The Agony of Endo

I must apologise that I have not blogged in a long time, but somehow real life has got in the way. Towards the end of the summer my dog, Holly had to have an operation to remove a lump on her leg which luckily turned out not to be cancerous. Following that I returned to work and in a BESD school the autumn term is invariably the busiest and the hardest, but I am blessed with a very nice class of children, who are hard working and generally a pleasure to be around. Thus I threw myself into work and in my spare time endeavoured to complete Winters' Soul, the second of my Hope Eternal novels. That is near enough complete and in the editing stages now, but again has been put on hold due to my own ill health.

I suffer from a condition called endometriosis which is to put it bluntly hell on earth when it flares up. Saturday saw me feeling a little unwell in the morning before the full-blown agony of an attack hit and I was begging my husband to get my mum. My poor mum ended up spending the rest of her day with me at first the medical centre and then A&E while I cried and passed out more than once from the pain while various doctors offered water, pain relief (which did nothing) and undertook a few tests. By ten o'clock that night I just wanted to go to sleep because the pain was unbearable and frankly I was exhausted. The rest of the week up to today has passed in a haze of pain, drugs and sleep. I think this is the first day I have managed to sit up in bed without it causing the 11/10 pain (they always ask on the scale of 1-10 how much pain do you feel? Really? It really is 11 when it hits!). So now I am at least able to sit up in bed and though still very weary, I wanted to do something with my non-spaced out brain, so thought I would connect with my blog again.

I have been very lucky as my fantastic parents and husband have really looked after me while I have been so ill. It's no fun trying to help someone whose in a lot of pain; they couldn't do anything to help with the pain and I couldn't bear to be touched much less hugged as it hurt too much, but they have been patient and loving which has been a big help. Endo leaves me feeling very low as the pain begins to subside, but my family and friends have been incredible at keeping my spirits up. Just a message to say they are thinking of me has helped more than anyone could imagine, because talking on the phone just isn't easy when you feel like this. My brain gets foggy and I lose concentration easily, which means texting or writing is much easier because I can sort of focus on that better. Or if I haven't I can delete what I have written.

So I just want to say sorry I haven't updated in a while. Thank you for the get well messages and massive thanks and hugs for my family, friends and wonderful husband. And keep watching for news of Winters' Soul, which I promise will be released soon.

For anyone else out there suffering from endometriosis I found the UK based charity Endometriosis UK a great source of support and information. This is their website:

http://www.endometriosis-uk.org/

Vampires, Witches & Angels: Courting with Controversy

In the last few months since I published The Light, The Dark & The Blood, the feedback I have received from people who have actually read the books has been overwhelming. The series of books sprang from my love of all things religious and mythological. As I have said before I pulled together a few stories in order to write this series. This was not a simple process and took some thought in order to make what I had written link together and still flow as a story worth reading. I'm hoping people will see that this is a fable worth looking at.

I recently had a long conversation with a good friend of mine about the whole 50 Shades/Fan Fic issues & what she said made a lot of sense. I have started to read 50 Shades and while I fully accept it is potentially addictive reading, for me it wasn't. I think there are better developed characters and story lines on FF, but that is my personal opinion. I could also see that the switch from FF to original fiction hadn't taken an enormous effort; again my personal opinion. I don’t personally know the author and have no idea how long her fiction took her to write.

But none of that can take away the fact that the books are massively popular and have a whole new fan base of their own. Let's face it; we'd all love that to happen to us. I am happy to admit to being a very green eyed monster J

From a former Fan Fic writer's point of view though this has made it hard for me to break through. On one website in particular writers like me are dismissed as being 'untrustworthy' (whatever that is supposed to mean) and 'not real writers'. I'll be honest; it is extremely hurtful and infuriating to be described in such a way by people who generally haven't even read what I (and other authors who started on FF) have actually written. I fully accept not everyone will enjoy my books and that in terms of writing there is a lot I am happy to learn.

