the fourth, and last, bottle of water. Naming no names, but someone dared me to include this in the post – and I’m never one to pass on a dare. Which is probably the reason I find myself on these hikes walks.

Another hour of uphill, round a bend, and the road began to descend, until we were …

Back to the start…

I’m often asked what do I think about when I’m walking and with not enough breath to talk. I must say not having enough breath to talk isn’t something that often happens to me. But usually I’m taking in what’s all around us. We walk in so many diifferent kinds of places, so I just soak up the sights and the sounds whether in the country or in more urban areas.

But there are times when I’m thinking how to describe what I’m seeing, wondering if it will fit into a scene in the book I’m currently working on – or intend to work on. Sometimes it will, sometimes it won’t. It’s usually the latter, but that’s okay. And if I can keep it in mind for when we next stop for the Photographer to capture the scenary, I’ll make notes.

And there have been occasions when I can use those notes. One day we were nearing the end of our walk at Llyn y Fan Fach and Llyn y Fan Fawr near Llanddeusant in Carmarthenshire, Wales. It had been long, so the sun was low in the sky and it felt quite erie as we took a last look out over the water.

And I remembered that moment, that feeling of almost sinister atmosphere when I wrote one of the scenes in Sisters.

“‘Whoops! Watch your step, Miss Clumsy.’ Said in a jokey manner, it still manages to imply the familiar censure. ‘If it wasn’t for me always looking out for you, I don’t know what you’d do.’ He laughs. ‘Probably kill yourself, one of these days.’ He pulls her close, turns her so they are facing the lake, standing on the edge of the steep banking.
The sun is sinking lower in the sky, the black shadows of the trees lengthen, their reflection stretch and waver over the lake, the water rendered blood-red.“

Book Description:

An accident and a terrible lie by sixteen-year-old Angie tears her family apart and her younger sister, Lisa, being sent away. They don’t speak for thirteen years, until their mother’s death brings them together. Lisa quickly realises her sister is trapped in a dangerous marriage.

What does Lisa owe to the family that betrayed her? And if she tries to help, will she make things more dangerous for them all?

A powerful story of domestic violence, courage and forgiveness.

Published by Honno Press (26 Jan. 2023)

Where We Walked #Pen Y Gaer #Snowdon #Yr Wyddfa #Wales #walks #climbs #photographs #MondayBlogs #stiles #humour #holidays

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“A lovely evening walk,” said the photographer. “With spectacular views.”

It was that last sentence that should have warned me before we set off, I thought as I climbed over the stile and looked upwards.

He’s such a clever clogs: climbing the stile one- handed and taking a video. Hmph!!

A little information here: Pen y Gaer is a mountain summit in the Snowdonia – Beddgelert to Conwy region in the county of Conwy, Wales. It’s the location of a Bronze Age and Iron Age hillfort near the village of Llanbedr-y-Cennin. It’s a natural defensive site. There is a long history of occupation.

There are two Bronze Age cairns on the north-west slope, and extensive prehistoric and later field systems, nearby. The remains seen today are mostly of Iron Age origin, but further earthworks, probably of medieval origin, lie on the south-eastern slopes.

The summit can be identified by one of the large cairns.

Pen y Gaer is three hundred and eighty-five metres high with a prominence of thirty-six metres. (My legs and feet can confirm this!)

The photographer was right though, the views are spectacular.

There’s a broad bank of stones about two metres in width, with a partial kerb of large, irregularly placed boulders before getting to the summit; these are the remains of two defence walls, as well as the outlines of a chevaux-de-frise (A defence, usually a timber or an iron barrel covered with projecting spikes and often strung with barbs of glass).

There are two stone circles. Archaeological evidence indicates that in addition to being used as places of burial, the purpose of stone circles was probably connected to agricultural events, such as the summer solstice.

And, of course, sheep – which moved a lot quicker that we did.

The sun was setting, a mist was creeping in. We were (as far as I was concerned) on top of a mountain. At this point there was a discussion: we could carry on having an adventure and take a track (over a stile) to fields and marshland, and meander until we saw buildings, which could or could possibly not be the cottage we were staying in. Or we could take the windy, steep lane that would definitly lead to the cottage where we were staying.

Whilst someone couldn’t resist one last photo … I staggered sauntered past, with that glass of wine in mind, and carried on.

“A lovely evening walk,” said the photographer, gazing admiringly at photographs on the screen of his camera. “And brilliant scenary.”

I have to admit I agreed, as I soaked my feet in a bowl of cool water. Though next time, I decided, I would check out the mileage… and the ascent … of further ‘walks’.

Who am I kidding?!