Of endings, and beginnings... by Cathy Ace

Birthday lunch in Wales with my mum and sister,
at one of my/our favourite spots:
Bracelet Bay, Mumbles

It’s the last day of August: September looms, with thoughts of mellow fruitfulness, the whiff of wood smoke in the cooling air, and the promise of a new academic year. I loved the start of the school year because it meant opening a new exercise book, with its unblemished pillowy pages just waiting to be written upon…all that potential…a wonderful time.

This year? I’m just back from a three-week visit to my family home in Wales, which is why I’ve been much less active than usual on social media; I've tried to keep liking and sharing posts made by others, but haven't really added much myself. Please indulge me as I share some memories, and thoughts?

I’m fortunate that my mother is still alive, and was even more fortunate to be able to be in Wales to celebrate her 88^th birthday with her earlier this month...but, this time, things were a bit different…this time, her birthday celebration began with me and my sister collecting her from her new home, a residential care home. Yes, that step has now been taken. My sister has been brilliant throughout the whole transition; everything’s fallen to her over recent months, and she’s more than risen to the challenges.

So, today, I’m taking the chance offered here to celebrate new beginnings; Mum’s in a wonderful place, perched on a cliff overlooking the stunning Gower coast. Dylan Thomas's best friend lived there, and they wrote poetry there together...what a heritage and what a location (see photo!) - we know how fortunate she is to be there with wonderful, truly caring, staff. She moved there after an extended stay in hospital; it really was the only option, going forward, where we knew she'd be safe, with the 24 hour support she needs.

My sister has moved back into the family home, so there's been a great deal of upheaval for her. The photo on the left shows the view from my old bedroom window, which is now my sister's office - and it's where I was when I joined the panel at When Words Collide a few weeks ago. Believe me when I tell you that was a bit of a surreal experience.

It’s been a time of sometimes chaotic change; ultimately a chance to assess, purge, reset, and start over, for both of them. The photo on the right shows the Rag and Bone Man in our street. A presence in my life since childhood, he drives slowly along the streets (it used to be a horse-drawn cart) calling "Rag bone, rag bone, any old iron" a sound which jolted me back through five or six decades (I was brought back to this house as an infant - Mum lived here for 65 years). Thanks to him, the local charity shops and dumps, my sister's experience living "back at home" should be a bit less cluttered!

There have been tears, compromises, and – finally – the opportunity to live a slightly different life for both Mum and my sister. Like opening a new exercise book at the beginning of a new year, they both now have an opportunity to write whatever they choose on their blank pages.

I was happy to be able to spend time with them both, and happy to spend time at "home" in Swansea. And I took the chance to indulge in some uniquely "Swansea" experiences - most of which I repeat whenever I am able to get there!

A trip to Rhossili

The Kardomah Cafe, which hasn't changed a bit
 (literally) since the 1950s

Joe's in Mumbles for ice cream; faggots, peas and chips for lunch at The Worms Head pub in Rhossilli; a trip to the Kardomah cafe (another link to Dylan Thomas, who was famously one of "The Kardomah Boys") which still has "proper" waitresses, and serves a magnificent "Shoppers' Grill" in a cocoon where the decor hasn't changed a jot since the 1950s.

Swansea market

I had a couple of trips to Swansea market where the cockles and laverbread are always fresh and tempting - and where I ran into my old chum (and first boyfriend) Mal Pope (we should have got a photo!); and I tucked into a couple of Swansea Pies, because they are the BEST in the world.

The only other pie I've ever eaten that came close was at a
tiny place in Katoomba, Australia!

I also allowed myself to enjoy custard slices, chips with curry sauce from my favourite chip shop, and lots of time just chilling with my sister...and, of course, I was able to visit Mum every day in her delightful room by the sea, where she's really settled in...enjoying quizzes, art classes, visits by a hairdresser, manicurist, chiropodist...and more!

Yes - I took the chance to indulge, in many ways, folks...including THREE (yes, I admit it!) trips to Joe's Ice Cream Parlour for chocolate sundaes! They're celebrating their 100th birthday this year, and I have been going there for more than 60 of those 100 years, so feel I have contributed more than a little to their continuing success...and they have contributed more than a little to my continuing growth in girth!

But it all made me think about what I want to do going forward. What do I want to appear on my blank pages? How exactly do I want to live my life? How can I balance the need to tell stories, with family time?

