It's May. Is it really two months since I updated my blog?

We've just got back from our holiday in Minorca. We stayed in es Castell in a super hotel near to Mahon, where we have visited before but only for the day. The hotel we picked this time was in a great location, and meant we could snap plenty of ship and ferry activity on the Med.

We enjoyed it so much we didn't want to come home! But, then we never do. And, although we seem to have brought the sunshine home with us this time, our next visit to Minorca isn't until early October, so I do have to admit to a little bit of sulking since.

I don't know about you, but our holidays always seem full of strange little incidents, and the first incident this time took place on a boat trip around Mahon Harbour.

There is a such a lot to see around the harbour - a lot of military history, both Spanish and British - but a young woman, dressed only in a bikini on her top half, proceeded to ruin the running commentary for the other passengers by accepting a FaceTime call from the UK right in the middle of it. Cue pursed lips and sour expressions, and that was just me and DH.

The second incident took place in the hotel itself on the last evening we were there. The evening meal was served between 7.30 and 10.00 pm and we varied the times we ate, depending on when we arrived back from our day-time activities. On this particular day, we'd come back early and decided to eat, then go and finish our packing. We were sitting outside having a lovely, refreshing gin and tonic on the patio when the dining room opened its doors. I decided to walk in the back way through an open door whilst my husband queued up at the front of the dining room and gave in our room number.

"Madame!" shouted the maître d' in a very loud voice. "What on earth do you think you are doing?" 

For some reason he'd taken great exception to what I'd done. I mean, how very dare I? How dare I sneak through the back and maybe inadvertently nab the best table overlooking the harbour from under the nose of the very annoying guy who by pushing to the front every night, managed to do exactly that?

"You should not have done that!"

"Should I not?" I said. "Why not?"

He never answered me, and for the rest of the meal a frosty silence prevailed.  He glared at me several times, and I have to admit, I glared back. Cue, once again, I'm afraid, my sour expression of the boat trip around the harbour. This unfortunate little fracas could have ruined our last evening, but I refused to let it. 

Honestly. Some people.

My fitness tracker was put to good use, though, as we walked 102,000 steps in a week which equates to around 41 miles with 658 active minutes. Good job too, as the puddings in the hotel were irresistible and we were never content to just eat just one of them!

Whilst we were there, I finished revising my second novel, so I'm pleased to report that when I submitted the synopsis for a Bombshell for the Barrister to the publisher I mentioned in my last blog, they requested the full. Hopefully they'll like it, so I'm keeping everything crossed on that one. Now, I just need to crack on with my NWS submission.

I'm about to send off my balance for the RNA Conference in Telford where this time I intend to be more brave with my one-to-one choices. Last year, stupidly, I cancelled a one-to-one with quite a well-known agent and the only reason for that was because I lost my nerve. I'm not saying the agent would have even liked my work but the trouble is, I'll never know now, will I?

Until next time

Kim xx

Under pressure!

Hurrah! It's February! So what's been happening? Well, nothing out of the ordinary, really, but just lately I've noticed the journey to and from work is not so dark. The birds are singing more loudly. If only it wasn't so darned chilly, we could almost be fooled into thinking that Spring has arrived.

It's my birthday soon, too, so I've asked for a fitness tracker, and as part of my new healthy eating regime I'll be trying to get out for more walks. I've cut out the carbs (mostly) and increased my vegetable intake (by a lot), so my clothes are more loose after the excesses of Christmas. If I could only get my dastardly blood pressure under control, things would be tickety-boo. When I visited the doc two weeks, it was so high they doubled my medication, so it's a matter of playing the waiting game and taking my BP every day on the monster below. Great.

It's not all doom and gloom as I'm doing much more writing. A short story here, a competition entry there, editing my last two rejections, and getting ready for my romance writing course in Fishguard, Wales, with Kate Walker. I first went on one of Kate's courses in 2014 at Weetwood Hall, near Leeds, where I met a fantastic bunch of ladies, most of whom I have stayed in touch with via email, or social media. Kate's advanced writing course is one of the highlights of my year, so, Andrea, Ingrid, Kate, Marie, Melissa, Nerys and Vasiliki - can't wait to see you all again xx

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I've been working on my hero, Jake Caballero.  Here's a little excerpt from my notes:

Jake’s mother died from eclampsia whilst giving birth to him. Before that his father crashed the light aircraft he was piloting - killing both him and Jake's older sister.  Brought up by his cold and unfeeling grandmother, Jake was starved of the upbringing he deserved. 

Although not fully rejected - she did, after all, give him a home and a private education - she never showed him a scrap of love or affection.  She never stroked his hair, kissed his face, or held him in her arms. Maybe she was grieving herself, or maybe her young grandson reminded her too much of the son she had lost? But the worst thing of all? She blamed him for his mother’s death, so imagine that being dumped on a young boy’s shoulders? Sent to an all boy’s day school, his only example back then of how the opposite sex operated was his grandmother.

