We all love superheroes- and we have proved it with four superhero movies taking up the top ten highest-grossing movies of all time. But why are we so fascinated with the caped crusaders?
I must admit, I heavily fall into this camp. I read comic books, I am sat there front and centre on opening weekends; I even have superhero memorabilia dominating my house. So what is it about them?
An obvious answer could be that they have powers. So lets look at that, and for a moment, imagine you actually have them.
Super strength– I see the appeal, but I’m a foodie. If I had super strength, how would I crack an egg? It would be a nightmare!
X- ray vision – when you look around, you see bones. Not overly appealing, really, is it? Bit boring to be honest.
Invisibility – I hate being ignored. We all do. Imagine people ignoring you all the time and getting freaked every time you spoke. It would be fun to mess with people for a while, but after a bit, let’s face it, the novelty might wear off.
Mind control – I kind of need the white lies. To keep my sanity I don’t want to know I actually look like a hippo in that skimpy dress, or that my homemade cake looks like a dogs dinner and tastes like a toothbrush that fell down the loo.
Speed – I would save on petrol, but I am Cornish. I’m happy to get round to things dreckly. What’s the rush? We’re mostly waiting for wine o’clock anyway.
Elasticity – I catch myself on stuff all the time. Seriously, can you imagine the chaos that would ensue?
Teleportation – nice for travelling but other than that…
Magic – I would sneeze and turn myself into a llama.
Tech – not good with tech as it goes, and the amount of updates my phone requires – can you imagine Iron Man’s suit? Constantly watching the bar.
So, it’s not the powers, at least not for me. What about the sexy bodies? They do look good and who hasn’t drooled over Thor and Aquaman. But my favourite superhero is Supergirl, so that doesn’t quite add up either.
So, I investigated. There is a theory by Carl Jung that we all have a thing called shadow confrontation. He thinks we all need to confront and understand our own hidden nature to grow as human beings. Healthy confrontation with our shadow selves unearth new strengths (like Batman, tapping into his dark side and turning out to be a master detective and kick ass fighter) or we go the other way and be unhealthy unleashing the worst parts, these are villainous, and could drive us a bit crazy if taken to the extreme (does sound good though, we could punch people just for being annoying.). One example of this is, of course, Joker. There is weight to this theory. We enjoy being naughty but also discovering our calling. Watching this explored on screen is a lot of fun.
If we stay with psychology, Freud also has a theory. No, not the one about us all fancying our mothers, no, he thinks there’s an impulsive part of our personality driven by pleasure. It dwells underneath and wishes for selfish things. Under this is our Super Ego. So, is Freud right, and we want to be glorified, worshipped for being the one that saves the world? You can’t get bigger than saving humanity. I am on the fence with that one, I don’t even take compliments well. They make me turn into a bumbling Hugh Grant, so to receive that much credit might be a bit intimidating.
There is the freedom aspect. If we think about it, superheroes can pretty much do what they like. A policeman isn’t gonna cuff Captain Marvel, or Hulk, or The Flash. They got no chance.
There is one reasoning that is pretty cool, and to me, the most plausable. Superheroes make a difference. They are symbols of hope, optimism, and aspiration, even in the face of irreparable challenges. They rise up. Maybe that’s where Freuds theory comes in, not for glory, but tapped inside that superego is a belief. Within each one of us, we think we could rise up too and become that symbol of hope. And hey, if we can get a cool car or plane in the process, that’s got to be a bonus, right?
If I asked you for your favourite line, most would adhere to their preferred creative genre, whether it be:
Film (‘Every champion was a born contender who refused to give up.’ ROCKY),
Song (‘All you touch and all you see, is all your life will ever be.’ BREATHE, Pink Floyd),
Poetry (‘Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.’ Emily Dickenson),
or of course, Books (‘You can’t blend in when you were born to stand out.’ WONDER, R.L. Palacio).
It is something that works across many different platforms and is an aspect of writing that is mostly taken for granted and yet so treasured.
Great lines need no context. No actor is needed to make the words dance. No plot is necessary, nor is a character’s journey to give the words power. No, really great lines should stand alone. They should make you think, pause, and take a breath. Some will resonate with you and your current emotional state or stage of life, and some can inspire people so much that they become a mantra for life’s journey (or even a tattoo).
Great lines can come from anywhere to inspire you. Greeting cards offering words of comfort, passages on Instagram reels, well-being memes, speeches, and a spoken prayer; all of these stem from forms of writing. How many times have people quoted the words ‘I have a dream’, spoken the Serenity prayer, or held on to a card because the words meant something in times of either grief, love, or friendship?
When I hear a line that makes me pause, I write it down or save it on the notes part of my phone. No matter where I am. One of the worst times was at the cinema watching The Flash. Batman said a line, and I carried on repeating it in my head until I got it down (missing some of the plot of the film and creating noise in the cinema – not good!). Batman (Ben Affleck) said,’Live your life not your past, don’t let your tragedy define you.‘ Of course, like millions of others, it felt like he was talking to me. But that is proof of good writing.
William Shakespeare is the master of incredible lines. If we take the most famous line of all time; ‘To Be or not to Be’, and really think about it, it’s amazing how many ways you can interpret that line. There is the obvious one, to live or die? Which is the original meaning. But you can use the line further, even though that is a powerful question to begin with. You can use ‘To be or not to be?’ as a way to question our existence, as a source of empowerment toward life goals, or even question our reality in general. Lines that, when taken on a different path, can take on new meanings, evolve, and grow.
Song lyrics are littered with incredible lines. When taken away from the melody and read as prose, they are immensely moving.
