Staying Motivated as a Writer

Absolutely no writer in the world will tell you that writing is easy. And if anyone says so they are either lying or are just highly arrogant. Equally, no writer in the world will tell you that they are burning to tap away at the keyboard constantly, or that the stories just fly out perfectly and smoothly like you’re a movie character who has just had an epiphany in the final act. We have all lost motivation at one point or another, and there are many forms this can take. Whether you feel your writing simply isn’t good enough, you just cannot come up with a good idea, or you can’t find the energy to plough through that first draft, we have all been there. Take a dip into the Instagram writing community, and you will see for yourself that the pages on there are full of not only great writing advice and inspiration, but all too relatable sentiments of the struggle of staying on the path to achieving your writing dreams. But now we’ve figured out that we all want to bang our heads against the keyboard every now and again, what can we do about it?

Problem 1 – You simply feel like you have no stories left in you – This is actually a very common feeling after having written a manuscript which you consider to be your best work; how can you follow that, how can you do better than that? What next? Well even though you don’t feel like it at the moment, you will definitely have dozens of more stories left in you. You just have to relax, and let your mind wander; chances are you’ve just finished a project, and you’re in focus, heads-down, deadlines mode. Well, here’s the nice news, it’s time to let go of that, and dip back into creativity mode! And if you really love writing, that’s the mode your mind will feel most at home in. Where have you found inspiration before? Whether it’s films, music, travel, or observing situations in your life, immerse yourself in what gets your imagination whirling, and write those ideas down. Don’t try and organise them, just let them flow as the weeks, months or even years go by. Settings, plot points, characters, atmosphere, you name it. And when you see all of these ideas gathering on a page, your mind will naturally start to piece them together, and things will start to click into place. It will happen, you just can’t pressure yourself. At the end of the day, your writing is meant to be a pleasure, and if you need a period of letting your imagination run wild, just taking notes and writing character profiles, by all means do that. You do not need to constantly be at the keyboard to still be creating.

Problem 2 – You do not feel as if your writing is good enough – It’s highly beneficial to strive to push yourself and grow as a writer. However it’s not beneficial to believe that anything less than perfection is a waste of time. The aim is to grow as a writer, not instantly become a literary genius. For example writing an opening chapter, thinking it’s terrible and abandoning it will get you nowhere. Why do you think it’s terrible? Are you merely being hard on yourself, or are there things you can improve on? You have the power here; if you can identify problems, you can fix them, and voila! Your writing has improved. All it takes to improve is a little research, constructive self criticism and effort. If you are not happy with your writing, you can alter it. And, to return to the phrase ‘good enough’, there is only one person in the world your writing has to be good enough for, and that is, you guessed it, yourself. If you are proud of it, if it is your baby, and you have endeavoured all you can to make it this way, then it is good enough. Anything that brings you personal satisfaction is worth your time, and there is nothing remotely selfish about that notion. Another tip I have for making oneself aware of one’s own improvement, is to read your old writing (check out my own post about that, here). Trust me, it’s worth the cringe.

Problem 3 – You do not physically have the time, or the energy to write – Life is a busy thing; most people are juggling any combinations of work, studying, socialising, family time, household chores and relaxation. There will be periods in every writer’s life, where you simply do not have time to write, and when you do you’re just too plain exhausted and it truly feels like an arduous chore. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll beat yourself up for this. Don’t be like me. You’re a human being, and you can’t be running every race at the same time. Chances are, if you are overworked, your writing will not be of the highest quality. Take a break, don’t rush yourself. Most people don’t have a gun to their head, and when you do have more time, you won’t suddenly have forgotten what the English language is. We all need a break, even sometimes from tasks we enjoy. I’ll come out and say it, I’m not getting much writing done at the moment, what with blogging, family time, looking after a horse, organising my book publication and general bits and bobs. And whenever I feel bad about this, I remember the things I have achieved this year with my riding, this blog and the two manuscripts I have completed, one of which is being published this July. There’s only so much anyone can do, especially in lockdown. I’m currently writing when I can, and when I feel like it, and never to the point where the work makes me lose my excitement for the project. Give yourself a break, and your writing energy will return.

Problem 4 – You feel alone as a writer – Writing can be a very solitary venture, and often one without much external validation. Often, none of your friends will be into writing, and you will feel a bit of a freak sometimes. Yes hello, I spend hours creating imaginary scenarios with imaginary people and getting emotionally invested in the outcome; how do you do? Trust me, you are not the only person who is passionate about writing; you simply need to have the courage to put yourself out there. Ever since I announced The Demon’s Dollhouse, I’ve been astounded by how many people in my life I’ve discovered to be keen readers, run a book club or even write themselves. And the more you think about it, the more you realise how the nature of literature can be something that is the polar opposite of lonely; books are a way of tapping into human desires, fears and experiences through the constructs of stories and characters, and are a fuel for interesting conversation and debate. Writing is only truly a lonely experience, if you see it that way. If you want to get an impression of just how many writers are out there, follow some writing related hashtags on Instagram; you’ll discover some great pages, and some stellar writing advice to boot.

Problem 5 – You genuinely have no desire to write at the moment – This does not mean you are no longer a writer; you are a writer as long as you say you are, as you strive to be one and you love literature. Nobody comes to take your writing license away if you take a step back for a few years. I did this from summer 2018 to autumn 2019. Best decision I ever made. I learned so much in that year, about myself, about people, about writing, and that break was vital in enabling me to write the way I can write now, which is of course, far from perfect, but better than I ever though possible. If your passion is burning low, and you just aren’t feeling it at this point in your life, that is completely okay. Hang up your quill for a while, try another passion, get some new life experience under your belt. Give yourself as much time as you need for your writing brain to return, because it’s more than likely that it will, in six months, six years or even at the age of sixty. You are not a failure for recognising your own needs at a certain point in your life, and if writing is not one of them, do not stress about it.

Describing a person as ‘highly motivated’, is an impossible description. Nobody is entirely motivated, it comes and goes throughout time, and that is completely the same when it comes to being motivated as a writer. Sometimes you need to dig deep and find it, and sometimes you simply need to give yourself a break.

My debut novel, The Demon’s Dollhouse will be released on Amazon this July; feel free to follow my blog, and my Instagram blog account @rowan_writes_ and my Facebook page Rowan Speakman Books 🙂

For more writing advice, go to the page My Writing Journey, for a list of all of my posts. 🙂

By, Rowan Speakman

(All images sourced from Unsplash.com).

Madam C. J. Walker (1867-1919)

Born into horrific circumstances and disadvantaged socially by her race and gender, the achievements of Sarah Breedlove, later known as Madam C. J. Walker, are astounding. As well as being a pioneer in the beauty industry, Walker was a vital social and political activist in early twentieth century America, using her vast wealth accumulated from her entrepreneurial ventures to better the lives of black businesswomen across the country. Since her death in 1919, Walker has been dubbed by many as the first female self made millionaire in American history, with her works, both commercial and charitable, making for a weighty legacy to leave behind.

Sarah Breedlove was born in Louisiana in 1867, shortly after the Emancipation Proclamation. Her parents, Owen and Minerva, and her older siblings, has been enslaved by Robert W. Burney on his Madison Parish plantation for a great deal of their lives. Thus Sarah was the first of the couple’s children to be born into freedom, and most likely a symbol of great hope for her family. Tragically, both of her parents were to pass away during the 1870s, leaving Sarah an orphan at seven. Three years later, she went to live with her brother-in-law Jesse in Mississippi, working as a servant and a cotton picker from a very young age. During her childhood, she was afforded only three months of education, with her ambitions being halted by her dire need to escape from the abuse she suffered at the hands of her brother-in-law. At age fourteen, Sarah married Moses McWilliams, with her daughter A’ Lelia, being born three years later. It truly is hard to fathom such a start to life, in a social climate which showed very little care for the wishes of young women, let alone women of colour.