I wrote my most recent book, The Case of the Disgraced Duke, while Mum was in hospital for an extended period, and I told her every day, when I spoke to her on the phone, about how it was progressing…promising her a “new book to read, very soon”. I was so pleased to be able to hand her a copy of that book in her new home, and she’s just finished it (yes, she’s enjoyed it very much!).

I know that, going forward, I shall continue to write because I need to carry on telling my stories…and I shall do my best to write as many books as possible for Mum to read. My time in Swansea reinforced my love for it, and I was able to get a chance to visit extended family, meet a few chums, take Mum to visit the graves of her parents, and my dad, at the cemetery...and just see how things are changing in what Dylan Thomas called a "lovely, ugly town" - because they are, constantly.

"Glad" to be home (yes, pun intended...LOL!)

My return to my home in Canada was wonderful: my husband greeting me at the airport; the chatter as he drove me along familiar highways and rural roads - he's also from Swansea, so totally understands my NEED to enjoy foods and places from my life before coming to Canada; wandering our acreage together, marveling at how my he's managed to keep everything alive through searing 37 degree heat, and a drought. 

It's been quite a month! On August 1st my latest book was published, and I have watched (at something of a distance) as it's become the best-selling of all my books, ever! 

THANK YOU to everyone who's read it (and if you haven't...yet...why not??? LOL!) and here's to a new academic year - still The New Year for me, in many ways - when we all get the chance to, Janus-like, look back and forward. 

If you want to read the 5th WISE Enquiries Agency Mystery for free - just ask your local library to get it for you. If you're able to put your hand in your pocket for your own copy, you can read it electronically, in paperback, or as a hard cover. All the details are at my website: http://www.cathyace.com/wise-enquiries-agency-mysteries

 

 

Santa Monster by Josh Stallings

Q: Share memories of being read to. Or stories you read to those close to you. Have you written stories for friends or family, not for publication?

A: I was lucky enough to grow up in a family that loved stories. My mother read us Peter Pan and our father read us Winnie the Pooh. He also read us Catch 22, which might have landed better with my older brother and sister than us younger kids, but that story is for another therapy session. Dylan Thomas’ A Child’s Christmas in Wales was a holiday standard at our home. After the divorce Pops would entertain his wild brood by dropping a poster board on the floor, give us colored pens and have us work together mapping out a fantastical world. The older kids had read Tolkien, I hadn’t, I just thought making up worlds was cool. Who knew I’d be doing that the rest of my life?

When I became a dad I was lucky to parent with Erika, a life long reader she already had a collection of children's books and we made sure our boys had the bottom shelf of a bookcase just for them. I read to the boys most nights. Introduced them to some of my favorites. When they discovered I could make up stories they started asking for two picture books (one for each of them), one of my talking stories and a song. The bedtime routine stretched to 20 minutes or more, but they slept peacefully after that so it was worth it. 

My ability to make stuff up served me well as a dad. When three year old Jared asked me, “If Santa gives good kids presents, what about bad ones?” 

“Bad kids get visited by Santa Monster.” I said, keeping my eye on the car ahead of us I failed to see his face. In a non-Christian home navigating Christmas’ complex and contradictory rituals is tough, (Easter? Forget about it.) Jared didn’t ask any follow up questions so I figured I’d handled the good vs bad kids question pretty well.

Nope. 

Two days later a babysitter took Jared to the mall to see Santa. She brought back a picture of our son screaming in terror from his perch on jolly old St. Nick’s lap. Erika was rightfully angry, she explained to the babysitter that we didn’t force our children to sit on people’s laps. I thought I was off the hook until the sitter went home and the boys were happily watching Ninja Turtles, that’s when Erika gave me “the look.” I told her about Santa Monster. “Jared isn’t developmentally able to get your humor, or understand sarcasm.” She explained. “He takes what you tell him literally and believes it.” 

“That’s his mistake,” I almost said, but she was the only one of us with any early childhood education, so I just mumbled, “I’ll fix it…” 

This was one day before Christmas Eve. Santas would be triggering and unavoidable. What do I do? I didn’t want to say, “Sorry kid, you shouldn’t trust me.” I wanted Jared to grow up in a world where he could trust his father. I wanted this to be a funny story we joked about with his psychiatrist thirty-five years down the road.