One of the masters of this is Nick Cave. In his song ‘Into My Arms’, he wrote,’I don’t believe in the existence of angels, but looking at you I wonder if that’s true.’ followed by the line, ‘But if I did, I would summon them together and ask them to watch over you.’ The first line is incredibly romantic, and if someone said those words to you, they would render you speechless. Added with the following line, you would grab the tissues. Both are unforgettable.
Another master of lyric is rapper and Producer Eminem. Lose Yourself is one of the all-time greatest rap songs of all time. It won an Academy Award (the first hip-hop song in history to do so) and two Grammys. It has one of the best-written opening lines in music history. ‘If you had one shot, one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted, one moment, would you capture it or let it slip?’
Pure brilliance.
When you study being a writer, there is a lot of emphasis on opening lines. But I don’t agree with this. No one opens a book or starts to read a story and stops at one sentence. Opening paragraphs are good to set the story and hook readers in to keep going. But, for me, the last line is the one I concentrate on. Whether it’s a short story, chapter, end of novel, or poem, your reader has invested their time. The last line can either fall flat or leave them content. So I always try and make sure it works and ends well. The last line of The attempted demise of Augusta Walsh age 15 years, 4 months and 6 days was ‘Thanks to you, we not only got to feel alive, we got to live.’ The story was about teenage mental health. Augusta Walsh had to save herself as no one else could. The end chapter was a letter to her from her adult self. The book was dark, and every day was non-existing. Those last four words not only meant exist technically, but she saved herself and ended up living a full life. Full of experience, love, and joy. From the dark came light, and I hope that line reflects that.
Words are powerful, and sometimes, one line, just one, can reach someone, resonate, and become timeless. So write down or save those lines, continue to be inspired, and keep that writers work on a journey. This is what every artist strives for.
The Long Shadow is a seven-part series dramatising the murders of ‘Yorkshire Ripper’ Peter Sutcliffe. As I watched the last part, I became enraged and decided to look into it all a bit further. I knew nothing about the murders. I had heard of him, of course, like everyone else in the UK. Although I enjoyed the show focusing on the victims and their families rather than Sutcliffe himself (and the cast was exceptional), the injustice and misogyny of the show affected me.
Of course, a drama series based on real events is entertainment. No one can correctly depict every word said or every mannerism, which is why they need the disclaimer at the beginning. So, like I do after watching episodes of The Crown, I looked into how accurate the show is and how justified I was to be all fired up.
Peter Sutcliffe’s victims
From 1975 to 1980, Peter Sutcliffe murdered thirteen women and attempted to murder seven more. These are the only ones he confessed to. Many believe there are more. I read interviews with victims and looked at police statements, and the more I read, the more the whole thing defied belief.
On the way home from a party on the 9th May 1976, Marcella Claxton was walking home when a car pulled up and offered her a lift (there had been two victims already by this time). Marcella accepted the offer but began to panic when the stranger passed the turn on the way to her home. She tried to get out but was locked in. The man hit her over the head repeatedly with a spanner, dumped her out of the car, and left her for dead. Somehow, she managed to crawl to a phonebox and ring an ambulance. But, whilst she was there making the call, the car returned. She crouched and waited, hiding, and luckily, he drove on. When Marcella gave her statement and was interviewed by police, they insisted the attacker was black. Marcella kept saying no, described him properly, and gave an artist’s impression. This impression was the spitting image of Peter Sutcliffe. But the police refused to take her seriously, assumed she was a prostitute, and only acknowledged her as such (the two previous victims were). Due to public perception, everyone she came into contact with who found out about the attack also felt the same way. As well as being left with injuries that would torment her daily for every day of her life, Marcella was described as a prostitute and faced judgment and distaste. Even from her parents. All she did was walk home, and Marcella was only formally acknowledged as a ‘Ripper’ victim when Peter Sutcliffe confessed to the attack five years later.
Unfortunately, Marcella was not the only survivor who refused to be listened to. Less than a year earlier, Olive Smelt, a forty-six-year-old office cleaner, was attacked on August 15, 1975. She met friends in a bar for drinks. Unknowest to her, Sutcliffe was also at the bar with a friend. Olive was dropped home a short walk from her home. Sutcliffe approached her in an alley, and after making small talk about the weather, he hit her twice on the head with a hammer. Olive spent ten days in hospital and whilst there made a statement to the police. She described Sutcliffe. Like Marcella, Olive was dismissed as being a victim of the Ripper as she was not a sex worker. The police told her she must be mistaken.
Twelve days later, after Olive’s attack, 14-year-old Tracy Browne, the youngest victim, was attacked by Sutcliffe with a hammer on a road. She reported it, gave a description, and was shown photofits. Tracy identified Sutcliffe. Yet again, her evidence was dismissed as she was not involved in prostitution.
Tracy Browne’s photo fit next to Sutcliffe
In November 1980, Julie Bindel lived in a hostel and was followed by a man on her way home from a pub. She managed to shake him off by entering another pub on the way home. Julie reported this man to the police. She stated he was medium height, a dark, full beard, wiry hair, and black eyes. Like Marcella and Olive, although it was a matching description, she was not taken seriously. The next day, Sutcliffe killed his last victim before his arrest. Her name was Jacqueline Hill. She was just twenty years old, and the murder happened less than half a mile from where Julie reported she had been followed.
It was another two months before Sutcliffe was arrested and later confessed. It was the biggest and most expensive manhunt in British history, but Sutcliffe was unbelieveably caught following a chance encounter from a traffic violation. His car had false plates, and he confessed to twenty murders and attempted murders during interrogation, blaming echoes of voices. When his photo appeared on the news, Julie stated it almost exactly matched the photofit she provided.
