Baldernock Linn

Hi,

Just been twiddling around with plot lines and time lines for book five and getting a bit green with envy at fellow writers who spend a whole day here and there, talking to folk and making copious notes. For me it's a good look on the internet and a chat with everyone I know ... and somebody always knows somebody who will help out. This time it was the father of HWMB (he who must be ignored) who grew up near Baldernock and knew the site of my fictional dastardly deed very well. It's called Baldernock Linn. In my youth it was an open stream, caves visible but not easy to get to, having to pass along a four inch wide ledge above a six foot drop to the water before coming to the mouth of the second and much deeper cave. I can remember as a five year old being terrified out my wits as two friends of the family passed me from hand to hand over the (what seemed to me at the time) gorge where I could fall to my death. Like I say it's six feet at most. It's very overgrown now, and that makes it all the more spooky, it's almost dark at the bottom of the gully in early summer, the air is thick, full of insects and the only noise is the constant running of the waterfall that speeds like a curtain over the mouth of the caves.

I didn't hang around, strange feeling that somebody is watching us and I wanted back to the car. When we got there, there was a man standing at the car with a rifle. He seemed a pleasant chap, he and HWMBI exchanged a few pleasantries while I hid in the car. I was convinced he was going to shoot us and roll the burning vehicle down into the gully where we would lie undiscovered for years and be nibbled at by fish. Sometimes I think having an overactive imagination is a curse. The man with the rifle was a farmer of course, trying to protect his lambs from the crows.

Well that's what he told us.

I drove off at high speed in search of lamas and latte.

Caro

Been very busy again, the business partner decided to go up the Amazon backwards in a canoe with no paddle. We thought this was very brave as they normally panic if they are not in sight of L K Bennett or Starbucks. We thought this was even braver when they came back photos of spiders as big as a human head... and that was in the sleeping quarters. I have trekked the High Atlas in Morocco but all we had to content with was a very drunk Shetlander and a donkey with irritable bowel syndrome.





And things have gone well with the play for Radio 4, the edit for book four is back while I am researching book five. It was always my intention to brutally slaughter somebody on the beach at Whitby in book five ... which was a bit daft as I had never been to Whitby in my life but being a Bram Stoker buff I thought it was rather an enchanting idea. So we booked to go and have a look see - but then had to cancel due to commitments with Radio 4. So we rebooked, not realising it was the Easter weekend we would be away ... as would every Tom, Dick and Harry with their pit bulls, tattoos, chips, Range Rovers and an awful lot of Lambrettas. I had already committed myself to the story, indeed I had already written that part of it - the body lying on the cobbles on the beach, the waves tickling the stones - that chattering noise pebbles on a beach make as the water advances and retreats ... and the body is lying there, being lifted a little with each incoming wave.





I was very happy with that. Until we got there and the beach is of course, sandy. I would like to point out before you lot do, that research has told me that parts of the beach could be either ... but the one bit I wanted, was defo sandy.





While standing there, it became apparent that I couldn't use it anyway, as I had the action in the book. Whitby is built on tiny inlet, there is a perfect view from the surrounding high ground of anything that goes on anywhere on the beach.
Including murder.



It has to be said that the initial impression was not good, it was so busy the cars could not drive down the street due to the crowds on the road and dogs on very long leads getting caught between the cars. It was hot, noisy and very smelly. But then so was Venice probably on that day. It was brutally hot. We drove straight through the town at 0.5 miles an hour and up to the sanctuary of the abbey where I rethought the start of the book - the grass, the ruins, the wind, trying to imagine it all at night and it was perfect for my scene of gory death and destruction. Looking one way at the sea, just a haze of mist in the heat, the other way led to moors that a Bronte would be proud of.





Later, once the crowds had gone, we descended on Whitby (for chips!) and were treated to a thunderstorm worthy of a special effects Oscar. Lightning screeching across the bay, dark clouds rolling in from the sea, the thunder clattering in the distance. The sky was opening and closing allowing shafts of bright sunlight to radiate through, prisms of gold through the sky ... and they shone right on the ruins of the abbey, high on the cliff, silhouetted against the darkening sky behind. It was so beautiful people stopped on the pier to watch the clouds dance over the abbey, not minding that they ( and their chips) were getting soaked through. It was absolutely spectacular. It felt as though Dracula was talking to me, I could hear the voice of Mr Stoker on the wind. I said so and "he who must be ignored" immediately sniffed my Irn Bru to see if there was any alcohol in it. He has no romance in his soul.





