NaNo No Chance…

It was an unlikely goal even before November came. 50,000 words in a month of starting a new job, Christmas shopping and worrying sick over a terribly ill cat. It was an unlikely goal, to say the least. At the end of October I was still editing book two, right up to the wire on Halloween. I reached the end, sure, goal achieved, but it was a total rush and I know that both the quality of the story and my involvement with the characters suffered as a result.

November came, but the story did not. Once I had written the prologue, which was clear in my mind, there was nothing else clear in my mind to write. I knew where the characters all were, and I knew where they were going, but I couldn’t quite see how and when to get them there. I still can’t.

It is not writer’s block. It is a thinking block. I have always done the key parts of my writing by thinking.

My life now has a commute where before it had a few minutes walk to and from work each day. My home now is a houseful of people where before it was nothing but the quiet hum of trains and the call of birds in the sky. My life had lie-ins where now it has a constant wake up call.

My life now has noise where before it had that special kind of quiet in which stories are made. My lifestyle has changed, and the things I love doing, and the stories I write, have suffered for it.

So writing 50,000 words in November did not happen. It was never really going to – psyching myself up to do it was my way of clinging to something normal, something that is familiar and something that has before been so natural and so easy. I did not write, and much as I tried to find the story, I did not. It has never worked that way for me; it has never been forced.

I definitely need a rest. My mind is exhausted from the lack of opportunity to put my thoughts and feelings in order and my body is exhausted from lack of good, peaceful sleep and from lugging around my disordered mind. I wish for calm, and quiet. I wish for time and space. I wish for that moment when I glance out of a window or up at the sky and find the perfect clarity that is the next part of the story.

So I tell myself, in those moments when I hate the lack of word count, that two books out of three is not at all bad, and the third will be all the better for the rest. Sometimes life gets in the way. That is just the way it is.

Elloise Hopkins.

Book Review: Ripples In The Chalice...

RIPPLES IN THE CHALICE: A TALE OF AVALON VOLUME II.

By Adam Copeland.

Sir Patrick Gawain is about to meet his end at the point of a sword. That is until his Apparition appears before him and reminds him that he cannot give up. Patrick is forced to revisit a choice he once made – a choice that led to everything he has experienced and everything he has suffered thus far. The peace of his trip home may be short-lived.

King Henry Salian has been tutored for this since childhood, focused always on his goal by his elders. But his father, the emperor, is responsible for terrible acts, and it is time for Henry to stand up for what he knows is right. The fight to unite Christianity under one pope and one emperor is on, and Patrick finds himself in the middle of events once again.

The opening of this book is a hugely impressive prologue which locates the reader straight into the heart of this story’s focus. It does not hold back on action or tone and demonstrates great confidence in storytelling. On the whole, this second Avalon tale exhibits tighter control in the writing than its predecessor and demonstrates the author’s growth.

While the elements of the first book are firmly visible and its favourite characters still in the forefront, there is a greater level of immediate menace in the story and a darker and more visibly violent feel overall, which sits well among modern fantasy. For the more traditional readers among us, don’t fear, there is a welcome ending after all the hardship. Another enjoyable read for those who want a story routed in historical fantasy with a little bit of real life, romance and myth in for good measure.

Elloise Hopkins.

A World of Tea…

A good cup of tea – definitely part of my daily routine. My morning usually starts with a coffee, quickly followed with several cups of tea. Green, white, fruit infusions, wacky flavours, flowering teas – I try all sorts. In fact, trying a new tea is an exciting thing for me. I tend not to stick to the same flavour throughout the day, delicate blends winning for the morning shift and heavier, more unusual combinations taking me through the afternoon.

This week I was sent some blue tea flowers from a start up company called Boho Chai. They’re on Facebook and Twitter so are easy to track down. This is the world’s first blue tea, is completely organic and is said to have many health benefits. Grown in Thailand, this Butterfly Pea flower is absolutely, undeniably blue. Wonderfully, unusually, weirdly blue.

I sampled the signature tea, Bluechai, hot first, with nothing added, to see what its raw taste was like. As the name would suggest there is something a little pea-like in there. It is a smooth tea. Drinkable. Definitely something exotic in its taste as well as in its rarity. I think it could take some people time to get used to drinking a tea this vivid and I do wonder if the taste isn’t an acquired one.

When adding lemon, the acid turns the colour to purple or even pink if you really lemon-it-up. I tried it hot and lemony then tested an iced version. A lovely tipple for a sunny afternoon and a great conversation starter. The colour change is really quite spectacular to see. I can honestly say I have never had a tea quite like it before.