My fall back plan: I stayed up all night writing and drawing a children's book staring baby Dracula and Franky, a baby Frankenstein, (yes I know Frankenstein was the doctor not the monster, but that seemed a bit complicated for a children's tale written at midnight the night before the book was due). In my story two sweet monster children tried to find out what they could expect for Christmas. Being monsters and thus bad by definition, would they get lumps of coal? If so what did one do with coal? What was coal? These monsters lived in LA and had never seen coal. Drac and Franky tried to stay up all Christmas Eve night, as they were drifting off to sleep they dreamed they saw a zombie looking monster in a red suit. The next morning under their tree they found a bicycle and a skateboard left for them by Santa Monster with a note wishing them a Merry Monster Christmas. (This is roughly the story, I wrote it forever ago so I may have gotten some details wrong.)

The book did its job. It helped Jared to not be afraid of Santa Monster, and to understand that all children deserve presents.

What I didn’t say was; Santa as seen by the predominant culture in the USA is one judgy bastard. What kinda guy spends his time spying on kids to see who he thinks is good or bad? Kinda Creepy, dude. And if we follow that logic, was the kid in school who’s folks could afford a radio controlled car to put under his tree better than me because I got a bike my dad built from found spare parts? If that’s true, if wealthy kids according to Santa are better than poor kids, then I say he’s the monster, not Zombie Santa.

SAFETY NOTE: If any precocious children stumble across this post, have your folks contact me and I’ll start working on “Santa Monster 2 Rudolph’s Revenge.”  

  

******

In other news...

Episode 2 of Dumpsterfireside Chats the podcast where Chantelle Aimée Osman and me try to makes sense of life, publishing, writing, and the crazy state of earth 2022 can be found here- 

https://www.wordsofpreypodcast.com/1751031/10516034

 *****

* Photo Credit Mark Lowrie

Clue - Do by Cathy Ace

You’re organizing a writers retreat with some fellow authors. Friends, perhaps? Describe the plan, the setting, the food, the drinks, and the results. And, of course, who gets murdered…

Oh, what fun...I think. 

I'll admit I've never been on a writers' retreat...I'm not really a "retreat" sort of person, because, frankly, anything that takes me away from the company of my husband is something I consider very carefully, and I'm not convinced that trying to write anywhere but my known, home environment would go well for me.

Confession: the first advance I was ever paid (to write a marketing communications textbook, in 1994) was immediately spent on renting an apartment in Nice for three months, where I didn't even manage to finish the first chapter (too many distractions!). 

So...a retreat? Hmm...maybe not my thing.

That said - if "writers' retreat" is code for long weekend partying with people you want to spend time with, and then there's a murder mystery to solve, too...I'm your gal. Oh, and Husband will be coming along...just so we're clear about that up front.

Those who know me won't be surprised that my chosen venue would be a cruise ship...touring the Hawaiian Islands, please. This means the food and drink won't be my responsibility at all, as there's always anything and everything anyone could fancy available 24/7 on a ship, though I'd warn them to make sure the champagne list was comprehensive, and well stocked...because, well...champagne! 

Now then  -who shall I invite? Ack...there are so many people I would want to be there...but what if I leave someone out? This could be a nightmare, so I'm going to neatly sidestep that issue by only inviting...dead people!

First up - Agatha Christie, of course. Not only could she give us all surfing lessons (yes, she used to surf) but we could have fascinating chats about her time in Jordan and Egypt; I've visited the house she shared with her husband in the Jordanian wonder that is Petra, and have also been into the suite she stayed in at The Cataract Hotel in Aswan, Egypt. 

Next - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, because I would want to talk to him about his fascination with spiritualism, and learn more about how he plotted his Holmes works. I'd also love to ask him how he feels about all the works that now exists based upon his characters...I have a feeling his answers would be interesting.

Also - William Shakespeare. Probably not a surprise, and wouldn't it be wonderful for all the other guests to be able to quiz him about the way he used language? I think everyone there would be grateful to have the chance to thank him for his work - and I have a feeling he'd be amazed to discover the impact he's had not just upon the field of drama, around the world - but on the English language we use today. Also - he's a bit of a whizz when it comes to anything involving buckets of blood - so handy to have around if the ship ends up littered with corpses.

If I could persuade him, I'd risk inviting Georges Simenon. I realize we might not see much of him, because he'd probably be off  bonking anything that would let him, but I feel I could learn a great deal from him about the writing process, given half a chance.