But my work is my own, the fruits of my own labour. I am inspired by other writers most definitely, having always been an avid reader. Twilight, Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, Joanne Harris, Charles Dickens, Emily Bronte, Terry Pratchett, CS Lewis, Roald Dahl, myths and legends, The Bible are just a few examples of books and authors that have inspired me. I think most books take their roots from another idea. For example Cupid & Psyche, Beauty & the Beast, Beastly, Hunchback of Notre Dame & even Twilight could all be seen to borrow from the basis of the same basic foundations. Phantom of the Opera is most definitely a Beauty & the Beast tale and is enormously popular on the stage, not to mention Terry Pratchett's Masquerade and any number of sequels, prequels, erotic versions that are available to buy. For truly original fiction you have to go back millennia and even then no doubt you will recognise the themes.

Of course the difference in being inspired and stealing ideas is a great void and one which can lead to legal issues etc for authors.  I am happy that my own work is what I say it is; the work of my imagination with characters who I created and who others are now enjoying, if the feedback and reviews I have had are anything to go by.

I really hope that the whole FF/50 Shades debate does not stop other writers from putting their material out there, because there is some enormous talent to be read. And if you have commented on books you haven't read, maybe you should think about reading first and commenting later. No one minds constructive criticism, but at some point elements of the reading community have descended into name calling and labelling. I think it’s very sad because most of us read and write for fun. It does not need to be this serious drama. So good luck to all the writers out there and if you're a reader who has either downloaded my books for free during a promotion or who has parted with money to buy them, I sincerely hope you enjoy my work. It is a pleasure for me to write and to know others like to read what I have done makes it an even greater joy and personal achievement.

And below are just a few pictures to show you how my mind works when I am writing. My husband bought the very beautiful exercise books for me and who knows, maybe they inspired me too :-)

Winters' Hope

Winters' Hope. That is the title of the new project I am working on and it sort of came out of nowhere. I am often inspired by a fleeting thought or memory and this is one of those occasions. School days are often very tough and I know that from both ends of the spectrum, from my own school years, which are a mixture of the happiest and worst memories of my life, and from being a teacher for a new generation of children. I feel very privileged to have the opportunity to work with children with significant difficulties, emotional, social and behavioural and help them come out the other side. It is very rewarding to be part of the instrument of change for children and their families.

As a writer, scenarios often work their way into my imagination and recently I visited a secondary school, which sparked my imagination. I have always wanted to work with some of the characters from Love Eternal again, in particular Emma and Guy, whose story was just beginning. Winters' Hope will give me the opportunity to do just that and hopefully allow more of an insight into the world of Eternals and Life Souls as I imagine it to be. I'm not going to say too much more at this point, as this is still a story very much in the developmental stages, but I will give you a taster of what is to come.

What would happen if a Life Soul and an Eternal were drawn into the world of Eternals too soon? If they met one another before the moment that fate would have given them? He would know that she belonged to him, but his possessiveness would be intimidating to one who did not know why. She would feel that there should be more to their relationship, but be so afraid of rejection from the one that she knew her life depended on that she would stay silent, avoiding the truth of their relationship at all costs. At Hartsmeade High, a boy and a girl have met. She is drawn to him, but at the same time wants to hide away from him. He is drawn to her; he wants to possess and own her, but at the same time, he is part of the football team; part of the popular crowd, while she is a studious outsider. The only way for him to be close to her while retaining his position in the social order of his Sixth Form years is to torment her and treat her with contempt that grates against them both. Ultimately though, will he realise that he needs her or will he drive her away forever?

Look out for Winters' Hope, a new Eternals novel by D. L. Scholefield

Stormy Weather: A Short Story

Just a little short story for you this weekend. Hope you all enjoy it...

Stormy Weather

Aurora stood and waited by the sea. She listened to the waves crashing against the rocks just below her, felt the cool damp of the spray as it stung her face, but she did not move. The seagulls called overhead, their voices clamouring against the storm, desperate to be heard, but Aurora stood in silence. Beneath her feet, the coarse grass was whipped about by the wind, but she did not stir. Why did she stand so alone on such a stormy day, looking out to the sea? Why would anyone place themselves so close to the dangerous ocean that was thrashing about just below her? Aurora did not fear the sea. She did not fear the wind. Aurora feared only one thing; the storm that she had left behind. The storm that was of quite a different nature.