Moses died only a few years later, and in 1888, Sarah moved to St Louis with her young daughter, to live with her three brothers, who ran a barbering business. She was making barely a dollar a day, working at a washboard to try and finance an education for A’ Lelia. Around this time, Sarah became involved with the singing community at church, prompting in her an even greater desire for education and advancement. This was also the period when she began to suffer with a variety of scalp conditions, such as dandruff and balding, as a result of harsh cleaning products and poor conditions. Yet these issues inspired Sarah to begin to concoct her own home remedies, and piqued her interest in the cosmetic and hair care industry. She acquired a position as an agent selling for Annie Malone, an entrepreneur specialising in hair care for African American women, and the owner of the Poro Company. The job equipped Sarah with the skills necessary to develop products of her own, moving to Denver in 1905 to strike her own path. Malone was said to have accused her of copying her own formula, yet there was never any true animosity between the women beyond commercial rivalry, as depicted in the 2020 series based on Walker’s life.

Sarah had remarried back in the early 1890s, yet divorced her second husband in 1903, after he was unfaithful to her. Nobody has time to chase down cheating spouses whilst building a beauty empire, so Sarah found a partner who would be of a greater aid to her business in the form of an advertisement salesman named Charles Joseph Walker, whom she married in 1906. From then on she became known as Madam C. J. Walker, using the title to create an association between her business, and European boutiques. Her new husband’s sales experience was highly beneficial to Walker’s marketing program, as she moved firmly into the profession of an independent hairdresser and cosmetics retailer. The business soon began to take off, what with the initial investment costs of hair care products being comfortably low, and there being a significant gap in the market for such products designed for black hair. Walker hired representatives known as the Walker Agents, who travelled door to door, promoting her formulas and educating African American women in regards to styling their hair. The focal point of Walker’s formula was encouraging hair growth and improving condition, with her advanced hot combs producing better straightening results. The business became so profitable that Walker and her husband began to travel across the states to market their products and to open training programs to further their reach, with A’ Lelia taking up the running of the Pittsburgh operation. In 1910, the Madam C. J. Walker Manufacturing Company headquarters was established in Indianapolis, complete with a research lab and collaborations from many successful chemists. Its profits were equivalent to modern day millions.

Walker’s business, and how she used her immense wealth, also had an enormously beneficial impact on the black community, and on advancing women’s careers. In 1913, Walker opened the Harlem salon in New York City, which became a center for African American culture and community. During the First World War, she also became a leader in the Circle for Negro War Relief, acknowledging black contribution to the war effort and ensuring black soldiers were cared for. Walker was not only letting the world know that black people were entitled to beauty products catered to them, but that she cared greatly about black welfare in all shapes and forms. After all of the suffering her own family had endured as a result of white supremacists, it must have been a deeply rewarding life for her to lead. Now with a powerful platform, she became increasingly vocal about her social and political views, along with her extensive fundraising efforts, such as funding a YMCA branch for Indianpolis’ black citizens, the Tuskegee Institute, the Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church and the Mary McLeod Bethune’s Daytona Industrial School for Negro Girls. Enabling women to pursue their ambitions was a central aim of Walker’s; during the 1910s, her company employed and trained thousands of women, in marketing, in the salons and in the laboratory. Alongside teaching black women how best to care for their hair, Walker’s Agents taught them how to budget, set up their own businesses and become financially independent. The National Beauty Culturists and Benevolent Association of Madam C. J. Walker Agents was one of the first national gatherings of businesswomen across the nation.

In 1917, Walker commissioned Vertner Tandy, the first licensed black architect in New York City, to design her a magnificent home in the Hudson Valley. It was here, in May 1919, that she died from kidney failure and associated hypertension complications. Walker was buried in the Bronx, in a perfectly ordinary cemetery, but by the end of her life, she had been worth somewhere between half, and one million US dollars, and had donated one hundred thousand dollars to charity, or those in need, during her lifetime. In the seventies, her home, the Villa Lewaro, was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Although Walker had divorced her third husband in 1912, her daughter carried his named when she took her mother’s place as president of the company. And during the 1920s, it became even more prosperous still, expanding out into regions such as Cuba, Jamaica and Haiti.

It’s a very beautiful sentiment to suggest that Walker’s success was born of a desire for her daughter to not only be safe and provided for, but to have the education, freedom and ambitions, that her own parents were not so fortunate as to be able to give Walker herself. A’ Lelia was a key part of the business long before she inherited it from her mother, running her own divisions and having the Pittsburgh training centre named after her. It’s undeniable that A’ Lelia and her future were vital to Walker’s dream, and that dream is today continued in the work of Walker’s great-great granddaughter, A’ Leila Bundles, who published a novel in 2001, telling the story of her ancestor’s success. It is equally extraordinary, that a person who endured so much suffering and loss at such a tender age, was able to channel such ordeals into a positive movement, with the overall aim of ensuring that black citizens in America would no longer have to endure such treatment. And it is that positivity and spirit, which made her ultimately victorious.

By Rowan Speakman

(All images sourced from Wikimedia Commons).

The Glass Hotel – Emily St. John Mandel (2020)

(SPOILER WARNING FOR: THE GLASS HOTEL)

 The Glass Hotel was actually the first of Emily St. John Mandel’s works I read, which I think is an interesting perspective to have given that it is often compared to its masterpiece of a predecessor, Station Eleven. In all honesty, I believe that the intimidating reputation of the latter is the only reason why The Glass Hotel is not more renowned. Set once again in Mandel’s native Canada, the novel follows the diverse, interconnecting lives of the people affected by the fallout of a Ponzi scheme, and the chain reaction of events which forever alters their futures. It’s an utterly different story with a whole new atmosphere, but is once again infused with Mandel’s rare ability to take a cold, clinical topic and examine it through a very human lense to the point where you forget you are reading about an apocalypse or a Ponzi scheme. You are simply reading about people, in an acutely attentive and sensitive manner that really sets her apart as a writer. 

Paul and his half sister, Vincent, grew up on the island of Caitte, off the coast of Vancouver, where some years ago, Vincent’s mother drowned herself in the sea. By the end of the 90s, Paul is at university in Toronto after a lengthy stint in drug rehab. One night, he gives an ecstasy pill to a musician in a club, who shortly dies as a result of the faulty product. It’s a profoundly depressing opening to the novel, as the narrative tracks Paul’s isolation and emotional devastation, and the sad New Year he spends with his sister. It’s a very fitting one, as by the end of the book, it’s hard to argue that The Glass Hotel is ultimately not a novel about loneliness, and loneliness as as result of one’s own flaws and being misunderstood due to them. Quite a jolt from the artistic human unity Mandel depicts in Station Eleven, but it is a point equally as well illustrated. Paul is a drug addict who hangs around clubs and accidentally gives away dodgy produce; we’re not supposed to feel sorry for people like that, but the chapter is written with such an air of tragedy that it is impossible not to. 

 After their reunion, Vincent and Paul end up back on Caitte, working at the mystical glass walled hotel on the island, hence the name. The hotel is frequented by wealthy city businessman, including the likes of Leon Prevant, the employer of none other than our own Miranda Carroll of Station Eleven! Very sneaky, but very clever. Anyhow, on one relatively quiet night, a rather threatening message is painted on the glass; Why don’t you swallow broken glass? Bit of a silly question, but it is assumed that the threat is aimed at Jonathan Alkaitis, another business tycoon due to be arriving at the hotel. And it is also assumed that Paul is the culprit, resulting in him shortly being fired, and separated from his sister for some years.

And what does Vincent do? She begins a relationship with Alkaitis, posing as his young trophy wife and being whisked away to appear on his arm in all the upper echelons of society. Jonathan is the man behind the aforementioned Ponzi scheme, and in his case, it is quite hard to argue against the despicable nature of his own flaws. Yet it is a practical arrangement which seems to suit both parties, and lasts comfortably for around three years, with Vincent enjoying lavish residences, private pools and endless shopping trips. And still, both characters are alone, not just in the sense that Vincent does literally spend so much of her bountiful free time by herself, but in the sense that they are cut off from the world, from their families, from one another. Jonathan’s ‘real’ wife died of cancer, and it is made very clear from the beginning that Vincent can never attempt to replace her. Truly, it never strikes the reader as a thing that bothers her; indeed, there is somehting absent about her, something very cold and content in her isolation. Vincent is a practical person, and a very adept survivor. She refers to Jonathan’s world as the ‘Kingdom of Money’, and ironically when in it, one barely has to think of money itself. 