If prising Simenon off any willing female takes some of our time, we might also have to spend a bit more dragging Dylan Thomas away from the bar - though maybe that's where we'd all be in any case  because whatever ship you're on, the best bar (in my experience) is always outside, on the top deck, at the stern - you get fresh air, drinks, and the wonderful wake to enjoy! (Bonus points for everyone having to give up caring what their hair looks like, because of the wind.) NB: I know Thomas isn't very murdery, but that's okay too.

To balance the male count here, I'm also going to invite Ruth Rendell and PD James, because - well, come on.. two fascinating women, who wrote genre-defining books, and both knew their way around the halls of power, the media, and publishing - lots of discussions to be had there. 

And, to round out this group - though I am desperately sorry either of them are available - I'm inviting Sue Grafton and MC Beaton. Two unforgettable women who created two unforgettable women - Kinsey Millhone and Agatha Raisin, respectively. When it comes to knowing how to give a protagonist longevity, they have a massive amount of experience between them.

This gives me five women, and four men - all of whom, bar one, are British! Gobsmacked? No, me neither. But that's not fair - so I gave Husband one pick, too, using my rules, and he opted for Robert B. Parker, who would be a fabulous addition to the group because...well, you know...loads of books, successful series across sub-genres, and Westerns too (all of which Husband likes). 

Since they're all dead, none of them can be murdered...there'll be no distractions, and we can all have a good old knees-up, BUT...I would make sure the cinema showed the movies "CLUE" and "MURDER BY DEATH" so we could all have a good laugh (and I'd also give all my guests the opportunity to watch any and all screen versions of their work they fancied - so we could all talk about that, too!) 

Sounds like my sort of party...for days.  

Wanna come??? 

 And maybe bring a book??

BSP: On Sunday Dru Ann Love will be revealing the cover of my 11th Cait Morgan Mystery, THE CORPSE WITH THE GRANITE HEART. Don't miss out! Sign up for my newsletter here, and get a private preview! http://www.cathyace.com/

From my "lovely, ugly town"... by Cathy Ace

What’s your favorite first line of a book or story, and why? Then tell us your favorite first line from one of your books and stories, and why.

Unlike my protagonist Cait Morgan I do not have an eidetic memory, which would come in handy at the moment. Generally speaking, I don’t go around memorizing the opening lines of anything, books included. So, ignoring the obvious quotes about the best/worst of times, or the predilection to marriage of single women etc. etc., I’m going to share with you the most impactful words that I can never quite quote, but which have drawn me into a magical world since I first heard them…yes, I heard them before I read them, because these are the opening lines of a play, for voices, set in the fabulously-named village of Llareggub (which is “bugger all”, backwards…something that’s bound to make a young person titter).

Maybe it’s no surprise that, since I grew up in Swansea, I should gravitate towards the words of Swansea’s (possibly) most famous son, Dylan Thomas. 

My rather faded copy of the play

But I should warn you that his work is pretty divisive in some circles – for example, my late father thought Thomas was a preening drunk who took himself too seriously, and his work not seriously enough. But me? I adore Thomas’s work, and reserve my views about his personal life. I have several recorded versions of “Under Milk Wood” on vinyl – the Stan Tracy jazz version of it was my eighteenth birthday present from my classmates in school. Link here to see the Brecon Jazz Festival 2001 performance: https://youtu.be/KO2fuHVS2tE  

I did memorize the wonderful “Fern Hill”, in its entirety, to recite at a school Eisteddfod in the 1970s. Thus, the opening lines of that are, in fact, etched in my mind, and always make me so happy that I speak them aloud whenever I can:

“Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs

About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,

The night above the dingle starry,

Time let me hail and climb

Golden in the heydays of his eyes,

And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns

And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves

Trail with daisies and barley

Down the rivers of the windfall light.”

*sigh*

As for my own paltry meanderings…I think I’ll stick with the opening paragraph of my first Cait Morgan Mystery, “The Corpse with the Silver Tongue” which I believe works well:

‘The chatter among the dinner guests was bubbling along nicely, when Alistair Townsend suddenly clutched at his chest, made gurgling sounds and slumped into his bowl of escargots. Reactions around the table varied: his wife told him to stop messing about, one of his guests looked surprised, one a little concerned and a couple were quite cross. All of which led me to suspect that “How to react when one’s host drops dead at the dinner table” is not tackled in any modern etiquette books.’

To find out how that story continued, you can find out a lot more about my work at my website: http://www.cathyace.com/

“To begin at the beginning:” by Cathy Ace

If you had to name one single book that inspired you to be a writer, what would that be?