In that mood Whitby was a very beautiful place indeed. And worthy of a good murder high on the hill.





I'm busy on the edit of book four, a very different book from book three but still in the Anderson and Costello series, the editor thinks it's 'remarkable, weighty and absorbing'. And I did worry whether is was a natural progression from Dark Water or a departure... but they are happy it's a forward progression in my writing. It was one of those books where the book is written , it gets sent off and then you read in the paper that it has really happened ... but I'm not telling you what but it was a bit worrying!!





We are off to Bristol soon to attend the great Crimefest - that's the one I got in the lift with Jeff Lynsay of Dexter fame and he admitted that he was quite scared of me. I don't really think that was a response to my literary endeavours, I think was just somebody had told him I was from Govan. This year I'm on with Yrsa Sigurdardottir .. if you haven't read her do so ... M R Hall from the tv (The Redeemed, Kavanagh QC amongst others) and John Lawton (Lily of the Field). I'm a big fan of the first two but not so familiar with John's work ... but that's the joy of these festivals you meet people as people ... and then it turns out they are great writers as well.





At the moment I'm trying my first Bryant and May mystery, it was a patient that put me on to them, New Tricks but very good, very funny and very humane, a lovely writer with a light touch an all round good egg ... you see that's what happens when you drive to England listening to Agatha Christie, you end up saying things like 'all round good egg'. Well it's now four and twenty past the hour, I'm going to have a tisane and some devilled eggs ... Not!

Golfing for cats in the Third Reich

Hello,

Just come back from sub tropical London where I was trying to be well behaved at a very posh party where we menial little writer types had to act grown up in front of publishers and ... err lots of other folk with job titles that give very little clue to what they actually do.

I was hiding in a corner, in a lovely garden with N J Cooper who was telling us about her own garden produce, the stream that runs through her garden, the cherry orchard, the homemade wine. Chris Simms was waxing lyrical about his perpetual spinach, Laura Wilson was chatting about the contents of her window box, I was moaning that I'd had to scrape my car that morning to get to the airport .... how Scotland still has it's winter moments .... the waitress came up offering white wine, red wine and mineral water ... we all took the mineral water and plumped for the vegetarian canapes ... As Ian Rankin once asked ... what has happened to all the rock n roll crime writers. Edgar Allen Poe was an alcoholic by the age of 9.

Had an interesting discussion on one of my favourite topics ... the cultural differences between us as we write and why we write what we write. The Icelandic author whose name I can pronounce (she gave me lessons) but I will not attempt to spell, said that Scotland and Iceland share the same landscape, the countryside around Inverness could be the view out her kitchen window. She thinks, as I do, that the cold and the bitter wind (the bitter, bitter wind ...) shapes our writing. We looked around the lovely English garden we were sitting in, full of sunlight and colour, our host offering her guests factor 15 sunblock, my companion and I sitting in the sun waiting for our skin to turn from blue to pink ...

Our French colleagues were telling us that in "England" (it was always England), books about dogs sell well. In France books about cats sell very well. And golf ... and anything to do with Hitler. From the bizarre conversation that followed, it was just as well we were sober! Golfing with cats ... instead of clubs one presumes.

I'm getting on with book five while the builders are absent with permission. Also thinking about running a marathon ... starting training today. I recovered from that quicker than I recovered from being charged £6.50 for a coffee, two slices of toast and a fried egg at Standsted airport!