Across the street from where Vincent is shopping one day, stands a woman named Olivia, who fifty years ago, painted the young artist who used to live in the building she stands beside. The artist in question was Jonathan’s older brother, Lucas, who attempted to hide his bruised veins as a result of drug use, from Olivia as she painted. Olivia rather cruelly, but unknowingly craftily, adds the bruising later, resulting in the painting becoming her only work of note. Lucas dies of an overdose, with none of his own works being loved nor remembered. When the painting sells for thousands decades later, Olivia feels it is proper to invest the money into Jonathan’s business. And her kindness could not have been more misplaced. 

By 2008, Jonathan’s schemes have caught up with him, and he is arrested and sentenced to nearly two hundred years in prison. He was officially ratted out by none other than his daughter Claire, five years Vincent’s senior, and those behind the scenes often deemed too insignificant to be an issue. Upon announcing the issues threatening the security of the scheme, to the floor of employees running it, Jonathan is left without a leg to stand on, as the entire floor descends into panic and a grapple to avoid prison. Meanwhile Vincent slips out the apartment window and vanishes into the night, never to be found by the authorities. As I said, she lacks many things but certainly not the ability to endure. And one again, it is every individual for themselves, everybody isolated in their own bubbles of survival, without any hope of finding some sense of companionship through their ideals.

Jonathan’s chapters in prison are titled ‘The Counterlife’, in which his increasingly fragile mind explores the alternate realities he could have enjoyed. As the years slip by, he is haunted by those those lives which were destroyed by his schemes, including Olivia’s and Leon Prevant’s, the latter of which is forced to migrate around the country with his wife, after all his fortunes have been stolen from him. Speaking of alternate realities, when looking at the dates of these later chapters, one comes to the conclusion that the Glass Hotel is set in a future where the Georgia Flu never devastated the world, and characters such as Leon Prevant and Miranda had a very different fate awaiting them. There is an undeniably dreamlike quality to the entire novel, despite the melancholic realism that often pervades it, that does prompt the question as to whether the stories depicted in the book, could be examples of the art which connects the characters of Station Eleven, penned perhaps, by someone who knew these recurring characters. It’s a theory, and I’d be interested to hear any other takes on this.

 Vincent ends up remarkably working as a cook aboard an ocean liner, a rather poetic downfall from her previous life. Until one night, when she disappears at sea whilst photographing a storm, presumably washed, or pushed overboard. As she falls over the rails, Vincent sees the ghost of Olivia, before her own spirit revisits her life, and the lives of her family. That very night, Paul spots her from across a street, still alone and plagued by his demons despite his success as a musician. In the end, they are reunited somehow, ending their stories as they began them, leaving a chink of hope in the sea of isolation which has plagued these characters their entire lives.

The general conclusion that critics came to in regards to The Glass Hotel is that Mandel’s writing had remained as strong as ever, but that the novel lacked cohesion, lacked purpose, and drifted without much narrative structure. Another criticism was of the characters, dismissed as unlikeable, flawed and uninspiring. Yet I believe all of these choices to be intentional on Mandel’s part; the blurb states that The Glass Hotel is a story about ‘the infinite ways we search for meaning in our lives’, and I think that is a fair analogy. This is a book about lost, lonely individuals, who have never achieved the normality of human connection, or happy endings based on such relationships. Character relationships are hard to pin down in this book, giving it an airy, almost surreal quality, which is perfectly fitting for exploring the lives of people destined for loneliness, sometimes of their own doing, sometimes due to dire circumstance. Perhaps Mandel is suggesting that it is human relationships, which make our lives feel real, feel weighty, and it is in this department that I believe the two works, Station Eleven and The Glass Hotel, are better seen as two narratives that support each other, rather than those fighting for literary supremacy. 

Author, Emily St. John Mandel. I will be reading her three earlier works, ‘The Singer’s Gun’, ‘Last Night in Montreal’ and ‘The Lola Quartet’, as soon as possible. 🙂

By, Rowan Speakman

To learn more about Emily St. John Mandel and her books, click here.

To buy a copy of The Glass Hotel, click here.

Revisiting my Old Writing

What with my first novel being published this summer, and all the excitement and anxiety surrounding it, I have been a feeling a bit nostalgic of late. So I deemed it appropriate to take a trip back in time, and analyse a chapter from the first manuscript I ever completed. Reading one’s old writing is an experience both cringeworthy and somehow encouraging, as no matter how insecure you feel about your current writing ability, I can guarantee it will be superior to your first attempts. It’s important to remind yourself of how far you’ve come, and sometimes you have to look at the work in front of you to silence those niggling doubts in your mind. So I’m going to have a read through of a chapter of this ‘creation’, shall we say, pick apart the good and the bad and hopefully have a good spirited laugh at my fifteen-year-old self.

Way back in 2017, I penned a messy 120,000 word beast titled ‘Resistance’, about a group of ordinary people who are resistant to radiation, and are captured to retrieve some artificial intelligence robots from a radioactive city, followed by their mission to get revenge on the company who kidnapped them. Yes, it is just as insane and convoluted as it sounds, but at the time I was ridiculously proud of it. Emphasis on ‘at the time.’ Bear in mind, this manuscript is so old, that when I went to retrieve it from my old laptop, my Word subscription had expired to the extent where I couldn’t even copy and paste, leaving me with the only option of spending an hour or so typing the thing out.

For context, this five page chapter which I am about to rip apart, takes place after our intrepid heroes have just completed their mission into said radioactive city, and are about to fly home, when *spoiler*, tragedy strikes!

I really hate it when someone injects an implant directlt in my back. I feel like this little extract is a prime example of a problem which pervaded this whole manuscript deeply; the character’s priorities seem completely out of line with the gravity of their situation. After being drugged and kidnapped, being told you are basically a mutant, and dropped into a radioactive city, this woman is concerned about showing another woman her back? I’ll say that sometimes with trauma your mind does focus in on the most ridiculous things, but for the rest of the chapter, Roulette seems fairly compos mentis, more irritated than in a state of shock. I think I was going for the characterisation of her being a very walled, very private person, but in the context of the situation it just comes across as really petty. Also, I believe referring to the doctor as ‘Asian’, rather than assuming she was Chinese would have been more appropriate. I don’t think I meant any harm, but it’s still quite ignorant. ‘Roulette could swear her breasts were going numb’; well that’s probably because they are. And I love how she falls back into her chest with relief even though it was uncomfortable before.

Grammatically the sentences are so short and choppy, particularly in the third paragraph from the bottom. And again, when Roulette enquires after James, she does so with the attitude of someone whose friend is late for work, not someone who has just been kidnapped by a top secret company. I mean, it was just so rude of them to beat and electrocute them, right? How dare they!

‘Roulette surged upwards viciously’, gives me the image of an angry dolphin jumping from the waves. I think the phrase ‘doubling over’, would have been more fitting; ‘doubling up’ just makes me think she cloned herself out of pure rage. And the whole hands on hips, I’ll-make-sure-you-lose-your-job thing? I guess it was intentional, as Roulette was a character who relied on corporate skills as a way of self preservation, but it just comes across as funny, and kind of makes me want to punch her at the same time. Also, the ‘madam’ just creases me up. But, lady has a point.