In fact, during the investigation, police visited Peter Sutcliffe nine times, yet he wasn’t even in their top ten suspects (despite the numerous matching artist’s impressions of him provided by ‘unreliable’ victims).
The ‘Ripper’ label was given by the media as a result of the early victims being prostitutes. An obvious reference to Jack the Ripper, and unfortunately, the name stuck – even after Peter Sutcliffe confessed and everyone knew his real name. We still refer to him as the ‘Yorkshire Ripper’ to this day. Thanks to this, every woman killed or assaulted at that time was associated with being a sex worker. There was a stigma about coming forward.
On 26 June 1977, 16-year-old shop assistant Jayne MacDonald became the fifth victim. Jayne was donned as the killer’s ‘first mistake.’ In a press conference, Jim Hobson, Senior Detective, said, ‘The killer has made it clear that he hates prostitutes. Many people do. But the Ripper is now killing innocent girls.’
Detective Jim Hobson (left)
As you can see, Hobson was fuelling this ‘Ripper’ label, and giving the inclination that if you are a prostitute, you are less worthy, less important. He did not see the victims as people or individuals. Wilma McCann, the first victim, had four children. The second, Emily Jackson left behind a husband and son. The family was struggling financially, and using her body for sex was the last resort.
Irene Richardson was just 28 when she became the third victim. She was a mother of three with six siblings. Patricia Atkinson, the last victim before Jane, was also a mother of three. These women were mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters. They mattered. The police publicly, and more worryingly officially, in reports described the victims as ‘prostitutes or women of loose morals’. It was only when Jayne was murdered that this term was abandoned, and they were referred to as ‘innocent’.
Even at Sutcliffe’s trial in May 1981, four years later, at the Old Bailey, Sir Michael Havers, the Attorney General summarised, ‘Some were prostitutes, but perhaps the saddest part of the case is that some were not. The last six attacks were on totally respectable women.’
Sir Michael Havers at the Sutcliffe trial
After two years of investigation, police hadn’t caught the killer and issued women a curfew, ordering them to stay out of public places after dark. Eyewitness accounts at the time state men made jokes on buses, calling victims ‘slags’, ‘sluts’, ‘whores’, that ‘they had it coming’. Football chants of ‘there’s only one Yorkshire ripper’ were sung at Leeds football ground. It became a pickup line in nightclubs, ‘Give us a kiss, love, I’m not the Ripper’. This was the public attitude at the time. When he was arrested, a Peter Sutcliffe fan club was set up. He was portrayed as a rebel ‘cleaning up the streets.’
The police prejudice and bias were partly fuelled by a tape pretending to be the ‘Yorkshire Ripper.’’ In the tape, he had a Geordie accent. As a result, the police were blindsided into only considering men from the North-East. They interviewed every man they could find with this distinction – sometimes twice. Suspicions were raised toward them from neighbours, relatives, and, in some cases, even wives.
Eyewitnesses say from Leeds and surrounding areas that the tape was always being played, ‘in your face’, as you were forced to listen. The police were laying all their bets on this one lead. They were incredibly wrong. It turned out to be a hoax by John Samuel Humble, now known as Wearside Jack.
John Humble
This was the biggest public embarrassment of the investigation. It only came to light when Sutcliffe was caught. After sending the police on a wild goose chase in 1979, it was 27 years later that Humble was unmasked as the hoaxer and was jailed for eight years on four counts of perverting the course of justice. There were so many wasted resources, so many victims, and reports dismissed because they were so fixated on this one piece of evidence. The police defended their decision by stating the tape contained details only the killer would know, whereas Humble admitted he sourced all his information from newspapers.
Up until Sutcliffe’s arrest, women were being pushed to be taught how to protect themselves, not go out at night, not wear revealing clothing, and watch their drinks. Responsibility was put on women to protect themselves. It was as if it was their fault if something happened, as they did not know how to conduct themselves. No training was given to men, nor were curfews. Tired of being dictated to and blamed, women reached a breaking point, and their anger and passion were ignited.
Reclaim the Night March 1977
On 12 November 1977, hundreds of women took to the streets in protest. They were angry men were forcing them to stay at home. They waved signs ‘No curfew on women- curfew on men!’
Nina Lopez of the English Collective of Prostitutes organized a vibrant movement outside the courthouse as a protest to how prostitutes were depicted in the trial. Women were fighting back!
In 2020, Peter Sutcliffe died in prison while serving 20 life sentences. It was only after this happened, that West Yorkshire Police Chief Constable John Robins QPM formally apologised to the victims for ‘the additional distress and anxiety caused to all relatives by the language, tone, and terminology used by senior officers at the time about Sutcliffe’s victims.’ The keyword is the last one for me. Victims. I saw an eyewitness account of a senior officer joking about the state of a victim’s vagina after she was raped and later murdered. The lack of respect and attitude toward women is shocking, and it makes you feel so much for the families left behind, the survivors who relive the terror Sutcliffe inflicted.
You may think at least we have moved on. When the women’s marched on 12 November 1977, it was the first Reclaim the Night march. It continues to this day on the streets of London and will keep marching until women can walk the streets at night without the threat of sexual violence.
The police spent 2.5 million police man hours trying to capture Peter Sutcliffe. How many would have been saved if women were simply heard? How many lives? How many women spared from the haunting memory of his face?