Back at the house, Molly stomped around the kitchen, banging pots and pans down on the sideboard. Geoff rustled his newspaper and pretended to be engrossed in the black and white print. Rows always made him uncomfortable, especially like the one he had just witnessed between his wife and his daughter.

“Did you hear the way she spoke to me?” snapped Molly, for perhaps the third time since Aurora had stormed out of the door, slamming it behind her. Perhaps she had not meant to slam it though, he reasoned. After all it was very windy out there.

“Yes, dear,” he said, glancing up over the top of the newspaper. Molly was standing; one hand on her hip, the other grasping the frying pan in such a way that suggested it had become a weapon, not an instrument of cookery.

“And fancy going out in this weather! Why would she go off in such a storm?”

“Maybe I should go after her?” suggested Geoff, reluctantly. He really didn’t want to go out into the rain and the wind, but maybe the storm out there was worth weathering if it would calm his wife. Molly pushed a hand through her mass of red curls and sighed, angrily banging the pan down onto the table. Geoff flinched.

“No! She wants to get cold and wet that’s her business. You don’t need to go out there too. What a silly idea!”

Geoff nodded and glanced back at the newspaper, lifting it to cover his face. He couldn’t look at her when she was this angry. Molly was still beautiful, even now in her mid-forties. She was a little broader round the hips than she had been when he first met her, but that suited him fine. After all, he wasn’t exactly a pretty picture himself these days. His hair had been steadily growing greyer and greyer as the years went by. The older his daughter, Aurora got the greyer and sparser his hair became.  Really, he supposed, the problem lay in the fact that they were too alike. Aurora too had that dangerous red hair, with a temper to match. Her green eyes would narrow in temper and he would be obliged to seek cover of some form, preferably the Miner’s Arms with a good pint in his hand.

Tonight though he had made the mistake of wandering in mid-argument and what an argument it was. Both women were screaming at one another; he could hear them from down the path. It was too late to turn round and go back though; Molly had spotted him and had opened the door for him. And he had walked straight into the lion’s den so to speak, with the two women pacing the room, sizing each other up, growling and snarling at one another and then asking him to take sides. Safest bet had been to sit in his chair with his newspaper and pretend he wasn’t there. They had soon forgotten about his presence as he had known they would.

Molly sat down opposite him, resting her chin on her hands. She looked towards the window, at the rain outside and sighed again.

“Did you hear what she said, Geoff?” she asked, her voice suddenly quiet. Geoff looked up from the newspaper and saw that there were tears in her eyes.

“No,” he said. “I just caught the tail end of it, love.”

Molly suddenly dropped her head down onto the table and began to sob. Geoff got up from his chair and hurried round the table to wrap an arm around her. Molly turned to him and threw her arms around him, weeping bitterly.

Aurora sat down, the weight on her feet suddenly too much. She rested her chin on her knees and looked out towards the storming blue. The wind was calming a little now, but the rain still fell heavily, drenching her. The waves were relenting a little beneath her, as the world began to return to normal. She brought a trembling hand up to her face to wipe the tears away, then sat as still as she had stood.

Her mind wandered back to the cottage, back to her home. Her relationship with her mother had always been turbulent. But perhaps this was the straw to break the camel’s back. Never had anything she had done been good enough. Never had anything placated that sense of disapproval and discontent that she sensed every time she was near her mother.

“Aurora?” The voice next to her was quiet. He sat down beside her, without flinching at the damp and the cold of the ground. Without another word, he placed an arm round her shoulder and she rested her head against him, still staring wordlessly out at the sea.

Eventually she sat up again and looked across at him.

“She told you then?”

“Yes,” he replied, taking his turn at staring out at the sea to avoid her gaze.

“And what do you think?”

Geoff was silent for a moment, considering his answer carefully. Aurora was as fiery as her mother and he had no wish to be drawn into a row with her.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, eventually. “But I’d like to know how you feel about it.”

He glanced across at her and suddenly saw how her eyes were now shining, enthusiastic, excited. She smiled at him.