The first sentence is just so confusing as a separate paragraph. I had absolutely no idea when to change paragraphs back then; to make it worse, on the original document, there was a massive space between each paragraph, which is just so unpleasant on the eye. And what is she doing with the jacket? She ambles haughtily over, puts it on the back of the chair, then disdainfully removes it? Why? Is this meant to be a joke? Again, who acts like this in such a situation? Her conversation with James reads like they’ve just been to the dentist. No, you are not both ‘fine’. The line ‘Right, sit down and listen up’, makes me want to shrivel up into a ball. Is she a grizzled army general? My dialogue is easily the most cringe inducing part of all this, and I’m very happy to say I’ve worked on it significantly since then.

One centimetre implants? Don’t be a baby James; that’s absolutely tiny, and certainly not big enough to stop you sitting down. I lost in when she pulled out something which ‘resembled a games console’. Couldn’t I have thought of anything more imaginative? The word ‘smirked’ in this context makes me my insides shrivel up; that is possibly the most fifteen year old way of describing a ‘cool’ person’s interactions.

I love how Roulette claims to care about James, but berates him for sitting down to avoid being, you know, electrocuted. Sounds like she loves her ego more to me. And can’t say that I blame her; James doesn’t exactly sound like the sharpest knife. But ‘what’s an investment’, from the lips of a twenty-eight-year-old man, has nothing on his earlier claim of ‘James hated Portsmouth; he wanted to live by the sea.” I can’t see where my stupidity ends and James’ begins there to be honest. I used to have a considerable issue with only writing foolish male characters, in order to make my female characters seem stronger, a trend that I finally broke with the protagonist of The Demon’s Dollhouse. And again, why is she explaining the dull details of banking to him at such a time? Those wouldn’t be crossing my mind; I’d be too busy having my millionth panic attack of the day.

As you’d probably expect, the ‘villains’ of this piece have some very cheesy, one dimensional dialogue. The entire last paragraph of this extract is something a bully in a high school movie would say on the playground, and not at all the way normally adjusted people in their late twenties converse. Don’t even ask why Freddy jabs his thumb aggressively up at the hatch. Is he insulting the door itself? I do quite like the line ‘I’d rather fall asleep at night knowing that you’ll double check your locks and look behind your back for the rest of your days’, but I feel as if it would be more fitting a statement if the Freddy character had more of a personal history with Roulette, rather than just enjoying tormenting her. He is a poorly written antagonist, but back when I wrote this novel, I new absolutely nothing about characterisation, let alone that it would become the backbone for all of my future writing. I was very into plot driven stories back then, and nowadays it’s completely the opposite. I always prioritise characters now, and am always wary of having any character that can be easily branded as ‘the villain’.

I’m sorry, but the first line just makes me laugh. These male characters are just pathetic, both in their natures and in my writing of them. Also, how can a hand be so visibly muscular? The phrase ‘stand down’ is equally hilarious; I wouldn’t say what he was doing was threatening enough for such language to be bandied about. I may recycle the simile ‘like a bird with broken wings’, but the sentence is swiftly ruined by that awful joke on Roulette’s part. I can almost hear the tinny laugh track.

The description of the interior environment of the plane isn’t that bad; it does succeed in creating some sort of atmosphere in the reader’s mind. There’s something very British about the mundanity of those few paragraphs, which makes me think that this whole story would have been better as a dark comedy. The plot is absurd beyond all hope of rendering it serious, so it’s only real fix would to be to revel in that absurdity. The line about James having his contacts page opening to ask for Roulette’s number is cute, but so out of place in such circumstances. Again, this could have been really quite funny as an intended comedy.

Wow, the capitalisation is just embarrassing. I don’t know why, but “PARACHUTES!” is a particular highlight. There is a decent attempt at creating tension here, but the way the whole book moves from one drama to the next just gives the reader whiplash. There is something markedly childish about it, not to mention it’s rather exhausting to read. I feel like I’m reading a comic book about two people on an adventure. And where is the wind coming from? The escape door hasn’t been opened yet. The last sentence calls to mind the cafeteria scene in Mean Girls, and I cannot take it seriously.

Again, with the capitalisation, seriously? And if the parachute is dipping close to the sea, why isn’t James landing in the water anyway? The whole sequence is very simplistic, and I can see the value of that when there’s such high stakes; you’re not going to want to go too much inside the character’s heads in a scene like his, but at the same time it just doesn’t feel realistic, which sort of makes sense what with the rest of the manuscript. All cheesiness aside, there is something very sweet about Roulette and James’ dynamic; it’s a nice port in the storm for the reader for a book full of trauma, but that same sweetness does feel very out of place. But I think the short, snappy sentences work better in this sequence than they did before.

This might be the best written part of this chapter. It’s shocking, it’s brutal, and it’s a bit of a cliff-hanger…sorry… And when I look at the novel as a whole, I liked how I brought up Roulette’s phobia of water after this incident, and how it never really goes way, which realistically, it wouldn’t. I think essentially Resistance was a story about trauma, bogged down by some very cheesy writing and a hideous hybrid of a plot. I also really like the puppet metaphor, which continues throughout the book in relation to how controlled the characters feel.

So, there you have it. In all honesty, the actual prose of this manuscript isn’t as vile as I’d imagined it would be. The central issues are the tone, the convoluted plot, the cheesy dialogue and some very one dimensional antagonists. It is very much one big hot mess, which would have been far better revelling fully in its own madness rather than attempting to make the reader buy into Roulette and her huffy hands on her hips. It is very peculiar to go back and read this now, because my entire taste in fiction, both what in what I read and what I write, has changed entirely. I went from this strange dystopian/sci-fi/action creature, to historical fiction and romantic suspense, and I could not be happier about that decision. The whole concept of writing about A.I, and radioactive cities just bores me now; that’s not what writing is about for me anymore, and I can’t imagine ever writing in that genre anymore. And I mean no disrespect to sci-fi writers; it takes a kind of skill which I do not possess to write a good sci-fi novel, and I simply meant that it is very much not my calling.

From this manuscript, all the way to The Demon’s Dollhouse, and my next project (wink), I can clearly see how my character crafting, my dialogue and the depth of my writing has progressed. Not to mention my books now are vastly shorter, which is a good thing; this particular manuscript suffers from a shedload of unnecessary scenes and messy subplots. Nowadays, I’m a firm believer in quality over quantity. But ultimately, I guess I owe ‘Resistance’, a pretty big thank you; it was the first novel I ever completed, and at fifteen, that is still an achievement, regardless of how poor the work in question was in quality. I highly recommend you take at look at your old WIPs yourself; it’s actually highly beneficial to your writing confidence, and hey, you might even have a laugh. Which nowadays, we could all use more of. Happy self deprecation.

My debut novel, The Demon’s Dollhouse, is being released on Amazon this July. I promise it will be better than the aforementioned monstrosity. Feel free to follow me over on Instagram, at @rowanspeakman, and on my blog account @rowan_writes_, and don’t forget to like my Facebook page, Rowan Speakman Books. 🙂

Written by,

Rowan Speakman

Isabella of France (1295 – 1358)

. Known notoriously as the ‘She-Wolf of France’, the ruthless Queen Consort of Edward II has remained a figure of greatly polarised opinion throughout history. Born into the dying descendants of a French dynasty, and married to the king of England at the age of twelve, Isabella could have been fated to be a helpless political pawn, but her ferocity, cunning and self respect made this alternative not really a viable option for the young queen. From her place in history as the woman who forced the first abdication of an English king, to her extravagant lifestyle and endless charisma, Isabella is not only an iconic figure, but an increasingly complex one. Some see her as victim, some as a villain, but I believe the truth to have been far more complex than this.