As an adult Jake feels empty and incapable of love. With nothing to offer a woman - apart from his money - he has a love ‘em and leave ‘em attitude. He is determined never to have children, too, as he fears history may repeat itself, and he never wants any child to have to go through what he went through. The one thing Florence did instill in him was to always keep a stiff, upper lip - to remain strong even during the most challenging of situations. This, he knows, has got him where he is today, especially in the business world, but his private life is a joke. What woman would ever want a man like him?

Until next time.

Kim x

New Year, new me

Well, after a very indulgent Christmas and New Year, and lots of time off work (but not a lot of rest) I suddenly find myself with an extremely long to-do list!

So, here’s what happening:

One of my favourite times of the year is when I attend the Advanced writing course in Fishguard run by Kate Walker. This year, me and eleven other attendees will have to prepare in advance by reading each other's first chapter of their current WIP, and then, once in Fishguard, give our comments. This time, I’ve also asked if Kate can point me in the right direction with my characterisation, as it’s my characters who seem to be the stumbling block in my writing. At the moment, I’m putting my plot before my characters so that definitely needs to change.

I'd love to write more stories to submit to People’s Friend. I’ve taken on board (hopefully) the comments made by the lovely editor who rejected story number 2. Having only just started to submit to the Friend, I’m really hoping this will be the year I succeed at this.  I love writing short stories!

I need to carry on with my latest story for Harlequin M&B (first three chapters written) ready for the RNA New Writers’ Scheme. I have up until the end of August to submit this, but as I’m getting older, the months seem to pass by very quickly!

I’m also determined to rework my two rejections from Harlequin M&B (Tethered by Twins and A Bombshell for the Barrister) for a fresh publisher. At 50,000 words they are too short for, example, Choc Lit, but if this is one of the publishers I’m aiming for, I have a lot of work to do.

I must try and blog more often. Usually, I blog once a month, but this probably isn’t enough. I’ve also noticed that since I deactivated from Facebook, my blog isn’t getting quite as many views as I’d like, so I’m now on the horns of a dilemma - decisions, decisions.

I would really like to get my website AlexisJakes.com up and running properly and hopefully transfer my current blog on to there.

My youngest son assures me this can be done, and helped set up the website  initially, but pinning him down at the moment because of his accountancy exams is no easy feat.

Last but not least, and probably most importantly, is to try and get my health back on track. As someone who suffers from Type 2 Diabetes (it runs in my family) I’m fully aware of the  repercussions from this progressive disease. There’s absolutely no doubt that my eyesight, kidneys, heart and limbs will all be affected if I don’t start to stick to the straight and narrow (I saw it with my father). Furthermore, at my last Diabetes check-up I was also diagnosed with high blood pressure. This, unfortunately, is proving difficult to control, so I’m now in the tiresome position of having to try different medications, and being forced to return to the surgery every couple of weeks. 

Oh, the joys of getting older!

Have any of you made a to-do list for 2017?

Until next time.

Kim x

Talking to myself.

This might sound like a very odd thing to do, but interviewing your characters before you put pen to paper was an idea given to me by the lovely Claire Walker whom I met on a writing retreat at Weetwood Hall in Leeds. 

Claire's idea to try to get to the nitty-gritty of your characters by asking them a set of questions is great. These can be anything you like, and the process is more or less along the same lines of an interview you might find in a magazine.  Here's a small part of my latest endeavour for my latest, as yet untitled story:

Just as I’m beginning to think he isn’t going to show, the door opens.  My head whips round and I’m greeted by JC, hotelier and billionaire.

Wow, he’s so tall, of Spanish descent I’m told, with over-long dark, curly hair and brown eyes.  Incredibly handsome, in a rugged sort of way, he has broad, muscular shoulders and well-developed arms and chest. He works out for sure. My mouth drops open. His presence is mesmerising. He holds himself incredibly well, and immediately comes across as quietly confident, dominant, and proud of what and who he is. And why not? JC is filthy rich, with more money than he knows what to do with. 

The next thing I notice when he walks into the room is the jagged scar on the right hand side of his temple. This, I’ve been told, is a result of the car accident that almost cost him his life. Luckily, he walked away to live another day, but I wonder how this has affected him deep down? Is he still the same man? I certainly intend to ask him.