“I think it’s wonderful,” she said. “The best thing that could ever have happened!”

“Then I think it’s great too, love,” said Geoff, kissing her gently on the forehead. “We’ll just have to convince your mother is all.”

Molly looked up as the kitchen door opened and stood up. Aurora came in through the door, uncertainly, Geoff behind her. He peeled off his coat and sat down on the step to take his boots off. Molly crossed the room in an instance and grabbed her daughter, hugging her fiercely against her.

“You know I love you, Aurora, don’t you?” she said. Aurora hugged her back.

“And I love you too, Mum, but I have to do this. You do understand, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” said Molly. “But I guess if you want to go study in America I can’t stop you. Your father thinks it will be a wonderful opportunity for you. I just wish it weren’t so far away.”

“I’ll be back before you know it, Mum. And we can talk on the phone…”

“Well, the rows will certainly be quieter and shorter no doubt,” said Geoff, chirpily. Molly and Aurora turned to look at him, both of them smiling now and he sighed. He loved them both and he would miss his daughter, but he had to let her take this chance.

“I love you both so much,” he said, opening his arms wide and embracing them both tightly to him.

Inspiration stopped....

It's been a lot of fun publishing my work; both on Kindle and on Fan Fiction and the experience has led to lots of new friendships and unbelievably people reading my work! I get asked by people what inspires me and to be honest there are so many things that do inspire that sometimes a story starts and then... I find it hard to keep it going. So even though inspiration is always there, it doesn't always work out, but sometimes this isn't such a bad thing as when I start a new story there may be elements of the unfinished prose that I can use. What follows is an example of a thought process which had so much promise, but which I had no idea where to take to anything like a finished product. Elements of it fitted into the mood of The Light, The Dark & The Blood, but maybe there could be more to this little snapshot. I'd be interested in anyone's opinion out there...

ROSES

I must apologise before I begin for my tale may disturb you a little. The subject matter is somewhat unheard of in our modern day and age, but sometimes the happenings of the past must catch up with us. Sometimes we must acknowledge that which has occurred long ago. Sometimes there are repercussions for events of the past.

My story started in a graveyard, with a violent wind, rain lashing down and a single figure, dressed all in black knelt at a grave. She held a single red rose in her hand, the only colour within this bleak, grey cemetery. The figure stared ahead at the stone before her, seemingly oblivious to the tempest that raged around her. One hand held the rose, the other rested on the gravestone. As the figure rose to her feet, suddenly, she dropped the rose. She vanished into the shadows as they arrived behind her, torches blowing in the wind, voices clamouring breaking the deathly silence.

They searched the graveyard, but no sign could be found of that woman dressed all in black. The rose she had left was all that remained, all there was to suggest that she had even been there. A man picked it up, slowly turning the stem round in his fingers, bringing it closer to his face, inhaling its haunting scent. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply then turned to his companions.

“She is gone,” he said.

But she was not gone. She simply hid in the shadows, taking a form they could not see, then when they were gone, returned to the graveside, where she muttered to herself, now heard as the storm died down. A close observer would have realised her clothes were not even damp. There was no trace of mud upon the knees that had knelt in the sodden grass. She brought her hands to her hood and lowered it, slowly. Her thick black hair fell like satin to her waist, her dark, brooding eyes stared straight ahead. Her long, tapered fingers reached out to touch the cold stone once again and then she looked down at the soil. Her rose was gone. She threw back her head and gave a cry of rage, then vanished into the darkness once more...

I lived in a house on the edge of the town, close to the chapel and the graveyard. My father was the local vicar and our house belonged to the church. He was a great man, my father. He was tall, strong and kind. But my father hid a dark secret, which related closely to my mother. She was a beautiful woman and seemed much too vibrant and full of life to live in such a quiet town, the wife of a man of the cloth, the mother of a sensible daughter who liked nothing better than to read. When I looked out of the study window, I could see the graveyard and that night I saw the local police raid it, flooding in through the gates with their torches. They circled round that grave and one of them picked something up. Then just as suddenly as they had arrived, they left. I went to tell my father immediately and he was furious.