. Isabella was the sixth born child of King Philip IV of France, and part of the last generation of the Capetian French dynasty, who had ruled France since 987 AD. While three of her siblings died during their childhoods, her elder three brothers each went on to be kings of France, as Louis X, Philip V and Charles IV respectively. Her childhood was spent in Paris, where she acquired an excellent education and a love of reading which endured until her death. I like to think that the queen was later cosied up in a ship’s cabin with a good romantic comedy whilst on the way across to dethrone her husband, and I aspire to be this image. She inherited her good looks from her father, flatteringly known as Philip the Fair, who had had his daughter betrothed to the son of King Edward I from around the age of two. In 1307, Prince Edward’s father died, and he was married to Isabella the following year in Boulogne, she being twelve and he being twenty-three…If there are any questions as to why their marriage was a little wobbly for those first years, I’d search for the answer within that fact. Isabella was naturally too young for the marriage to be consummated, nor to yet prove a political figure, yet having grown up at a royal court, she was far from unaware of a particular threat to her position, which came in the form of a young nobleman named Piers Gaveston.

. Edward had been infatuated with Gaveston from a young age, and it is almost undeniable that their relationship was a romantic one. His father had viciously disapproved of their closeness, and had had Gaveston exiled for a while. But when Edward ascended to the throne, he joyfully welcomed him home, bestowing upon him the title of Earl of Cornwall and marrying him to Margaret, his niece. Edward’s favouritism of Gaveston, and the extent to which he awarded him a place befitting his queen, has long been debated throughout history. There are stories of the king having gifted him jewels intended for Isabella on their wedding day, and displaying tapestries bearing the arms of Gaveston and himself on the day of their coronation. French visitors to court for the latter event commented that the king seemed notably more attracted to his favourite than to his wife, which on the surface sounds a cruel idea, but one does have to bear in mind that the queen was not even a teenager. With the hindsight of modern morality, it was far more fitting for him to be attracted to a man his own age at the time, rather than a twelve year old girl. However we shall never know the extent of his humiliation of his wife, as many of these tales have grown from fictional works such as Marlowe’s Edward II, and the 90s film it inspired; in both works, Edward and Gaveston are depicted as truly cruel to Isabella, who is considerably aged up, along with a few other chronological alterations. It is very much worth bearing in mind the fact that such fictional depictions were both helmed by homosexual writers, who were probably more intent on telling a love story between the king and his favourite, with Isabella as the villain, rather than on portraying the true complexities of their dynamic.

. Regardless, the young Isabella was surprisingly diplomatic with her husband’s favourite, attempting to form a working relationship with him and many of the nobles of court, the latter of which supported her enormously. Nevertheless, she was clearly privately put out by the king’s romantic disinterest in her, describing him in a letter to her father as ‘an entire stranger in my bed’, and herself as ‘the most wretched of wives’. King Philip sympathised with his daughter, and his distaste contributed towards Gaveston’s second exile from court. But the greater factor for this, and the civil war that followed, was the anger of the English nobility, who resented the influence that Gaveston held over the king. During 1311, this resentment only deepened with the king’s failing Scottish campaigns. Isabella however remained loyal to a fault, travelling across the country with her husband and Gaveston, very nearly escaping capture on several occasions. This was the last straw for the barons, who signed the Ordinances that same year, and pursued Gaveston, who remained with the king and queen. By May 1312, Isabella in question was around sixteen, and was three months pregnant with the future Edward III. Clearly the frantic chase around the country had produced some intimacy between the couple, during Lent of all times, which says quite a lot I believe. As the barons continued their pursuit, Edward left his queen at Tynemouth Priory while continuing with Gaveston. Now, there are many different accounts of this story, with some people even saying that the event occurred during the Scottish wars of the prior year, yet this theory does not coincide with Isabella’s condition. Some say that the queen was distraught at being ‘abandoned’ by her husband, and that she escaped by ship to York with arrows shooting behind her and the like. It is far more likely in reality that Edward left her there to keep her safe, given the delicate stage of her pregnancy. The complicated little trio were reunited in York, yet were soon separated again, for Gaveston to be captured, tried, and shortly executed.

. The king was naturally devastated, and remarkably, there is evidence that Isabella wrote to him with her condolences. Their son was born in November, and they spent Christmas together as a family. The next eight or so years were to prove the strongest of their marriage, due most likely to a combination of Gaveston’s demise, Isabella’s adulthood and the births of three more children (John in 1316, Eleanor in 1318 and Joan in 1321). Indeed by many accounts, both from letters and from those close to the couple, there is much evidence to suggest that they may even have been in love for some time. Isabella referred to her husband as her ‘sweet heart’, and he to her as ‘dear heart’. An account of a royal visit to France in 1313 states that on one occasion, Isabella and her husband were late for an audience with the king, on account of a night of lovemaking. During this stay, a fire broke out at their pavilion, and Edward was said to have run out of the building with his wife in his arms, both in a state of undress. The king also exhibited a great deal of care towards her wellbeing, with every comfort being lavished upon her during pregnancies, and her household remaining one of over one hundred and eighty. By 1320, she owned the lands of Ponthieu, estates in Wales and castles in seventeen other counties. The king also trusted her political counsel greatly, even withdrawing his own candidate for the role of Bishop of Durham in favour of his queen’s suggestion. This does not at all coincide with the hateful union often depicted in common knowledge, and to see their marriage as more of a complex relationship than a black and white love or hate is much more informative of Isabella’s character. She did not spend a large chunk of her marriage suffering and being ignored, nor was she a villain preventing the love between Edward and Gaveston. In such an era, it was in the best interest of all involved to try and make a union work, which often meant excusing behaviour which would not be accepted in modern times.

. However, Isabella’s stint as a happy queen was not to last, nor was the stability afforded to the country after Gaveston’s demise. In the early 1320s, Edward’s preference towards Hugh Despenser grew to the point where it eclipsed even the favour he bestowed upon Gaveston. Despenser had been the King’s Chamberlain since 1318, and his desire to have ultimate influence over the king seemed to grow by the year. Despenser actively strived to reduce Isabella’s influence over the king, and even went as far as to find ways to prohibit her from seeing her husband, as well as placing his wife as a spy within her household. Now estranged also from the Lancastrian faction, Isabella felt isolated at court. By the end of 1321, tensions between the queen and the Despensers had reached such a level that she set out on a ten month pilgrimage, with a stop in Leeds at the castle of Lord and Lady Badlesmere. The latter reportedly refused the queen entrance, whereupon she demanded her husband’s support, and was granted the Great Seal to assume control of the royal Chancery. Isabella had the baroness and her children sent to the Tower and had thirteen members of her garrison hanged. It is actions such as this which produced the intimidating nickname, and serve as very real evidence of a woman who was very assured of her own strength, to the point of cruelty. She was a queen, by blood and by marriage, and she insisted that she should be treated as such. This incident also shows that Edward obviously still held her in high enough regard to grant her the Seal, over a rather trifling matter. But in 1324, war broke out with Isabella’s brother Charles IV, and Despenser seized the opportunity to convince the king that she was an enemy, and to confiscate her lands and have her children moved into the custody of the Despenser family. This paints the image of a king who was not truly hateful of his wife, but did not love her strongly enough not to have his views twisted by the men he loved.

.Yet the following year, Edward remembered that he very much still needed his queen, and had the audacity to request that she travel to France to negotiate a peace settlement. Under the cruel and extravagant attitudes which the king and his favourite had taken to ruling, England was now seething with rebellion and Edward was unable to leave the country for fear of being usurped. Isabella’s diplomacy was successful, and it was at this point, from the safety of her homeland, that she made a very cunning political decision. She suggested that Prince Edward should sail to France to pay homage to her brother in Edward’s stead. With the heir in her pocket, Isabella was now in the position to make terms; she would not return to England unless Edward were to exile the Despensers and restore her to her rightful place, both in his affections and in her status. The king refused her terms, and so she was forced to remain with her brother. It was around this point, that she began a relationship with a man by the name of Roger Mortimer, who had been imprisoned for a rebellion against Edward in 1322, but had escaped and fled to France. Mortimer had the desire, and the power, to ally with the queen against her husband. Although often romanticised, their relationship was most likely that of political pragmatism, rather than romance. Prince Edward was betrothed to Philippa, the daughter of a count who had the means to provide ships, money and men to invade England.