I would certainly recommend giving it a try if you are like me and enjoy sampling things you have not come across before. I think the winner has to be a warm cup of Bluechai with honey and lemon added – the honey to cut across the tartness of the lemon, and the lemon to pep up the taste as well as effecting that beautiful hue shift.

Not a review, per se, but I did enjoy seeing something in action that I have never seen before, and that is certainly worth a blog. A tea to try!

Elloise Hopkins.

Colour Me Calm…

It seems that I can’t walk past a book shelf, newsagent, stationery store, train station, or anywhere, at the moment, than I encounter gleaming packets of brand new felt pens and colouring pencils accompanying stacks of adult colouring books.

Colour therapy. Colour for stress relief. This seems to be the latest in self-help and as ever I found myself dubious about whether this activity could actually have a calming effect. Its only initial appeal to me was a nostalgic longing for Crayola colours and crisp black lines on a fresh colouring book to stay between.

I was given Millie Marotta’s Animal Kingdom (clearly at this stage in life I am exhibiting an outwards appearance of anything but calm!) and immediately took to the Internet, taking great joy in ordering colouring pencils that included gold and silver – money well spent having now tested them.

So next time I had an idle moment (and by idle I mean those rare moments when I am neither working, reading nor writing and am sitting watching a film or tv) I got into colouring poise and carefully opened my colouring pencils in readiness.

I flicked through the beautiful pages of the book and agonised over where to start, a lack of confidence in myself to do the pictures justice holding me back. Then the rational part of my took over (how much damage could I do, really???) and I dove straight into a full page of an elephant. In pastels and golds I coloured him and it was all going swimmingly until my hand wavered and I strayed over the line ruining the symmetry of the image that had been.

Yes, that terrible perfectionist within me struggles even now with those traces of human behaviour that make me less than perfect. I stare at the pages for an age trying to work out where the best place for this and that colour to go, and where to add colour and where to let the crisp white and black of the printed page dominate. I berate myself when I stray over the lines and frown when I realise that one shade lighter would have worked better for that feather.

I can see the appeal of this craze, and yes, overall, I would have to say I have enjoyed the few colouring therapy sessions I have undertaken. But there is a constant struggle within myself between colour me calm and colour me perfect. I hope that as time goes on I learn to let go the need to make every image ‘right’ and manage to just enjoy losing myself for a time in this simple art.

Elloise Hopkins.

Chills…

This afternoon, at the dreaded day job, we were told to leave early, which ordinarily on a Friday would be a bonus in bold. Unfortunately, being told to leave early today came from the office manager following a medical/ unknown situation which had left us all in uneasy and unproductive silence.

The truth is, as I write this, I still don’t know what actually happened. There was an awful noise, like someone struggling to get their breath, but so loud that it sounded across the whole office and brought a busy and noisy environment to a halt. The first aiders gathered, but no ambulance was called. Give them space, was the instruction. Then, a minute or so later, go home.

Whatever did happen, be it a tragic event, a scare, an illness, someone receiving the worst news, or indeed nothing so dramatic – the old mountain-in-a-molehill office effect – one thing is certain: those of us in close and not so close proximity were left with those cold chills that are so evident and so important in our descriptive fiction.

We have probably all experienced it before, that feeling where your stomach drops through the floor and your whole body, beginning with the back of the neck and ending with your forehead and the soles of your feet, goes cold and rigid, but it is a sensation and a feeling that we can never easily shed afterwards; I know I shall not sleep easily tonight.

When we write them, they feel powerful. When we read them, they convey many feelings and have an impact. But when we feel them, there is no way to properly describe what happens to the body and mind. The chills are cold, for certain, and powerful. They have impact and convey a feeling, if not many. But they are something else. They are suspense, and unease, and something else entirely.

Tonight my thoughts will be with those involved. On Monday I will hear the end of the story, whatever it may be, and process it as best I can.

Be safe, and be well. Be whatever you wish to be and make the most of it.

Carpe diem.

Elloise Hopkins.

Radio Silence…

It’s been another one of those crazy busy weeks that you realise has actually been longer than a week and you’ve totally lost touch with life and the greater world again.

You will have to forgive my bouts of invisibility – I’ve been doing the family thing and the general, dull admin parts of life as well as that most important ‘thinking’ thing in which I made several decisions, none of which are ready for discussion as yet. There has also been last minute holiday shopping because – can you believe it? – the autumn clothes are already in the shops. Mind you, looking out at the cloudy sky this morning perhaps I can believe it.

The start of this week I was out of action, away for a couple of days and witnessing some very dear friends speak their vows to each other in a beautiful, intimate and very emotional wedding. After eight years they remain as affectionate towards one another as they did when I first met them back at university and I am thrilled for them and feel extremely privileged to have been there.