‘Sutcliffe didn’t rob women of their freedom – I won’t give him that accolade – but he destroyed many lives, including his victims and their families. The police, media, and men around at the time were quick to curtail our freedom. I think he gave some men and some institutions like the police and media permission to turn the screw.’ JULIE BINDEL
It was dark before he came. We spent each Christmas dimly, with candlelight as our only decoration. Five years had passed to the day since Tim had left, and Ma and Pa could not face any festivities without him. The visitor found Pa crying beside Tim’s grave. My father later told me he felt warm as if a thick blanket was being held around his shoulders when the gentleman appeared. I can not say what words were exchanged, but when Pa returned home, the gentleman was with him. To be honest, I do not know if Pa felt the man had anywhere else to go. I will never forget the moment when I first saw him. A giant of a man, with a deep green velvet fur-trimmed cloak, so grand, but he seemed to be bare underneath. He was so large that I did not know if he could make it through the door! As the gentleman entered, a wind drifted through, and an aroma of cinnamon, oranges, and apples swum around the room like sweet nectar from a winter rose. His hair was a mass of chestnut brown, a crown of holly resting above, on a sea of tight curls. His whole face blossomed. I wondered if he was cold with so little clothing, but when the gentleman came to shake my hand, his skin felt warm like a settling fire. The man’s deep sparkling green eyes shone whilst he greeted me. His smile was wondrous, as if I was the most incredible gift, one he had always been waiting for. I couldn’t help but return the feeling of good cheer and joy as I looked at him. ‘What a handsome boy!’ he boomed. Although loud, the man’s voice had a melody, much like the carols we sing inside church. I blushed as he continued to say, ‘My fine boy, what a pleasure! Why, your cheeks are as rosy as mine! What a jovial young fellow!’ ‘Thank you, Sir,’ I mumbled as he sauntered proudly around our house, looking upon it like a palace. ‘What a wonderful home, filled with many blessings, I can already tell.’ ‘Thank you’ said Pa. ‘Please take a seat and rest. You seemed weary on the way here.’ ‘Aye, I’m afraid my time is very brief.’ replied the visitor. ‘Emily, do you think we could spare a drop of wine for our guest?’ Pa suggested. I remember the look Ma gave my Pa. She was saving the last half bottle of wine for Christmas Day. But my father did not ask for much, so Ma agreed. She poured two small glasses, setting them in front of Pa and our guest. ‘Most generous, thank you.’ said the gentleman. ‘I bet you are all most looking forward to the big day. In a fine house such as this, and filled with so much love; Christmas Day must be quite the celebration.’ Ma set out three glasses of water. One each for herself and me, and one for my sister Martha, who was due home shortly. I remember feeling a little sad for the first time since the gentleman’s visit. I remember what a merry and delightful event Christmas was. We would play games, sing, and laugh. It seems so long ago now. Another time. A blissful tribute to the family we once were. ‘I am afraid, Sir’, Pa began. ‘We, as a family, no longer celebrate Christmas.’ ‘Whyever not dear man!’ Our visitor replied boldly. ‘Have you lost your faith in God?’ ‘Oh no, Sir, nothing like that.’ My father reassured him. ‘We lost our son five years ago.’ ‘’And I’m gathering he was a great advocate of the festive season?’ Ma and Pa nodded. ‘There is never enough time to do or say all the things that we would wish.’ The visitor said sadly. ‘But I tend to find that those who have the gift of knowing when their time is near share hopes for the ones they hold closest to their hearts. I have never met a person who dreams of their families spending the remainder of their own lives in darkness mourning yesterdays.’ ‘But…’ started Mother. ‘I know the days may seem long, but life still breathes in this home. In here,’ the visitor pointed to his heart. ‘Your son is still alive in you, and to keep him breathing and living in this family, you have to celebrate him, no matter how short that life was. Otherwise, moments will be lost, and I bet there are so many you wish to remember.’ My mother began to cry. The visitor turned to face me. ‘Do you remember your brother, Peter?’ I wondered how he knew my name. ‘Yes, sir,’ I answered. ‘Are there any memories from this time of year that happened between you both?’ ‘Yes, Sir.’ I somehow knew what this gentleman was asking of me. I smiled. ‘ My brother and I shared a bed, Tim loved Christmas so much. When it was Christmas morning, after Tim started to become sick, I got up early to make sure Tim was still sleeping. I knew Santa had already been. Tim’s stocking was full, as he was a good person. So kind and gentle.’ I remember my mother sobbing at this moment, and I was unsure whether to go on, so I didn’t upset her. ‘Please, Peter, continue,’ Pa said. ‘I wanted Tim to believe he was as special,’ I said. ‘So, each year, I wrote a letter to him and signed it from Santa. The letter told him how brave he was and an inspiration to all who knew him. I wrote that Tim should not reflect on misfortune but on his blessings of which he has many, and keep honouring Christmas in his heart.’ ‘I had no idea you did that, Peter,’ Pa said quietly. ‘Are you angry, Pa?’ ‘Angry?’ My stomach felt hard. ‘For lying to Tim, pretending I was Santa? I wanted him to think someone great had chosen him, that someone he looked up to thought Tim was special.’ My father put an arm around me,’ No, Peter. I’m not angry,’ assured Pa. ‘In fact, I think you should have signed them from your brother, Peter. For you are someone great too.’ I smiled and thanked him. ‘Where are these letters? How have I never seen them?’ asked Ma. ‘There is a loose floorboard under Tims and my bed,’ I admitted. ‘I hid them under there.’ I did not tell them how often I read them. Each time I did, I re-lived Tim’s face and how happy he was. For each of those moments, he was not a poorly little boy. He had a reason to keep fighting. It was the only Christmas gift I needed. My mother and father were smiling at me, and I did not know why. The visitor leaned close to my ear, ‘Do you believe in magic, Peter?’ he asked. ‘Yes.’ I replied. ‘Christmas is a great time of magic.’ He smiled at me. ‘Look outside the door.’ I did not know what was behind that door, but I knew it would be special. I had a sudden burst of energy. Every part of me wanted to rush to see. ‘Can I, Ma? Can I look outside the door?’ Bewildered, Ma agreed. I ran to the front door. It was so ordinary, wood chipping away at the edges, but at that moment, it felt like the most wonderful door in the world. I opened it in a flurry, and the sight that welcomed me was a land covered in snow. I never realised how hard it came down whilst we entertained our visitor, but it was like the Christmas card pictured in the paper. Simple but beautiful. Outside, upright, beside our door, was a tree covered in snow. A strange and rare sight in the cobbled streets of London. I expected the snow to fall away as I picked it up, but it stayed firmly, majestically on the branches. I held the tree in the middle. It smelt like pine with a hint of cloves, and the trunk was dry and smooth. I took the tree inside and placed it beside the fireplace. I wondered where we could obtain a bucket, but we didn’t need it as the tree continued to stand. The smell of cloves grew but only mildly. Against the light of the flames, the frost glittered, sparkling, and twinkling like stars in the night sky. ‘What a wonderful tree!’ proclaimed Pa as I brought it in. ‘I don’t think we have ever had a tree inside before!’ ‘No, never!’ agreed, Ma. ‘I feel like the Queen!’ ‘Splendid!’ boomed our visitor. ‘This calls for a toast!’ He held his glass in the air. ‘Emily, will you join us?’ ‘Oh, I shouldn’t!’ protested Ma as she walked to the kitchen. ‘The bott..’ We all looked across at Ma. The bottle of wine was full. ‘To Christmas!’ exclaimed the visitor loudly. ‘May you keep it well.’ He sipped a drop of wine. ‘Now, I am afraid, my kind fellows, I must go. My time is short.’ ‘Do you have somewhere to stay?’ asked Pa. ‘I am taken care of, Mr Cratchitt, thank you.’ The gentleman smiled. His hair seemed duller than before. His skin was less rosy, but he still maintained the sparkle in his eyes. ‘Peter, you have had great patience and understanding, but trust me when I say this pause of Christmas is over.’ He placed a parcel in my hand. ‘Merry Christmas.’ The gentleman turned to my parents and spoke. ‘I know the world seems dark, but keep the light of young Tim alive and bright in your hearts by sharing stories. Christmas is a time for celebration and rejoicing.’ He clenched their hands. ‘Keep it well.’ ‘We will,’ said Ma. ‘And thank you.’ ‘Seasons Greetings to you all.’ As he strode slowly through the door and past our window, he boomed, ‘God bless us, everyone!’
We were so focused on the door that we did not see four stockings hung neatly by the fireplace, a star appearing on the top of the frosted tree, or a modest feast that lay prepared on the table. ‘It’s a miracle!’ proclaimed Pa. With tears in our eyes, we embraced each other. ‘We will, Peter,’ said Pa softly.’ We will keep Christmas well, and Tim alive in our hearts.’ ‘We will,’ said Ma and kissed me on the forehead. ‘God bless you, Ma and Pa,’ I said softly, and we cried together for the first time since we lost our Tim. Martha came home from work a moment later and joined us. In my parcel was writing paper and a pencil. Although I have tried to keep the paper for best, on the rare occasions I have used it, such as a poem for Ma’s birthday, Christmas, or writing this letter, the sheet I use is always replaced. So, I am writing to you, Santa, as I wish to thank you. You are the most magical being, so I suspect the gentleman visitor that blessed us so majestically came from you. I have prayed in Church every day since that night to give thanks to God, in case, as Pa said, it was a miracle. Every year now, on Christmas Eve, we share stories about Tim, as it was his favourite time. We write letters to each other and read them out. On Christmas Day, we create new memories, and these I will treasure within my heart. For years, my wish was to have Christmas and my family back. Thank you, Santa, for listening and making my dream come true. Christmas really is a time of magic. Merry Christmas, Yours sincerely with great joy and thanks Master Peter Cratchitt visitor
Welcome to the final instalment of my 6-week blog event, A Novel Soundtrack. Each Sunday, I have released a constructed playlist inspired by one of my books. Then, each playlist is available through the digital music service, Spotify, which anyone can sign up for, for free.
It’s a bit different this week, as the focus of the music is my current work in progress, Comic Book Guy (Cover pending).
Comic Book Guy is a witty geek-fuelled story about a comic book owner called Finn, and eighteen months of his life packed with mishaps, sex, coming of age events, friendship, romance and of course a lot of comic books! I will get better at describing it before publication!
The Playlist
In the book, Finn plays film soundtracks in the shop on vinyl. So, every track chosen is from a comic book movie from Batman, Flash Gordon, The Avengers, Spiderman, The Crow, and many more.
To hear the playlist, download the app, Spotify, sign up, and search for comic Book Guy, using the picture as a guide. Then, simply click play. Sit back and enjoy!
As I sit at this desk in my suite encased in walls of sage laced in gold at the Hotel Danieli, I remember our time here. Walking under a winter sunrise hand in hand beside San Giorgio Maggiore, passing turiste eating late gelato.
Your eyes were deep green, embodying the water engulfing the city. I gazed within them, wondering what secrets lay inside. You looked at me, perhaps wondering the same, and we shared that stillness, studying each other’s faces until our lips touched for the first time. I relive that moment every night before I sleep, feeling the butterflies in my stomach once again, remembering my fascination with the taste of you… wondering if the salt of the water where you spent so much time would find its way to my tongue and linger until morning.