I’ve seen him in photographs but these haven’t prepared me for the utter size of him. He’s at least six feet three, with shoulders in proportion to his stature.  It’s a warm day and he’s carrying his jacket over one muscular arm.  I can’t take my eyes off the width of his shoulders, outlined beautifully in the crisp, white shirt he’s wearing. His legs are incased in trousers that even to my inexperienced eye are quite obviously bespoke. The fabric is first class, top quality.  He looks long, lean and lithe, and I shiver involuntarily.  I rise to my feet on trembling legs.

He reaches over and shakes my hand. His grip is firm, and for some reason it sends a tingle through my flesh.

  

“Thanks for agreeing to see me, Mr C.”

“I can spare you an hour. That should suffice, shouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know. My readers are voracious and interested in everything about you. Can we reschedule if we don’t get through it all?”

“I talk fast,” he says. “We won’t need to reschedule.”

His reply doesn’t faze me. I've been doing this job long enough to realise that not all interviews are likely to run smoothly. His eyes meet mine and I’m memorised by how dark they are, or is it because we’re indoors in artificial light?

“Um… are we doing the interview here in the foyer?”

“I thought my office had made that plain?”

So - he values his privacy, but I can’t blame him for that, especially after what’s happened to him recently. I sink back down onto the leather sofa.  For some stupid reason my legs feel like jelly and I don’t know why.  

I take a deep breath. “Okay, shall we make a start? Can I just say, first of all, how sorry I was to hear about your recent car accident.”

“Thanks.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

He sits down in an adjoining chair and raises a dark eyebrow.  “I don’t remember.”

“What - nothing?”

He rubs his temple near to his scar. “No. I hit my head, and my brain - or so the doctors tell me - has blocked it out.”

“What other injuries did you sustain?”

“I was trapped by my left leg which has been left slightly weaker. With time it should recover.  Fortunately, intensive physiotherapy is helping with that.”

I speak bluntly. “Does the fact that you now have a scar on your face bother you?”

“I would rather it wasn’t there, obviously.”

“But, does it affect your day-to-day life? I mean, what about your relationships with the opposite sex?

His gaze is even. “It doesn’t hold me back in the slightest. I can assure you of that.”

I flush. “Do you remember anything previous to the accident?”

“Some.”

“Like what?”

“Most of my business dealings - boardroom stuff, mainly. Fortunately, I lost very little of those details. Some things are still a little scratchy, but coming back bit by bit.”

“Getting clearer, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything that you’re still finding hard to remember?”

“I still don’t know why I was in the car that night, and where I was going. Whilst I was in the hospital for the two months after the accident, I had a regular visitor who swore she knew me intimately.  She insisted she’d been a passenger in the car with me.”

My ears prick up.  “Really? Can’t you check it out? I mean, are there no witnesses who can corroborate her story?”

He lets out his breath. “Unfortunately not. There was no mention of anyone else being in the vehicle with me.  I’ve also had all the medical records checked out too.  Nothing.”

“So, she wasn’t injured? Maybe she’s lying.”

“She’s an opportunist.”

“You mean you think she’s seen it all in the press, and decided to try her luck?”

“Yes.”

“Honestly, some people. Do you feel any connection with this woman?”

He swallows harshly. “Yes, unfortunately there is a connection. I can feel it. So, that just makes things worse.”

“Really?”

“She’s stunning. I’m drawn to her, like I’ve never been drawn to anyone before. Physically, I’m very attracted to her. She also tells me I got her pregnant.”

“Oh, my God, really?”

So there you go. I think talking to yourself can sometimes work.

Hope you all have a wonderful Christmas.

Until next time

Kim x

Such a liberated girl

So, what have I been up to in November?

Well, at the beginning of the month, I took the train to Edinburgh with two of my sisters, where in-between visiting the sights, we shopped until we dropped - literally. A third visit (for me) to the spectacular Royal Yacht Britannia was, of course, obligatory, and eating a delicious lunch afterwards in the lovely tea room finished the day off nicely.

I’ve also been writing some short stories. Having been rejected from Harlequin Mills & Boon for the second time, and in-between licking my wounds, I thought I’d try something different for a while.  And, guess what? - I like it. I really do. I’m just about to submit my second attempt to People’s Friend, so keep your fingers crossed.

On a completely different matter, I've removed myself from Facebook, and I never thought I'd say this, but I feel strangely liberated.  

Even though I loved interacting with my friends on there, Facebook, as a social media platform, was taking over my existence. It was the first thing I looked at when I awoke, and the last thing I looked at before I closed my eyes at night. 

So - it’s gone. No more. If I ever get published, then I'll maybe think again, but for the moment it is total bliss. And of course, all that spare time I now have means I get more writing done!

I’ve not completely disappeared though.You can still find me on Twitter @kim_lain 

Until next time. 

Kim x

Oh, Ross Poldark, what are you trying to do to me?

It’s Wednesday - only three days have passed - but we’re all still talking about Poldark Series 2 - episode 8 - which aired on Sunday 23 October 2016. 