Anyway, post-wedding it was an extremely busy week. My inbox is out of control, I have photos to download and share, under-the-bed adventures are needed to retrieve a suitcase and stash some books away – let’s just say my ‘to do’ list is looking more than a little frightening, plus, and more excitingly, I’ve got material for the British Fantasy Awards Independent Press category here ready for scrutiny as I once again sit on the jury panel.

Someone once said ‘so much to do, so little time’ and that is very much the way I am feeling and the way my life is going at the moment, but better that than boredom, I would suggest, and so I shall press on. One thing at a time, my dear. One thing at a time

Elloise Hopkins.

The Selection by Kiera Cass…

Look through my list of favourite books, books I have reviewed, or just read my website and get to know me a little, and you will realise that this series is a pretty unlikely fit as far as my likes in fiction go.

The first book I got through Netgalley and read it in one sitting on a very long train journey. I thought it would be an easy read and figured I wouldn’t need to concentrate on it too much, so it was perfect for the impending trek across the country.

I started reading and it didn’t wow me instantly. It was indeed an easy read. Light. Playful. Somewhat ‘on the surface’ but that was ok. Then somewhere between Peterborough and Norwich I realised I was enjoying this story.

The reviews tell you it is similar to The Hunger Games, and indeed one can draw some comparisons, to that and other concepts, but although it makes use of ideas that we have seen before, the way it is assembled is refreshing.

I read book two a few weeks later (purchased with my own money) to break up a run of very long, modern fantasy books, and then a little after that, thanks to NetGalley, I read the third to round off the trilogy.

In the same way that I enjoy Hathaway and Andrews’ characters in The Princess Diaries (another unlikely like, I know) I found myself admiring the heroine, America, in this series, and more surprisingly found myself caring about what happens to her.

I can’t really explain what it is that works for me about this series other than these books are so different to anything else I indulge in that the contrast is pleasing. It is a flowing story, each chapter pretty much ending on a moment of significance to ensure you keep reading, and events unfolding not always where you think they are going to.

You may look at this cover art and then look at me and fail to put the two together, but you will just have to take my word for it – these, I like. Something in the way all those familiar elements are put together – the imagery, the competition, the promise of royalty, the struggle – just works.

Elloise Hopkins.

Crayola Colour Mood...

Ultramarine Blue! I’m feeling nautical! In the manner of someone who lives far from the sea, drifting, as it were, on dry land. I search for a boat, a berth, a place on the deep blue. I am grounded. And I want off it. My feet long for adventure.

What a colour. What an ‘I could just dive in there and find a whole world’ kind of a depth it has. Ultramarine. Sounds like such a mystical path to somewhere… different. I could be bobbing along, bobbing along on the bottom of the beautiful briny... oh! Look what’s happened now. A Bedknobs moment and a pause to say a quiet ode to the ultramarine blue, thank you.

How could you not love this colour? So simple… so strikingly simple, but look at it! It is endless. It leads to something more. Imagine those lines expanding, lengthening beyond the corners of your eyes. Watch them touch the horizon and tip, drawing you down and off to the next place. Watch them roll and churn.

I let myself drift into Ultramarine Blue and find within it such strength that I dare not argue with where I am nor where it takes me. My Crayola Colour Mood reminds me that there is always more out there. More to find. More to do. At the right time I will drift on and fall wherever it shall lead me.

Elloise Hopkins.

Rebecca…

Not a story I was familiar with, when last week I was invited to watch it performed at a local theatre by Kneehigh Theatre Company. Now, if you have not come across Kneehigh before, which I have, they are worthy of a blog post all of their own. You know with Kneehigh to expect a performance of the highest quality, exhibiting great talent with boundless energy and power.

Rebecca did not disappoint on that score. Set against a spooky backdrop of the sunken ship and the imposing stairwell of Manderley there were rockets, there was dancing, there was love and there was loyal puppet dog. There were exceptional performances, there was music and singing – sea shanties that captured perfectly the presence of the sea and the underlying current of the story – and there was a sinister sense of unease throughout, as I would have expected after reading the book.

And read it I did, in a few short sessions during lunch breaks, on the bus, and an hour the evening before the play so that I could finish the story in its original form before seeing any adaptations. I read Jamaica Inn at school but sadly I think that is the only Daphne du Maurier book (except now for Rebecca) that I have read. This needs to be remedied!

What a book. Haunting, yes. Sad, yes. Powerful, yes. The sort of suspense tale that needs to be told. Perfect for a cold evening when the wind outside howls in time, and the fire crackles… When the last bubbles fizz through the champagne, and shadows flicker in the doorway behind you, the stories of Manderley and of Mrs. De Winter, past and present, are told, from the hopeful, if unusual start of true love, to an ending that raises chills.