Caro

Hello all

Hi I definitely can't do this techno stuff. The last two blogs have disappeared into the ether or maybe appeared on somebody else's blog site, poor bugger. However book five has been started, strange thing - I promised myself a break after book four but book five jumped into my head and I had to start writing again. Walking about with serial killers and psychotic rottweillers in your head is not a good idea... much better to get it down on paper. The ugliest dog in the world, like many of us, has been watching the footage of rescue scenes from Japan, especially the search dogs sniffing their way through the rubble, looking for survivors. So when the ceiling fell in... in a classic Only Fools and Horses kind of way, with the poor builder underneath, the ugliest dog in the world leapt to the rescue... running up the stairs.. into a room that was snowy white with stoor... and began digging at the rubble... where she found the builder's packet of Hobnobs and made off with them. Ugly? Yes. Brave? Yes. Stupid.. No! But has no real sense of decorum. She would be the sort of person who would turn up at a stranger's funeral just to fill their plate at the buffet... and then go back for seconds. I've also been at the Radio Lab with BBC Radio Four which has been a very interesting experience. Lovely people; a Channel 4 journalist, theatre people, a poet, screen writers and yours truly. And what different skill sets. They were in awe of somebody who can write 130,000 words. I was in awe of those who can pinpoint a story... and tell it in 7,000 words. But one thing I did realise... novelists have a great capacity to lie instantly and convincingly. The last day of the Lab was spent in the studio recording, often taking 1 hr 30 minutes to get just 3 minutes of good stuff. The actors were very good, endless patience, amazing ability to say the same thing twenty times over without a hint of boredom... getting them to say urticaria ... and then say it in a broad Yorkshire accent. Just try it, it's not easy. Interesting language also, listening to the director and the studio crew and actors talk to each other... strange terminology. We are rumoured to be going back once the edit has been done for a chit chat and overhaul of our ideas. And going out for a pint after that! Should be more next week as my blog is now talking to me again. Caro

back in touch with the world..Hurrah!

Hello World!



Here I am back in touch after the website suffering more technical problems than Apollo 13. I feel like Baldrick .. a very excited person with a special reason to be excited. That's how bad I am at computers ... this sort of stuff is way beyond me. I would do much better on Come Dine with Me. That's just chemistry, bitching and food poisoning. I'm good at all three!



Having said all that, I have been very busy putting the finishing touches to the fourth novel which will be published about 12 months from now. The working title is the Puppeteer or it might be New Blood or it might be whatever Penguin decide to call it!!



I'm also drafting out book 5 and tomorrow I am missing all my friends at Weegie Wednesday as I am lurking around the backstreets of the West End looking for pokey places to stick dead bodies. Determined not to get stuck in a skip this time.



The big news for those that attend my events is that the building site I live in now has ... heating, floors and wait for it ... flushing toilets ... again I am excited as an excited person etc etc etc. I have done a little research into the nature of the talented but excitable beast that is The Plasterer. I believe their natural domain is in the pub and that they live, when in the wild, on a diet of kebabs and irn bru with occasional alcoholic libation for medicinal purposes. In captivity or indeed in the area that needs plastered, they are rarely seen. In my case The Plasterer was quite domesticated, used to being kept in captivity but howled constantly for his release in a rather superb operatic tenor. Personally I think he should audition for The X Factor, no autotuner needed for him. We nearly needed an ambulance for him when he and the resident Pit Bull had a minor altercation. The Plasterer 0 Pit Bull 3. The dog was playing on its home ground, always an advantage.

More blogging next week. I'm away now to walk across my new floors ... much easier than jumping the gaps, believe me.



Caro

Busy times.



Been up the proverbial back alley with a photographer for the Daily Record. I am worried that I now find standing in a puddle in the pouring rain, arms out as if I am about to have a shoot out at dawn through the saloon doors of the OK corral, as my natural pose.



Two weeks ago I was on STV's The Hour with Michelle and Stephen. Scary! And the scariest thing was there was no run through or previous meeting or discussion of questions - what you see is what happened - exactly. So, when interviewed by Mark Lawson of Radio 4 you kind of know what you are going to be asked ie something about writing, hopefully. But with Michelle? - it could be "so you're a crimewriter, is that noe great. " How do you answer that? "Aye, next question please."



And then somebody pointed out that I am the dead spit of Eva Peron. I then found out he has since been operated on for an eye problem, no kidding, get better soon Dave! No doubt when he gets a bit better he'll tell me that I look like J K Rowling's big sister.



Then we were off the Milngavie - Fish N' Chips night with champagne - well chip butties and Irn Bru in my case. I was there with Shirley McKay and Gary Moffat (G I Moffat as he is on the cover of his books) and we were dutifully chaired by my favourite QC Len Murray.