“Rushing into a churchyard like that!” he fumed, as he pulled on his boots. “I will have to go down to the station. If they are going to raid our graveyard, they should at least have the decency to inform me first!” As he stormed out of the house in a rage, I went back to the study window. There was a woman standing at the grave now. She was dressed all in black and I could only just see her. My eyes strained to look at her and then suddenly she was gone. It was as if she vanished into thin air.

I always was a curious child and even at seventeen I retained a little of that inquisitiveness. Cautiously, I pulled on my boots and coat and went out of the door. The graveyard had never scared me, I had grown up next to it after all, but even so, my heart almost skipped a beat at the creaking noise the gate made when I pushed it open. The position of the grave the woman and the police had attended came as no great surprise. It was a strange grave that no one seemed to know the exact origins of. The gravestone simply contained two letters A.C. and nothing else. But it stood alone, a small black fence around it. Whether this fence was to protect the grave or the rest of us I had never been sure. I pulled my coat around me a little tighter as I approached the grave. The ground there had been well trodden that night, I had seen that much from my window, but it was as if no one had been there at all. I breathed in deeply, nervously and then stepped over the fence...

And there it finishes... for now! Until hopefully inspiration strikes again and I am able to complete the story or develop it. So much promise in the characters. The Father evolved into Father John in The Dawn and the girl Diana but somehow these characters and their story are a separate entity to that. The joys of being a writer are that sometimes inspiration strikes and becomes a story that you love, but at other times inspiration strikes so hard and so fast that the story becomes lost in the moment.

FREE PROMOTION

Exciting news; The Girl is FREE for a limited time, Tuesday 3rd to Saturday 7th July!

The children of The Dawn have grown and now is the time they must follow their destinies. The Vampire King is making a bid for world-wide takeover, while Priest of the Light, Ethan Hart, works hard to keep him from his country. As Jack Hart returns to his childhood home he has no idea of the danger he places his family in; particularly his sister Beth, who could be the most powerful Witch of her age, if only she knew it.
Meanwhile Robert Thorn is confronted with an unwanted slave-girl, Catherine, who reminds him of a girl he once knew four hundred years ago. That girl vanished, leaving him alone and bitter. Is it possible that Catherine is the same girl and if she is, where has she been and why did she abandon him?
The paths of the Harts, Robert Thorn and the Vampire King will soon pass again, as Robert must confront his own destiny, which will force him closer to The Girl.
The Girl is Book Two of The Light, The Dark & The Blood.

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Story Time: The Lake

Happy Birthday to my amazing husband Philip today. Have a brilliant day, darling.

Today's blog is going to be a short story again. This one is called The Lake and is a story of moving on, however difficult it might be...

Michael looked out across the lake. The deep blood red of the dying sun illuminated the water and the mountains overshadowing him. Next to him, the old tree was creaking in the gentle wind, almost as if it spoke to him. Michael closed his eyes for a moment, the orange of the sun still there, even behind his eye lids. His other senses awakened. He could hear the

birds calling to one another their final calls of the day. Insects were buzzing around him. He could smell the strong perfume of the pine trees around him, their fresh scent awakening within him an urge to stay here forever. The breeze lifted the hairs on his arms, tickled the back of his neck, made him shiver slightly. But the memories of the day crept up on him, forcing him to open his eyes again, to once again see the dying day.

“Michael, are you coming?” called Louise.

“Where are you going?” he asked, looking up from his book. She appeared in the doorway, already dressed in her coat and boots.

“Taking Shep for a walk. You want to come?”

“I guess I could,” he said, placing the bookmark carefully in his book. He heaved himself out of the chair and smiled at her as he stretched. “Is it still raining?”

“No, it’s beautiful out there. I thought we could go down to the lake? I haven’t been there yet and you always promised to take me.”

Michael thought about this for a moment, a moment too long as it happened. She scowled at him and then turned away, grabbing Shep’s collar and putting his lead on.

“Right,” she said. “Not the lake then. For somewhere that was so important to you, you sure seem reluctant to take me there.”