Rebecca will now find place among my favourite books – those that I will admire and enjoy over again. It is a story of perfection, and a perfectly formed story. “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” And again I shall.

Elloise Hopkins.

Spring Clean Me, 2015…

It is April, 2015 and I find myself sitting in a new room with a view, this time looking out over greenery and the suburbs rather than the city skyline and construction sites. The sun is shining through the window and onto my new writing desk, and for a moment a strange sense of ‘home from home’ comes over me. Maybe home is simply  ‘where I write’.

This is the first time in months I have been able to sit at a writing desk, on a Saturday morning, with no boxes and baggage stacked up around me, and feel myself, with time to think, and to pour out those thoughts into blogs, and better, into the fictional stories that have kept me going these last busy years.

The house I sit in is aging gracefully, as is my beloved mac, Ultimacia, who waits patiently in silver as I type these words. Somewhere outside cats roam and birds hunt, squirrels nest in a chimney that – for the time being – houses them without protest, and in another world the winds begin to rise and darkness readies its move, soon to force those within to face the truth of their past. But for now the sun shines and a tale told can be told again, more richly.

Life is never easy. That is a lesson I learned the hard truth of years ago, but the more I know this world the more I realise there are those who seek nothing more than to attack their fellows, with words and weapons, and who thrive on the misery they have wrought upon others.

I find it hard not to become disheartened by the world I see, and disappointed by those who act that way. I withdraw, I keep to myself; it is a primitive form of self-defence – predator, flee! But one cannot hide forever and there will always be predators.

So today I choose to step out into the sun and face all who would try and chase me away. Life is never easy, but it does not end until it ends, and I do not choose that end today.

For while the sun shines and there are words, then there are stories, and while there are stories there are better worlds to create and explore. A spring cleaning of the mind is the best kind. Dear world, I am returned.

Elloise Hopkins.

Crayola Colour Mood…

And the mood is… Silver. A simple word for a feeling that is far from simple. It is fluid… transitional. It is hopeful clouds and movement into a new phase of life. It shimmers, and it also hides layer behind layer. It is silence. It is a symphony. It is leaves blowing in a warm breeze at night. It is the sun splintering against a cobweb over glass. It is my Crayola Colour Mood of today.

It has been a time of change again, so I hope you will forgive my lack of contact. Life has presented me with another challenge, another change. One that I knew was coming. One that was inevitable, and sensible. But that did not make it any easier to endure.

Through the worst, now, I find myself with time to actually sit at a computer, and think, and type, and remember that the world is still out there, waiting for me to return to it. Through the worst, now, I am almost ready to face it all again.

I just moved house, leaving behind an apartment I have loved dearly for the last half a decade. I knew at some point I would have to leave; it was far from perfect and over time has become less and less the peaceful haven it began (being on the edge of a building site did not help) as it underwent the unfortunate transformation – in all but name – into a building mostly populated by young, wealthy, noisy, students, who exhibit no social skills, observe no social niceties, and evidently have no idea how to use a bin chute, or worse, perhaps believe it is beneath them to clear up after themselves.

It was time to move on. Perhaps for the first time I begin to acknowledge my aging, and perhaps even accept it, a little.

I have spent the last few weeks dining out, lunching, drinking and generally over indulging, in between working too hard at the day job and enormous amounts of packing and condensing life at home. It has not been an easy time and I am now taking a holiday, to recover in a place that always brings me peace.

They say moving house is one of the most stressful things in life. I’ve lost 8lbs in two weeks, whilst doing all of that over indulging. I’d say they’re right about the stress thing.

But there is the silver lining and the reason for my Crayola Colour Mood. When life takes a turn and it is not necessarily the one you know you wanted – although it is most likely the best one for you, as you will come to realise in time – it has its bitter elements and its upheaval, but it also has its rewards. Take them where you can get them. Take your time of silence and reflection. Take your time to digest and respond. Then carry on with the new chapter, wrapped in a haze of simple, complex Silver.

Elloise Hopkins.

A Sensible Approach to the Gender Problem…

I feel as though my social media feeds throughout 2014 were mostly filled with discussions surrounding gender in the industry. It’s been a hot topic in fantasy and fiction for many years, and will continue to be so for many years to come.

I have become so disheartened by what I’ve heard over the last several months. More often than not the posts/blogs/opinions of those most vocally pursuing gender parity were doing so with a very biased, unbalanced and unequal approach. I’ve mentioned it before, perhaps on this blog, but having ‘all female’ this and ‘female only’ that, and forcing females into stories and situations, is not the way to ensure gender parity. It is an attempt to sway the balance the other way.