Today, I walked through Piazza San Marco, the campanile towering over me as it did back then, the majestic presence of San Marco Basilica drawing me in. I remember our visit, your beautiful olive skin glowing as you talked about the architecture and the grandeur of the altar, giving me a new perspective on something I took for granted. The way you see Venezia, the love for the city, is inspiring. And I became inspired by you.
We drank ombra on the square as the night was drawing in and strolled through paved streets, seeing the intensity of your affection toward your casa magnify as we visited Ca Pesaro. Its darkened arcs teased us of the treasures behind the walls. That magical night and the others that followed are cemented in my memory.
As I look now, amber lights reflect in the water of the lagoon, like the fire of the night we spent together. The curve of your body echoes the archways of the buildings you held so close to your heart. We fare l’amore on aptly golden sheets, signifying the grace of your touch, the flutter of your fingertips against my skin. The vow we made in each other’s arms to be together, for me to move from Tuscany and we start our future as one.
I hope you remember as well as I. That you recall the room number of that unforgettable night, and this letter finds you before it is too late. I will be gone by morning. I can not meet you at the Rialto Bridge. Our bridge. Where you gave me that eternal rose under the stars, the glass petals shining with everlasting beauty. Amore mio, every day I look at that seamless rose as it gleams from my bedroom window, wondering what might have been if either of us were free.
I think of you with your oceano eyes, the gaze we shared before that kiss, and the way you looked into my desire and soul and set it on fire. I came to say goodbye. I thought I could do it in person, but I am not strong enough. In our time spent apart, I have become promised to another and am becoming a mother. As a consequence, your fate is to remain timeless in my memory. My heart will always know you, and I will always yearn for that life we almost had. My whole being aches, knowing you will be waiting on our Rialto for a life that will never come.
So, I hope this finds you, that I spare you that torturous night, and it doesn’t eclipse the magical ones we had together.
Do not search for me, but know I will think of you every day. The time we spent together, the words we spoke were real. You will always be my fairytale di Venezia. Ti amo Marco, forever. Con tutto il mio cuore, Isabelle
Welcome to the penultimate instalment of my 6-week blog event. Each Sunday, I release a constructed playlist inspired by one of my books. Then, that playlist is available through the digital music service, Spotify, which anyone can sign up for, for free. You can listen as you flick through the books, or just enjoy the music as it is.
This week, the book is my picture book Dudley the Dodo.
In the world of imagination, Dudley the Dodo is playing a game of hide and seek with his best friend, Burt, a rainbow-coloured dinosaur. Fun, mishaps, and new friends are met along the way in this funny, colourful, interactive little adventure.
The Playlist
For the Dudley the Dodo playlist, I wanted to make it fun (on Top of the World), embrace differences within the characters of the story (Just the Way You Are) and celebrate Friendship (You’ve Got a Friend in Me, You’re my Best Friend, Thank you for being a Friend).
I also wanted to tap into childhood, as it was a picture book. So I opted for Rainbow Connection as rainbows feature in the story, and the Pure Imagination track seemed perfect for venturing into a world where Dodos, rainbow dinosaurs, and pink and purple wooly mammoths can co-exist and play together. Walk the dinosaur was an obvious choice, and the rest of the tracks were due to the game of hide and seek, which is the basis for the story. The result is a diverse playlist that spans lots of genres of music, much like the variety of friends and animals in the book.
To hear the playlist, download the app, Spotify, sign up, and search for Dudley the Dodo, using the picture as a guide. Then, simply click play. Sit back and enjoy!
When I first told my friends I planned to take on the writing challenge of Nanowrimo, they thought I was crazy. I was already doing my degree in the middle of writing a book, writing blog posts, doing my own marketing, and all the other tasks involved with being an independent writer.
National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo) began in 1999, as a challenge of writing 50,000 words of a novel in thirty days. Now, on November 1, hundreds of thousands of people write each year, determined to end the month with a first draft.
Writing an average of 1667 words a day is a tall order in our busy lives and only 10% of people who take up the challenge actually finish which shows how daunting it is. So my friends’ reservations are understandable.
I began strong and hit my target. And continued to every day. My book was an adventure story for 9-12-year-olds about a team of special agents. As with every book you need to have a unique angle, mine was that the team of agents was autistic and with special needs. The book would work as a series with the children having guardians and then as the books went on and the children grew older the guardians would step further back, and the kid agents became more independent. As a kid, I loved the Choose Your Own Adventure stories where you were involved with the stories, so I also encompassed this into the book. So the reader solved puzzles, acting as an agent, making the reader part of the story.
Books aimed at this age group are between 25,000 and 50,000 words so I thought this demographic would be perfect for Nanowrimo as ideally, I could finish with a first draft.
It was a struggle to fit the word count in, sometimes I had to do it in two or three parts of the day, and sometimes I forgot to go online and update my total, on one day I only managed to write a few sentences. But I persevered and continued to write every day. One of the main aims of the challenge is to get you used to the habit of writing every day, which I achieved.
Other writers participating in the challenge only managed a word count of much lower than the 50,000 word total, but they wrote every day making their achievement just as important as someone who reached the total. Some people hit the word count by day 10! Everyone seemed to be on their own journey, with different aims, and targets. That was the nice thing about the challenge, there was a broad diversity of genre, skills, and mindsets but we all seemed to be in it together. Seeing other writers progress inspired you to keep going. Life gave them obstacles and they got past them in their own way and never gave up.
So my main objectives at the beginning were;
Write every day.
Reach that 50,000 word count.
End up with a first draft.
In the end, by November 30th, I had achieved all those aims and was formally declared a Nanowrimo Winner certificate and all! My final word count was 57, 084 which was amazing. It felt good to get to 50k, and then I decided I wanted to push myself to get that first draft complete. Although the editing is going to be a nightmare!