“It’s not important, Louise, it’s just that…” She looked at him expectantly and the words froze in his mind. How could he explain it? He shrugged.

“Oh forget it,” she snapped. “Go back to your book. I’ll take Shep out by myself.” With that, she stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her. Michael’s dad had come into the room, to see what the noise was about.

“You ok, son?” he asked. Michael was still standing, looking towards the door.

“Fine, Dad, fine,” he said, sitting down.

“Cup of tea?” said his dad. Michael nodded, numbly and picked up his book. Fred went into the kitchen and did what he knew he shouldn’t; watched the kettle boil. When he took their teas through to the lounge he watched his son, who was staring at the open pages of his book. Five minutes later he was still staring at the same page.

“You know, son, it is just a place. When your mum died, I didn’t think I’d ever get over it and I guess in some ways I never have, but then I am old. I’ve had my life and been very privileged to have a beautiful wife and a good son. You are still young and Louise is wonderful. She doesn’t deserve to be shut out like this.”

Michael closed his book and picked up his cup of tea, agitated.

“I’m not shutting her out, Dad,” he said. “It’s just that she doesn’t understand. How could she? That place is… well, I don’t want to take her there. It would be too much.”

“But you still go there,” said his dad, softly. Michael looked up, sharply. He had thought his nocturnal wanderings were a secret. “Michael, you know I’m a light sleeper. Someone stamping round the house at gone twelve is bound to wake me up. You don’t even take the dog down there with you. Can’t you let it go?”

“Just tell me how to let it go,” he replied, in a whisper. Fred put down his cup of tea and leaned across towards his son, his eyes suddenly bright with tears.

“You have to work that out for yourself, Michael. This is not how it should be though. You should let go. You certainly should not turn the lake into some kind of prison for yourself where you can dwell in the past and ignore the more pressing concerns of the present.”

“Like Louise?” he said.

“Like Louise,” replied Fred, with a nod.

Several hours had passed and Louise had not come back. She had telephoned and spoke to Fred, telling him she was at a friend’s. When he tried to pass the phone to Michael, she hung up. Michael sighed and looked out across the still waters. The past caught up with him, suddenly.

Claire was beautiful. Her hair was deep auburn and shone like the sun. Her eyes were green and always sparkled with mischief. She was perfect for him, fiery and passionate, but she could be so gentle. When they were together, the world faded away, until there was just the two of them. The lake had been their special place. The place where they could hide from all their problems, from their ordinary everyday lives. Michael loved being here with her.

One day they had taken the boat out. It had been windy when they went out onto the water, but not too much so. As the hours passed, the wind got up, so much so that a storm blew up almost from nowhere. She had been fearless though and had laughed at his agitation. Then suddenly, the boat had lunged upwards and she had staggered and fallen overboard. He had dived in after her, but could not find her. The rescue services pulled him out and found her some time later. She was already dead when they brought her to land.

Michael closed his eyes. He could see her in his mind, a siren of the water. Somehow, her spirit seemed to live on in this place. He could sense her presence all around him when he was here. But he loved Louise. She was dark haired, dark eyed, gentle, caring and as passionate as Claire had been. She loved him too, deeply and had never been afraid to show it. That was why she was so hurt that he would not show her the lake. He had told her how beautiful it was and how special it was to him, but never what had happened there. She knew his fiancée had died, but not how. What if she left him now, because of their silly misunderstanding earlier on?

Suddenly he heard a yap behind him. He turned round, wiping his eyes hastily. Louise smiled at him, a little sheepishly.

“No sneaking up on people with him around, eh?” she said. Michael walked towards her and flung his arms round her. She held him close to her, as Shep trotted round them, sniffing at their legs, jumping up until they paid him some attention too.

“I’m sorry, Louise,” he murmured.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. I wish you’d told me. Fred said you’d be here. He explained things. She must have been very special.”

“She was,” he said. He kissed her gently. “But you are too.”

Across the lake, something stirred gently in the air, watching as Michael and Louise walked away towards the house, arm in arm. Something watched and smiled, before vanishing into the mist.

Hope you all enjoyed it :-)