At this event 200 fish suppers - this is fish and chips wrapped together in a wee greasy parcel for anybody reading this who isn't a Scot - are delivered from the local chippie. The award winning fish shop closes for half an hour and they get frying as if they are on steroids. The suppers arrived hot but 20 minutes late so us four had to ad lib for a full 20 minutes, at one point we were interviewing each other and then we were asking questions to the audience.



It was also Weegie Wednesday. The award winning short story writer who I confess I thought was a poet but there you go, Donal McLaughlin and I went out with Deborah Niven, who writes stories about moles - all moles are spies - and a German academic who lives in Switzerland and has just written a crime novel. Interesting stuff and a keen observation: so what are the Swiss passionate about I asked? Anything they are good at - pause - unlike the Scots who are passionate about all things they are bad at.... which is just as well... he added in a tutonic kind of way. I found myself thinking of Josef Fritzel. Wolfgang, Wolfie to his pals, was no doubt presented with whisky, tartan and a piece of Harris tweed. But we went one better and in the interests of understanding within the European Union, we gave him Irn Bru, tablet, a macaroon bar and a dictionary of Glaswegian slang. Poor man.



Meanwhile due to an oversight of the greatest PA in the world, I was actually dirving in the muppet mobile with no valid MOT as a lovely policeman pointed out on the A91 in St Andrews. He was very kind and drew directions how to get to the Kincardine Bridge in the dirt on the bonnet. He asked me what I was doing driving about at three in the morning with no real sense of direction. I explained I had been to see Sweet Charity at the Byre Theatre. He shook his head saying that he didn't know any of those songs. I gave him a few bars of Hey Big Spender. He told me to go on my way.



Subsequent visit to the local cop shop to display correct documentation was very interesting with a very drunk lady flat out on a bench - indeed rather well dressed drunk lady - gayly urinating all over the floor. It was the middle of the afternoon. The cops were great in understatement "watch your feet as you go miss" he said.



In the spare three minutes I have I am writing a piece for Red Herring on the collective noun for crime writers - I'm rather fond of a 'denouement'. Indeed my denouement for this blog is I have passed my exam. I have no idea of what letters I get after my name now but I kind of like Diploma in Forensic Medicine - DipiFormed.

Hello!!

Lots happening as you can imagine.

Next week I have an event with Alex Gray at Dunfermline Waterstones on Wednesday 8th. Even if you don't like either of us, there is a glass of wine on offer!!

Even better is the champagne at the Fish, Chips and Champagne night on Sunday 12th with Gary Moffat and Shirley McKay, that is always a really good event. Last year there was nearly an impromptu performance by Denise Mina, Karen Campbell and myself doing the Nolan sisters ( but not quite so shiney and much more sweary).

Then I'm doing something for the Daily Record midweek .. apart from that, finishing touches to book four and starting book five....my time is my own.

I've never done so much publicity for a book before... got lost in Clydebank trying to find radio Clyde, been mistaken for somebody who appeared on X factor, ended up giving the DJ a giggling fit on Radio Manx, claimed I wrote Atonement in the Sun ( I didn't - I wrote Absolution but I got the train of thought the journalist was obviously on) and was mistaken for a prostitute a certain Glasgow hotel. ... can't work out if that last one was a complement or not.

However, the highlight of the stress was going on STV's The Hour with no rehearsal, no warning, no clues, nae nuffin!!! but in a strange kind of way, it was fun. Stephen and Michelle were great.. that job is a lot harder than it looks, I'd go cross eyed if I had to read auto queue for more than two minutes. But I was on with two border collies looking for a home... and I tried to steal the puppy, it was soooo cute. He was blind and a real wee charmer. But I don't think the bold Emily.. (who is officially the ugliest dog in Glasgow) would have been too chuffed.
For the French and Saunders fans amongst us, do you remember the series of sketches they did about breakfast tv? And what does the queen have mid morning? A hob nob? Well, I couldn't get that out my head while I was sitting on their sofa... I kept thinking.. when do I move?? You know when the guest gets up and the camera catches them leaving rather than being being removed off camera.... or even worse the presenters hand shoots out and they growl 'stay there' out the corner of their mouth. So I made sure my backside was glued to that sofa until I was given the green light to get out the door. eeekkk.

But all the camera crew were laughing... and at one point Stephen Jardine looked a wee bit scared. I considered my job done!

will blog again soon, time allowing


caro