 I can’t choose just one. It didn’t happen that way for me. I can’t recall a time when I wasn’t either listening to, or reading, stories, and my love for them grew as the years passed. Here’s a selection of influential books.

Age 5: Little John Little was both written and illustrated by Charlotte Steiner, and my copy (yes, this is the one I read as a little girl) is still with me all these decades later. I adored this book, both the words and the pictures. Now that I live on five acres with lots of critters I still absolutely believe families of squirrels live just like this inside the trees I can see, with a dinner of specially prepared acorn dishes being served around a tiny table covered with a checked tablecloth, and an oil lamp in the four-paned window glowing yellow in the darkness. At this age I was delighted to have the pictures to bring the words to life, but that need passed very quickly, with words being able to conjure their own visions in my mind’s eye, showing me the power of words alone.

Age 7: With chapter-heading illustrations, Paddington Bear by Michael Bond allowed me to gradually move away from needing to have words interpreted for me, and made me reassess my attitude toward marmalade, amongst other things. He also allowed me to understand it was alright to be plucky, curious and prepared to try new things. I cannot imagine what possessed me to underline things in this book – it horrifies me! I am someone who can’t even mark a book with a pencil, and here I seem to have run amok with a Biro. Ack! 

Age 10: This is a new edition of a favorite Agatha Christie – it’s signed by Hallie Ephron telling me it’s her favorite Christie too, so I suppose I’m in good company. And my mum was thrilled when I first read it. My love of and for Christie’s work started when I was about ten, and has never left me. It was her work that first made me wonder if I could write crime fiction.

Age 13: The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien was part of a book prize I won when I was thirteen (the other books I chose were The Lord of the Rings and A History of Witchcraft – to be fair to my parents they didn’t panic, they realized I was going through a period when I was interested in many various mythologies and reading about them voraciously). I treasure it still, even though it’s almost falling apart. When I was about fourteen I took all my school notes in Tolkien’s elven runes. Out-geek that! 

Age 14: The A C Bradley book on Shakespearean Tragedy was already a classic back in 1926, which is when this book was printed. I “acquired it” (see my previous post revealing my nefarious plans to snap up desired tomes from my school library) in 1974. It’s been with me ever since and I still enjoy re-reading it. The second lecture in it, on the construction of Shakespeare’s tragedies, is still as valid as it was when it was written, and still gives food for thought for any author.

Age 15: Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas, amongst other of his works, showed me that Welsh people were allowed to write. To create. To play with language in a uniquely Welsh way. The title of this post is the opening line from the play, and upon first reading it I was hooked by the fifth line. Who wouldn’t be won over by character names like Mrs. Dai Bread One and Mrs. Dai Bread Two, Captain Cat, Polly Garter and Gossamer Beynon, let alone the thought of the Reverend Eli Jenkins delivering a “greenleaved sermon”. Both Shakespeare and Thomas allowed me to understand that language is a living, breathing, evolving thing, and words can be placed together in surprising ways to create an emotional response that goes beyond the literal.

Age 16: Ibsen’s plays taught me how language can be used as a weapon – a weapon to skewer society, even as he skewers his characters. A weapon that can win supporters for a character even as they are being assassinated. A weapon that can force the reader/audience to reconsider the solidity of the foundation of their understanding of morality and societal norms even as they see their own lives' dilemmas played out on the page and stage before them. He also was the first playwright whose work I read, other than Shakespeare and Thomas, that I then saw on the stage – always a powerful experience. I’ve read more recent translations of his work and, despite the fact they flow more easily from a twenty-first century tongue than this version, written in 1950, I cleave to this one, with all its mid-twentieth century vocabulary. The truth of his work, its timeless quality, always translates well.

This isn’t an exhaustive list of what inspired me to write, something that had become my dream by the time I turned sweet sixteen; indeed, it might be more of a list of what made me wonder if there was even any point trying! But these works certainly provided some lights along the path. I hope you find my list illuminating. 

Cathy Ace is the author of the Cait Morgan Mysteries (book #7 THE CORPSE WITH THE GARNET FACE will be published in April) and the WISE Enquiries Agency Mysteries (book #1 THE CASE OF THE DOTTY DOWAGER was released in paperback on March 1st, book #2 THE CASE OF THE MISSING MORRIS DANCER was published on February 1st). You can find out more about Cathy and her work here: http://cathyace.com/