. This must have no doubt been a conflicting decision for Isabella, to invade the country of a man whom she obviously had once cared for deeply. And it is a common mistake that she wished for Edward’s demise; her assault was more so aimed at the Despensers, and the control they had implemented over her husband and her country. However, I refuse to believe that the queen was ill sighted enough to not contemplate the possibility of Edward’s death; it was an eventuality she was clearly willing to take, and it speaks volumes both of her self respect and of her capacity for brutality. Her force landed in England on 24th September 1326, the first such invasion since that of her ancestor, King Louis in 1216. The support for the queen throughout the country was immense, no doubt due not only to a desire for better leadership, but probably due to a dislike of Edward’s dismissal of a godly and traditional family. The lords of Norfolk and Kent flocked to Isabella’s side, and before long Despenser was captured, and executed by means of being hacked up and fed to hounds. I really do not think her nickname is an inappropriate one.

. In 1327, Parliament forced Edward II to abdicate to his fourteen year old son, making him the first English king to do so. In great irony, the reign of Edward III began on the nineteenth anniversary of his parents wedding. A year later, Edward married Philippa, as he had promised her father, and a regency council was formed to govern in the young king’s stead. Isabella and Mortimer were not officially part of the council, but made little secret of the reality that they were ultimately running the country. However, their union proved to be just as greedy and extravagant as Edward’s had been with his own lovers, and their unpopularity swiftly mounted in a similar manner as that of their predecessors. Isabella enjoyed an excessive income of 20,000 marks, greater than any other person in the country with exception to the king. Edward II mysteriously died while in custody at Berkeley Castle, giving rise to the infamous hot poker story (google it), when he could have equally been killed by strangulation or starvation. There is no evidence that Isabella herself ordered the execution; indeed she had sent her husband numerous gifts throughout the year, although this could very much have been a cruel ploy. However, with the birth of his own heir and his position strengthened, Edward III felt more sure of himself as a ruler, and became more discontent with the influence of Isabella and Mortimer. It was all too easy for him to gather support for a coup in 1330; his men snuck into Nottingham Castle through the caves in the dead of night, finding the dowager queen in bed with her lover. Rather humorously, Mortimer’s friend the Bishop of Lincoln, was caught trying to escape down the privy chute.

. Despite his mother’s protests, Edward had Mortimer hanged and placed her under house arrest for some time. Yet Edward still held the utmost respect for Isabella, freeing her a few years later and restoring her lands and income. For an unbelievable twenty-five or so years, the dowager queen lived on as a lady of luxury, travelling from estate to estate, enjoying music, fine clothes and many guests. Her children returned to her company, and she enjoyed a particularly close relationship with her youngest daughter Joan, their attachment deepening when the latter left her own unfaithful husband, the king of Scotland. She remained a very attentive grandmother, and her access to said children is evidence of Edward III’s trust in her, which also extended to a few negotiations with France. That does not strike me as the actions of someone who believed his mother every meant to harm his father, but how could we ever know?

. In her last years, Isabella developed a keen interest in religion, which was not unusual in such a god fearing society, and took on the habit of the Poor Clare Nuns. She was nursed on her deathbed by her beloved youngest daughter, before passing away in 1358 at the impressive age of around 63. She elected to be buried in her wedding gown, with the embalmed heart of her dead husband at her breast, and every year on the anniversary of her death, Edward would have her tomb dressed in finery. If Isabella did not truly love the man she deposed, why on earth would she make these requests in death, a time when she could have admitted any alternative true feelings? What a fascinating dynamic, and one that is certainly deserving of a proper screen adaptation.

. Isabella is an understandably polarising figure, with her actions often contradicting her feelings, and her story overly simplified in media presentation. Regardless of what your opinion is of her, she was undeniably a vital figure not only during her reign, but in the events of medieval history itself. For a girl to be married off at the age of twelve, and then to rise to the positions of rank she achieved is quite frankly astounding, not to mention the charm she must have possessed to maintain the affections of her family. We’ll probably never know how exactly her she-wolf mind worked, and perhaps she is all the more interesting for it.

By, Rowan Speakman

(All images sourced from Wikimedia Commons).

The Wrong Family – Tarryn Fisher (2020)

(SPOILER WARNING FOR: THE WRONG FAMILY)

. The Wrong Family is the epitome of a compelling domestic thriller, the genre which has been sweeping over our bookshelves like a storm in recent years. Flawed marriage, dark secrets, suburban setting, children caught in the mix. But there’s something different about this one, something deeper, grittier, with roots into a darker world rarely explored in such works. Set in the appropriate grey drizzle of Seattle, the Wrong Family zooms in on an unassuming suburban house, home to perfectionist former psychiatrist Winnie Crouch, her gruff husband Nigel and their son Samuel. Not only do Winnie and Nigel have some disturbing reasons behind their crumbling marriage, they also have a hidden guest within their walls; Juno, an elderly homeless woman looking for shelter from the weather and from her chronic pain. The novel follows Juno’s discovery of the possibility that the unhappy couple stole Samuel as a baby, and her obsession with the family which ultimately leads to tragedy. And it’s a cold, cruel and poignant exploration of privilege, motherhood and the dangers of interfering in other’s lives.

. We first meet Juno as she tiptoes around the Crouch’s house in the wake of an argument, scavenging food and reading materials. Naturally, when the couple make reference to the annex they have built with the intention of renting it out, we the readers assume that Juno is the resident of this, albeit one that loathes her landlords. But in reality, she is ‘frogging’, a term coined for those who take up residence in a house without its occupants ever knowing. A deeply eerie idea, which will have me checking my attic for a while yet. Naturally there is something highly detestable about Juno, not least of all her own self-righteous view of herself. She judges Winnie without any true knowledge of her circumstances, all the while stealing from her house and spying on her family. Sympathy for her blooms a little upon the realisation of her homelessness, her illness and her isolation. But this is quickly dismissed by the revelation of her backstory, which remains evidence that her character has not been altered by her change of circumstance. Juno was once a therapist herself in Albuquerque, with a family of her own. But without any large amount of shame, Juno admits that she began to stalk her patients, becoming personally involved in their issues, affairs and families. This peaks with a fling she had with one of said patients, who ironically came to her with his wife for couples therapy. Naturally, she is arrested for sexual misconduct and sent to prison. Her nerve to judge someone such as Winnie, whose own flaws I will arrive at presently, given her past, speaks volumes. Yet it is this lack of self awareness and ability to admit mistakes which marks her character not only as an all too realistic one, but one key to the themes of the story.

. The subject of Juno’s elderly judgment is neurotic, but lonely mother Winnie, living in the aftermath of some great mysterious crime she has committed. Her husband shuns her every affection, her every attempt at reconciliation, even as her teenage son naturally drifts away from her. Granted, Winnie is controlling and anal, but the lack of compassion exhibited towards her from the other characters sparked greater sympathies within me than Juno’s tale of woe. Winnie and Nigel come across as that archetypal, privileged, irritating suburban couple, even their fornames twinging a nerve of annoyance within. But within the context of their family and social circles, they are the most normal, especially when taking into account Winnie’s unstable alcoholic twin brother, Dakota, who sometimes lands himself on the Crouch’s sofa. Indeed, upon examining Winnie as a character, Juno’s loathing of her becomes increasingly curious, as the younger woman comes across as merely a watered down version of herself.

. On the night of one aformentioned argument, Juno overhears Nigel accusing his wife of stealing another woman’s child, inciting her frantic investigation into the truth behind this. Even as Juno torments Winnie with a search history full of missing child articles, and going through her belongings, she forms an attachment to her son, whom she often meets out in the park. Now, we are quite aware that Juno’s views on other people are those of an unreliable narrator. And she claims that she only wishes to get to the bottom of the situation for the sake of Samuel, as she views his parents as unworthy of him. However when one takes into account Juno’s self inflicted separation from her own sons, it appears that she merely wishes to continue mothering in some way, and to fill a void within herself. Yet she truly believes that she herself is in the right, and that she is helping the Crouch family in some brutal way, and that is what makes her such an excellent example of an unreliable narrator. 