Perhaps there is a positive to be seen in such posts, in that they at least alert people to the fact that there is a disproportionate level of contributors/characters/spokespersons, and so forth, in the industry, in terms of gender. But they are not going to win any arguments in the way they are approaching what is a deeply important subject to many of us.

Just before the end of the year, there was a thread under discussion on Reddit entitled ‘A Lack of Female Characters is Always a Choice’, see here: http://www.reddit.com/r/Fantasy/comments/2qqjvm/a_lack_of_female_characters_is_always_a_choice/ and in the forum posts you will find some of those comments which seem to contradict the very thing that those campaigning for gender parity say they want.

On 31^st December 2014 following this thread, Robin Hobb posted about gender on Facebook. I am not going to re-post it here as the words were not mine, but if this is a topic that interests you or means something to you, I would urge you to go and find it – the voice of reason can be found there.

Hobb summed up pretty much what I have been feeling about this topic over the last year or so, and more comments like this may help to get discussions on this topic back on track.

I’m not going to get into the ins and outs of gender parity here. I have my own opinions on the subject – balanced and sensible opinions in comparison to much that can be found online, I think – and I hope to see more balanced and sensible work to broaden and increase the volume of the female voice in the industry in future.

The essence of the discussion that sparked all of this was some implying that a book without female characters is unrealistic and unsuccessful. There are, of course, a multitude of examples which disprove this theory, and I can also think of many books oriented completely around females and female perspectives that work just as well.

After all, life and nature do not depict an even split of gender or any other of those human ‘boxes’ we have chosen to live within, so perhaps trying to force fiction to be that way is not the right thing to do – food for thought.

Hobb’s closing paragraph, which I will repeat here, sums up what I hope authors will continue to do, so that we don’t lose the best stories and that wonderful magic that makes fantasy fiction so special because we are trying too hard to force things in a direction they are not best suited to go.

Hobb wrote: “So if I write a story about three characters, I acknowledge no requirement to make one female, or one a different color or one older or one of (choose a random classification.)  I'm going to allow in the characters that make the story the most compelling tale I can imagine and follow them.”

There is a right and wrong way to approach change, and there is a right and wrong way to try to effect it. Perhaps 2015 will be the year that those of us with an opinion on the subject approach it in the right way and make a positive difference.

Elloise Hopkins.

So That Was 2014…

My blog has not disguised how difficult a year 2014 has been, for me and, it seems, for everyone around me. It felt very much like a jigsaw puzzle, in which none of the pieces fit together and the end product made no sense.

I ended the year pretty much as I began it, and in the manner I feel I spent the majority of it – tucked up inside my apartment with a sore throat and a lingering cough/cold, watching the world go by from my room with a view and thinking of all the things I aimed to do in 2014 that haven’t happened and reminding myself that there is another year in which to try again.

I don’t want to dwell on things not done and conversations not had; hurts suffered and disappointments deeply felt. My year can be summed up in few words: procrastination, highs, illnesses, change, determination, perseverance, rejection, rest, seas and lows. The lows won out, in the end… but it wasn’t all bad.

I met some of the people I admire most in the world.

I put my book out there and got some tremendous feedback, and also some tremendous advice: don’t give up.

I spent a week holidaying in the sun thanks to a dear friend, reminding me that a little snatch of sun and a short time out from life can work wonders on the soul.

I finished the first draft of my second novel.

I read of new worlds, and old ones too, and lived and loved within their pages.

I managed 100 happy days and 50,000 words.

I met new people and experienced new things.

I walked beaches and mountains, swam seas and flew clouds.

On December 31^st 2014, I stood in the dark and watched the south of my city light up with fireworks, the skyline patterned as far as I could see. Such an array of shapes and colours as I could imagine appeared before me, just as I had hoped, twinkling out through the clear sky, reflecting in the rain-covered rooftops below and giving me the ending and beginning that I needed.

I watched those fireworks explode in unison, a beat after the clock struck midnight, and I wished that 2015 would bring a happier and healthier year for me, and for those around me.

For it is wishing and hoping that keeps us going, and it is wishing and hoping that saves us.

In 2014 we loved and lost. We tried, and sometimes succeeded. We laughed until our tears ran with joy, and we cried until our lungs hurt. But above all else we kept going when the temptation to walk away from everything was dangerously appealing, and chose once again to follow the hard path that is life.

Live, breathe and find joy, my friends, for another year is upon us. May it be all you wish it to be, and bring all that you hope for.

Elloise Hopkins.