I do feel a big sense of achievement now, and I think that Nanowrimo is definitely a rite of passage for any writer. I don’t know if I can compete every year, but I am glad I did it. I enjoy challenges, and this one was a big one! Which made it all the more satisfying when I achieved it.
Welcome to the fourth instalment of my 6-week blog event. Each Sunday, I release a constructed playlist inspired by one of my books. Then, that playlist is available through the digital music service, Spotify, which anyone can sign up for, for free. You can listen as you flick through the books or just enjoy the music as it is.
This week, the book is the only e-book exclusive, Murder at Black House.
In this crime novella, Inspector Chris Kringle gets the call that eligible playboy bachelor Dr John Waddington-Black has been brutally murdered at the notoriously mysterious House of Black.
There are six suspects staying at the house; Professor Peter Plum, Colonel Malcolm Mustard, Miss Penelope Peacock, Reverend Gideon Green, his wife Mrs Willa White-Green, and Miss Sienna Scarlett. Each guest has a connection to the victim, and all have the motivation to kill.
The Playlist
This playlist was a lot of fun to compile. There were different angles to cover from being the killer (Bonnie and Clyde, Sweet but Psycho, Guilty, Getting away with Murder, Guilty Conscience), the detective (Mulder and Scully), and the act of murder itself (the remaining tracks). As tempting as it was to do the whole thing in hip-hop and gangster rap, I tried to add a little variety. I also avoided Christmas tracks, which were a possibility as this was the setting. Instead, I kept focus on the plot itself. I hope you enjoy it.
To hear the playlist, download the app, Spotify, sign up, and search for Murder at Black House, using the picture as a guide. Then, simply click play. Sit back and enjoy!
With the big day fast approaching, here is an essential guide to all the best books that the special bookworm in your life would love to find wrapped up under the tree. Whether you are looking for crime, a great tale to cuddle up to under a snuggly blanket, words that will inspire you, or just a fun book to read to little ones, I got you covered! Here are my top picks for the festive season.
General Fiction
The bestselling author of Skin Deep delivers another dark, edge-of-your-seat tale of crime, obsession, and trauma, as the disturbing memories of the titular protagonist’s childhood start to shape and dominate her present.
Sally Diamond cannot understand why what she did was so strange. She was only doing what her father told her to do, to put him out with the rubbish when he died. Now Sally is the centre of attention, not only from the hungry media and police detectives but also from a sinister voice from a past she cannot remember.
As she begins to discover the horrors of her childhood, Sally steps into the world for the first time, making new friends and big decisions, and learning that people don’t always mean what they say.
But who is the man observing Sally from the other side of the world? And why does her neighbour seem to be obsessed with her? Sally’s trust issues are about to be severely challenged.
Funny Fiction
Maggie’s marriage ended just 608 days after it started, but she’s fine – she’s doing really good, actually. Sure, she’s alone for the first time in her life, can’t afford her rent and her obscure PhD is going nowhere . . . but at the age of twenty-nine, Maggie is determined to embrace her new status as a Surprisingly Young Divorcee.
Soon she’s taking up ‘sadness hobbies’ and getting back out there, sex-wise, oversharing in the group chat and drinking with her high-intensity new divorced friend Amy. As Maggie throws herself headlong into the chaos of her first year of divorce, she finds herself questioning everything, including: Why do we still get married? Did I fail before I even got started? How many Night Burgers until I’m happy?
Crime
Featuring huge names including Kate Mosse, Lucy Foley, and Val McDermid – this irresistible collection of short mysteries reimagines Agatha Christie’s seminal sleuth through a dozen different pairs of eyes.
A brand new collection of short stories featuring the Queen of Crime’s legendary detective Jane Marple, penned by twelve remarkable bestselling and acclaimed authors.
This collection of twelve original short stories, all featuring Jane Marple, will introduce the character to a whole new generation. Each author reimagines Agatha Christie’s Marple through their own unique perspective while staying true to the hallmarks of a traditional mystery.
History
Some years ago a stash of family records was handed down to Michael Palin, among which were photos of an enigmatic young man in army uniform, as well as photos of the same young man as a teenager looking uncomfortable at family gatherings. This, Michael learned, was his Great-Uncle Harry, born in 1884, and died in 1916. He had previously had no idea that he had a Great-Uncle Harry, much less that his life was cut short at the age of 32 when he was killed in the Battle of the Somme. The discovery shocked him and made him want to know more about him.
The quest that followed involved hundreds of hours of painstaking detective work. Michael dug out every bit of family gossip and correspondence he could. He studied every relevant official document. He tracked down what remained of his great-uncle Harry’s diaries and letters, and pored over photographs of First World War battle scenes to see whether Harry appeared in any of them. He walked the route Harry took on that fatal, final day of his life amid the mud of northern France. And as he did so, a life that had previously existed in the shadows was revealed to him. A blend of biography, history, travelogue, and personal memoir this is Michael Palin at his very finest.
The Memoir
With the all too soon passing of the much loved Matthew Perry, this book is at the top of many a wishlist this Christmas. The beloved star of Friends takes us behind the scenes of the hit sitcom and his struggles with addiction in this candid, funny, and revelatory memoir that delivers a powerful message of hope and persistence.
Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing is an unforgettable memoir that shares the most intimate details of the love Perry lost, his darkest days, and his greatest friends. Unflinchingly honest, moving, and hilarious: this is the book fans have been waiting for.
The book to inspire
Love him or hate him, no one can deny Arnold Schwarzenegger has achieved great things in his life. In this powerful and empowering book, the legendary actor, bodybuilder, and former Californian Governor shares the mental tools and principles – from open-minded curiosity to commitment to giving back – with which he has carved his way to success and living a meaningful life.