As a huge fan of this wonderful series, this episode shocked me greatly. And as someone who has recently been diagnosed with high blood pressure, this episode did not help! I mean - come on - only the week before hadn’t we seen Ross present Delmelza with a beautiful pair of silk stockings which he then proceeded to roll up her legs in a very seductive and sensual way?

So, why did Ross betray her? Okay, so he’d had a terrible day after losing two more men in the mine, and because of that, took the decision to close Wheal Grace for ever. Was being blinded by passionate rage after opening the letter from Elizabeth in which she told him she had agreed to marry George an excuse to do what he did?  

In fact, what exactly was going through his mind that night when he did the dirty on his wife? And correct me if I’m wrong, but after staying the night with Elizabeth, didn’t he return the following morning, with his tail between his legs, to tell Delmelza - to her face - that ‘he had no choice’?

So, what does that mean? Why did he have no choice?

• Ross, of course, is extremely fond of Delmelza. She's the mother of his son - but he can’t help but still love Elizabeth. She was, after all, his very first love, and he’s always held a torch for her.
• Francis is now dead (tragically drowned in the mine) so now, once again, Elizabeth is temptingly free. Could Ross not resist her?
• Secretly, and this is what I think, did Ross think that by having sex with Elizabeth, George would then consider her soiled goods and refuse to marry her? Revenge would be his, and Elizabeth would still be around for him to call on as and when he pleased. But, looking at this from George’s POV, stealing Elizabeth from under the nose of Ross would destroy him for sure. And that is exactly what George would want.

Many of you know that my ambition is to write for Harlequin M&B, and before this episode I imagined Ross as the idea hero - dominant, good-looking, commanding and proud. Ross always had a strong (if sometimes deeply buried!) moral code, but now I'm not so sure. This is definitely a new side to him. He's certainly gone down in my estimation. I'm not sure how he and Delmelza can recover from this. 

What do you all think?

Until next time 

Kim x

Obligatory October observations!

Okay, I'll admit it. I do love to people-watch. And now we're in the Balearics for a couple of weeks, I've been indulging in my favourite past-time.

I don't know if this happens to anybody else, but when we're on holiday DH and I always think we see people we know, or people who appear to look like people we know. For instance, the head waiter in our hotel could be the twin brother of the lady who works in our local chemist back home. We've also seen an actor from a TV soap and Captain Bird's Eye swimming in our pool.

This has been happening off and on all week, and especially with one particular lady who I believed was someone I used to work with.  It all came to a head last night when she gesticulated to me wildly and shouted me over with a huge grin.  There you go, I said to DH, with a rather smug look on my face, it is her.  So - I trotted over and said hello, and asked her if she'd now retired from the secondary school in Blackburn? Um - er - she replied, I actually work at a bank in Manchester.  To cut a long story short, she wasn't who I thought she was, and it was all very embarrassing, and the only reason she'd waved at me was because she'd noticed me staring at her.  Several times. Oh, dear.  DH always says my nosiness will be the death of me, and he's probably right.

Take for instance, the poor old guy I noticed in the dining room, armed with a walking stick, and obviously struggling to carry his food. I felt so sorry for him. I even thought of offering to help him but then, after watching him for a while, I realised he actually eats more than anyone else I know. I can't tell you how many times this seemingly feeble man returns to his table laden down with piles of food balanced on his plate, some of which he slips deftly into his wind cheater pocket to eat later. This clever little dodge happens at both breakfast and dinner so instead of the two meals a day he's paid for, he's getting four. I mean, how crafty is that? I've also discovered on the grapevine (DH) that this same guy borrows the hotel luggage trolley on a daily basis to carry huge quantities of water back from the local supermarket. Now, I know we're all being encouraged to drink more fluids, but ten litres a day? What's he doing? Washing in it?

But, to finish - and this is the worse one of all - I got the shock of my life today.  It was early - around nine o'clock - and DH and I were strolling along the path that overlooks the sea. Now, Santo Tomas has a bit of a reputation for nudity but usually those who wish to indulge - I'm told - congregate further around the headland and not near the main body of hotels. Not so this morning.  I just happened to glance up and - yes, you've guessed it - I spotted a man on his balcony, and, unfortunately for him, the front of his balcony disguised very little, if you know what I mean. There was nothing hidden. Everything was visible. Ahem! And yes, he should have been wearing some clothes before deciding to take in the morning air.

At the same time as I spotted him, a young Spanish teenager who was walking past shouted something up to him - clearly some sort of obscenity - which caused the naked man to scuttle back into his apartment quicker than a scalded cat. 

All this was before breakfast. We definitely had to have a quick glass of cava to put us right.

Until next time.

Kim X