. And the truth does, inevitably, come out; when Winnie was a therapist, she encountered Josalyn, a young homeless woman who fell pregnant, and called for her help whilst living in the grim conditions of a tent. But this baby was not, as Juno, assumed, Samuel. By the time Winnie gets home, the baby she took with the intention of helping, has died. And Nigel’s reaction of hitting and yelling at his distraught wife, tells the reader everything they need to know. The Wrong Family is undeniably a story of motherhood and privilege, and those two themes are woven together beautifully in this heartbreaking sequence of the book. It is a privilege to be a mother, to be a parent, and privileges can all too easily be abused or denied. Juno lost her two sons because of her own actions, whilst Josalyn’s circumstances never allowed her to have the chance of being a good mother. Winnie’s place in society allows her this chance, and she knows the value of this privilege all too well, through her many failed pregnancies and the undeniable trauma of watching a baby die in front of her. Winnie tries and tries again, not perfectly, but she tries, and her good intentions are only rewarded with a cold son, an unfaithful husband and a highly immoral woman who judges her without truly knowing her. Sadly, this is so often the case for the job of parenthood, which for many people, can be a thankless task. 

. The final act of the novel is the sort that really leaves you with your mouth open, and perfectly recreates in the reader a microcosm of the shock it inflicts upon the characters. During her investigations, Juno tracked down Josalyn’s mother, and invited her to come and collect who she assumed was her grandson. As Winnie argues with the intruder in the hallway, Nigel stumbles into the house, covered in blood. Behind him, is Winnie’s brother Dakota, who promptly shoots Nigel dead and ties up Winnie and Terry (Josalyn’s mother), as Juno listens from the cupboard. Warnings from his ex-wife about his dangerous mental state had fallen on the dead ears of Winnie’s belligerent family. And after Nigel and Winnie drew the line about his occupying their house, and he discovered Nigel’s affair, he came for revenge. And only now, does Juno realise her mistakes. She attacks Dakota, and their struggle takes them down into the crawl space beneath the house, where we are left wondering as to their fates, as Winnie wakes up in the hospital and is reunited with her son. 

. One day, the new occupant of the house smells something strange. He picks up a torch and climbs beneath the house, only to find the corpse of an elderly woman, and a garbage covered man, with a sign sticking from his back; I’m sorry. I was wrong. I just wanted to do the right thing. Shiver inducing stuff. And I shall leave you with that.

By, Rowan Speakman

To find out more about Tarryn Fisher and her books, click here.

To buy a copy of The Wrong Family, click here.

Why I Decided to Self Publish

So, I’m actually doing it. If you read my last post in the ‘My Writing Journey’ theme, or you’ve seen my social media, you’ll know that my debut novel, The Demon’s Dollhouse, is coming out through Amazon this July. And I have never been more excited and terrified about anything in my life, and I believe it is highly beneficial for writers to see others admitting that. To traditionally publish, or to self publish is probably the biggest and most divisive decision among those who wish to get their work out into the world. So I thought it would be fitting to honestly discuss why I felt it was the appropriate decision for me and my work, why it might be the same for you, or why it might not.

I would be lying if I said I went into the process of self publishing lightly, as I would be lying if I stated that I haven’t had many moments where my faith in my decision has wavered. But do not let these facts convince you that I regret my choice, or do not believe it was the right one for me. I have always struggled with having belief in myself and my own choices, and I remain very aware of the stark realities of being eighteen, inexperienced and publishing a book. Doubts are very normal, especially when it comes to something you care about. Listen to them, acknowledge them, and then push through them.

  1. It’s impressive, but it’s not for us. I started submitting The Demon’s Dollhouse to prospective literary agents from as early as last August, trying to strike the iron while hot so to speak, with the agents that had responded positively to my previous manuscript. Between August and December, I submitted to around a dozen agents. The word ‘rejection’, sounds very depressing, but with literary agents, there’s two different types of rejection letter; the first is the standard, pre written email that goes along the lines of, ‘Thank you for sending us your work, but unfortunately we don’t feel it’s quite right for us.’ They are easy to identify, and are logical practice for agencies which receive a high volume of submissions; you cannot expect busy people to respond to each manuscript personally. And then there’s the second kind of rejection letter, and it is easily identified by any specific reference to your work. I received a few emails that complimented by writing, my cover letter and my pitch, which I was sincerely grateful for, considering the time it takes to prepare a submission. But the general consensus was that my work couldn’t be placed in their listings, and didn’t fit what they were looking for. Now this could most likely be attributed to my lack of skill in identifying my genre and picking prospective agents, but by now, after a year of submitting various manuscripts to agents, I was honestly quite exhausted with the process. And for a long time during that year, I had genuinely believed that my work was of a poor standard, due to my age and inexperience. So perhaps those few encouraging words from professionals were enough to give me a little faith that my hard work was slowly but surely starting to pay off. And now, in hindsight, I am immensely grateful for each rejection, as every time I received one, I would go back to the manuscript, and polish it some more. I’d have months of thinking time, time to fix any plot holes, make sure the prose was consistent, fix those scenes which dragged down the standard of the book and to pin down concrete genres. It taught me that my novel was never really finished. But now, it’s of the highest standard that I am capable of before my editor can start work on it. In short, The Demon’s Dollhouse, self published, will be ten times superior to the alternate reality The Demon’s Dollhouse taken up by an agent sixth months ago. Because the rejections both encouraged me, and made me work even harder. They taught me just how badly I wanted this.
  2. My favourite child. I knew from a very early stage that this book was a special one for me. I vividly remember the very day I began writing it, what I did on that day, where I was sitting as I wrote the first page, and I remember the same for when I finally wrote THE END, at the bottom of my completed first draft. I just had a feeling, unlike any I’d ever experienced before. And it wasn’t an arrogant feeling, not that this book is going to be a bestseller, with a hit Netflix adaptation and a BBC interview etc. Just a feeling that this was the story I needed to tell. And it was the most challenging thing I’d ever attempted, but I knew that if I could push through, my writing would be bumped up to a whole new level. I was utterly driven when it came to The Demon’s Dollhouse, I just could not stop writing. And it stayed with me long after I finished writing, driving me back to the drawing board, to pushing it to be better and better. And when it occurred to me that there was a very high chance that I wasn’t going to find an agent for it, and I’d never hold it in my hands, it was an overwhelmingly depressing notion. I had wanted, needed, for a long time, the validation of obtaining an agent, of the work of publishing being taken on by professionals. But I had poured my heart, soul and mind into this book, and in the end I decided that having the personal gratification of holding it in my hand would be much more beneficial for me mentally.
  3. I don’t have to worry if the publisher will stick a tacky romance cover on it. Traditional publishing has all the benefits of your publishing plan being put into the hands of professionals, with better visibility and marketing almost guaranteed. But at the end of the day, you the author are basically selling the rights to your work. The publishing house chooses how the book is marketed, what its cover looks like, and may even request certain narrative alterations. And I had no problem with this to some extent; as I said, these people are professionals, and they won’t take on your book unless they feel it could be well received. That’s just business. But I sat and thought about the work I had put into this book, how important it was to me, and pro-active I tend to be when it comes to my work. It would most likely have driven me mad sitting and waiting for two years while my book launch was being organised by other people hundreds of miles away. And this by no means suggests that I would not have taken this opportunity had I been presented with it. But to gain the prestige of traditional publishing, I would have had to sacrifice the control I had over my own work and how it would be presented to the world. With self publishing, you have the power to make your book as good or as bad as you are capable of. You choose your editor, your designer, your formatting, your publishing service, your marketing plan. The buck stops with you, for better or for worse, but the only limit is how hard you are willing to work, and how smart you are with your money. You have the power over your story.
  4. I won’t be patted on the head too much, and that’s a good thing. Like a lot of writers, I tend to crave validation when it comes to my work. And that’s a very natural thing; this creation has lived in you for so long, and the thought of it falling it out into the cold cruel world and getting beaten up by the criticism thugs is terrifying. Now this is a fact; even if you are Stephen King or Liane Moriarty, there will be people who will hate your work, or worse, not even believe it worthy of hating. But when you have an agent and a publisher on board, there’s almost a guarantee of some success, some validation; why would they invest money and time into something that won’t turn profit? But with self publishing, you’re running purely on self belief, humility, and support from your loved ones. And why on earth, you say, is that a better alternative to a potential shed-load of praise? Because it strengthens your faith in yourself, and will develop you more as a person to put yourself out just as you are, and teach yourself to be okay with who you are, and what your work is. It may not be perfect, you may not be perfect, but if you adore it, if you’re proud of it, why is that not enough? It’s a great lesson to teach yourself, to be independent from the need for external validation and delusions of grandeur. As long as you believe in your work, and it is good enough for you, it’s worth it. Yes, we can all improve as writers, and constrictive criticism is important. But ultimately, life is too short to hide away what we are passionate about, even if it will never hit the bestsellers list. Not even to mention, self publishing is a new challenge. I have learnt so much more about the publishing world that I ever thought I would, and if you can navigate it, you have learnt an amazing new skill which you have right to be proud of.
  5. Pop that on the CV. The latter part of my previous point leads on quite nicely to my final one. The process of self publishing, if you want to do it to the best of your ability, is challenging, and a whole different ball game to the writing process. Even from your laptop in the era of COVID, you can gain experience of the publishing industry. You will learn about editing, formatting, cover design, professional emailing, marketing, time management, taxation, and you will have a platform and a book which future employers can access. Employers like people who work hard, are self reliant, have gone out of their way to gain experience and are willing to learn. I’m very interested to see how what I’ve learned will help in my Publishing course, and if I’ll meet any more budding authors. But regardless of whether or not you’re hoping for a career in the publishing industry, the attributes the venture of self publishing show, will stand in your stead.