The seven rules to follow to realise your true purpose in life-distilled by Arnold Schwarzenegger from his own journey of ceaseless reinvention and extraordinary achievement, and available for absolutely anyone.
Too many of us struggle to disconnect from our self-pity and connect to our purpose. At an early age, Arnold forged the mental tools to build the ladder out of the poverty and narrow-mindedness of his rural Austrian hometown, tools he used to add rung after rung from there. Now he has shared that wisdom with all of us. As he puts it, no one is going to come to rescue you – you only have yourself. The good news, it turns out, is that you are all you need.
The Classic
This is the book everyone should read at least once. A spellbinding epic tale of ambition, anarchy, and absolute power set against the sprawling medieval canvas of twelfth-century England, The Pillars of the Earth is Ken Follett’s classic historical masterpiece.
1135 and civil war, famine, and religious strife abound. With his family on the verge of starvation, Mason Tom Builder dreams of the day that he can use his talents to create and build a cathedral like no other.
Philip, prior to Kingsbridge, is resourceful, but with money scarce, he knows that for his town to survive it must find a way to thrive, and so he makes the decision to build within it the greatest Gothic cathedral the world has ever known.
As Tom and Philip meet so begins an epic tale of ambition, anarchy, and absolute power. In a world beset by strife and enemies that would thwart their plans, they will stop at nothing to achieve their ambitions in a struggle between good and evil that will turn church against state, and brother against brother . . .
For children aged 3-5
Okay, shameless plug here, but I firmly believe if your child is within this age group they will love my book!
In the world of imagination, Dudley the Dodo is playing a game of hide and seek with his best friend, Burt, a rainbow-coloured dinosaur. Fun, mishaps, and new friends are met along the way in this funny, colourful, interactive little adventure.
For children age 5-7
From wonderful Cornish author Scott Jones comes Jack and his time machine. When 7 year-old Jack Mitchell sneaks into his grandad’s garage to retrieve his paper aeroplane, he makes a discovery that will not only make him question who his grandad really is, it will change Jack’s life forever …
It’s a delightful romp across time, filled with adventure, friendship, and plenty of laughter.
Tom Fletcher’s bestselling series returns as an enchanted copy of A Christmas Carol throws the festive season into chaos by bringing Ebenezer Scrooge back to life.
William Trundle and his family can’t wait for Christmas. But when powerful magic brings a mysterious old copy of A Christmas Carol to life, and Ebenezer Scrooge himself emerges from its pages – Christmas is suddenly in grave danger.
Can William, Santa and the most unique and magical dinosaur of all – the Christmasaurus – find a way to return Scrooge to the book and save Christmas, before it’s too late?
For children age 8-12
Over the past four billion years, life on our planet has evolved from microscopic single-celled organisms to the incredible array of flora and fauna today. In the course of this time, layer upon layer of life was buried in sediment, turning into a fossilised record of the planet’s history.
This highly illustrated, large-format book looks at all the incredible things that scientists have learned from the fossil record: The ways in which continents have drifted, merged, and fragmented again. The life forms that have evolved and the great extinction events that wiped them out. Clear, concise texts are accompanied by Sophie Williams’ warm and entertaining illustrations, making this a book to cherish and return to. A worthy follow-on from Earth-Shattering Events.
For the teens
This is another one of mine, but is perfect for any teens or pre-teens that struggle with identity or young mental health.
Augusta Walsh is invisible. And so is the battle she has every day to make her life matter to another human being. Should she embrace the darkness growing inside her or try and find another way to find peace? This is her story.
Fifteen-year-old Augusta Walsh has been told to keep a diary. In it, she tells us her every thought, and what evolves is an honest account of what life is like for a teenager in the modern world. This coming-of-age story follows her spiral through identity, relationships, sexuality, self-worth, peer pressure, body issues, social media, and her stress and fears. All building into a dramatic climax. Will desolation overpower her, or can friends and loved ones help Augusta see the light and save her before it’s too late?
Return to the world of The Hunger Games in a compelling prequel that both informs the original trilogy and stands alone as a powerful, breathlessly exciting science fiction thriller. With the film entering the big screen this month, encourage your Hunger fan to read the book. It’s brilliant and they will love Suzanne Collins’ unique style and imagination.
It is the morning of the reaping that will kick off the tenth annual Hunger Games. In the Capitol, eighteen-year-old Coriolanus Snow prepares for his one shot at glory as a mentor in the Games. The once-mighty house of Snow has fallen on hard times, its fate hanging on the slender chance that Coriolanus will be able to outcharm, outwit, and outmaneuver his fellow students to mentor the winning tribute.
The odds are against him. He’s been given the humiliating assignment of mentoring the female tribute from District 12, the lowest of the low. Their fates are completely intertwined — every choice Coriolanus makes could lead to favor or failure, triumph or ruin. Inside the arena, it will be a fight to the death. Outside the arena, Coriolanus starts to feel for his doomed tribute . . . and must weigh his need to follow the rules against his desire to survive no matter what it takes.
For the writer
An absolute gem of a guide for anyone involved in writing fiction. Every emotion under the sun is here with mannerisms and how it feels internally. It has physical signals and behaviours, which emotions it can escalate or de-escalate to mental responses and so much more. An absolute must-have for any writing desk.
So there we have it, you are now all set for Christmas 🎄🎅🎄
So pat yourself on the back, grab a mince pie, sit on a comfy armchair in front of a roaring fire, and of course, a good book. Merry Christmas!
Geek Girl Eats Cake 