Those are my reasons for why I felt that self publishing was the best option for me as a person, and for my book, and I hope they helped you when considering your decision. Traditional publishing remains an incredible achievement, with many perks and virtues that cannot be ignored. But don’t let anyone tell you that self publishing ‘isn’t for real authors’. You wrote a book, and you published it; that makes you an author, and anyone that doesn’t admire you and support you for that isn’t really a great asset to you. In short, do what is best for you, and what brings you happiness and fulfilment, even if it’s easier said than done.

At some point in the near future, I’ll be doing a series of blog posts discussing all the confusing little corners of the self publishing process, and taking on a new reading project where all the books I read and post about, will be self published ones. If you’re interested in hearing more about self publishing, follow my page or sign up to email notifications. 🙂

By, Rowan Speakman

(All images sourced from Unsplash.com).

Princess Margaret (1930 -2002)

Brought back into popular culture by the hit Netflix series, ‘The Crown’, the striking personality and passionate personal life of the Queen’s younger sister leave a marked impression on anyone who learns of her story. Destined to always play second, but bound by the confines of the monarchy, Princess Margaret’s life is one that embodies the conflict between traditional values and the freedoms of modernity. Margaret was a new kind of royal woman, one that refused to relinquish her individuality or to conceal her vices. And although frequently dubbed by the press as the antithesis of royal values of dignity and supplication, I see her very much as a figure who achieved the larger than life memorability intended for the royal family, but on her own terms and in keeping with her own lavish nature.

Princess Margaret Rose Windsor, affectionately dubbed Margot by her family, was born on August 21st at Glamis Castle, Scotland, as the second born daughter of the Duke and Duchess of York. She was the first royal to be born at her mother’s family seat in around three hundred years, and was originally intended to be christened Ann, but the name was not approved by King George V. The princess’ life was a peaceful and happy one, being fourth in line in the succession at the time. She was educated with her sister under her mother’s instruction, by her governess, taking an early interest in music and singing. Her mother was bemused by Queen Mary’s insistence that her daughters should be educated beyond traditionally feminine spheres, and Margaret was said to have later held this view against her. But the sisters themselves had a healthy affection and rivalry, with governess Marion Crawford commenting on how Elizabeth had a strong left hook, yet Margaret was a keen biter. Regardless of any punches and bites, the Yorks were viewed as the ideal familial image, yet this did not protect them from public speculation that Margaret was mute and deaf, the rumours not being dismissed until her first public appearance in 1934.

Margaret and Elizabeth’s lives were never to be the same again, when their uncle abdicated the throne in 1936 to marry American Wallis Simpson. Now, Margaret was second in line, and the family moved to Buckingham palace. She was no longer to be educated with her sister, and was thrust more greatly into the public eye. Whilst Elizabeth participated in many royal duties during the war, Margaret had greater freedoms, and was rumoured to be growing spoilt and demanding. Crawford would even request that she not be invited with Princess Elizabeth to birthday parties, as she would merely command all the attention in the room, and Elizabeth would simply allow it.

In 1947, seventeen year old Margaret took her first trip abroad with her family on a royal tour of South Africa. She was chaperoned by her father’s beloved equerry Peter Townsend, whom she had had an infatuation with from a young age. It is quite hard to believe that the king could have been unaware of this, what with Margaret’s flirtation’s extending to commanding Townsend to carry her upstairs when she was tired from a party. Yet Townsend was not yet cited by the press as a true potential suitor, what with his sixteen years seniority and regular presence in family photographs. Indeed Margaret is rumoured to have courted around thirty bachelors during her youth, yet it is important here to remember the nature of the media, and consider that many of these assumptions may have been made from something as simple as one conversation with the princess. However Margaret’s reputation as a party princess was undeniable, with her love of the arts and nightlife, and her socialisation with actors, writers and ballet dancers. She was also swiftly becoming a fashion icon, a fact which is equally undebatable. Yet Margaret remained fearful of her sister’s disapproval, suffering recurring nightmares of disappointing Elizabeth; this was most likely not helped by the media, who were keen to paint Elizabeth as the well behaved, royal princess, and Margaret as the disobedient, wild younger sister. However the reality of their relationship remained close, with Margaret having a direct line to Buckingham Palace throughout her sister’s reign.

Margaret took the illness and death of her father in 1952, very hard, having had a very close and loving relationship with the king. King George referred to Elizabeth as his pride, and Margaret as his joy. The princess was so aggrieved, that she required sedatives to sleep, and sought understandable comfort in the form of Peter Townsend, as it is strongly suspected that their romantic relationship really started around the king’s death. The nature of their relationship was made plain to the tabloids at Elizabeth’s coronation in 1953, when Margaret was spotted brushing lint off Townsend’s jacket, a year after his divorce from his wife. The match was immediately dubbed as extremely unsuitable, given Townsend’s status as a commoner, his age, and most notably, his status as a divorced man, which was frowned on greatly by the Church and by Parliament. The 1772 Royal Marriages Act ruled that, as she was under twenty-five and so close to the throne, Margaret needed the Queen’s official permission to marry the man she loved. Yet with the match being labelled a constitutional threat by the government, Elizabeth was forced to ask her sister to wait a few years, until she was of the age where the Queen did not have to reveal her public approval or disapproval of the match. In reality, both Elizabeth and her mother wished for Margaret’s happiness, with only Philip being truly averse to the Townsend’s. Townsend departed the country for two years, only allowed to communicate with his intended via phone and letter. And when their separation ended, the Queen and prime minister Anthony Eden presented Margaret with an impossible choice; to marry Townsend, she would have to forfeit her place in the succession and her royal allowance. Yet in the public eye, worldwide sympathy had whipped up for the couple, and on August 21st 1955, four times the amount of journalists which would later follow Princess Diana, flooded Balmoral in anticipation of an announcement. But despite their enduring feelings for one another, the strain and stresses of the media storm had proved too much for Margaret and Townsend along with the idea of the princess losing her place in the royal family. They penned the statement renouncing their relationship, together, and Townsend tragically commented years later; ‘She could have married me only if she had been prepared to give up everything – her position, her prestige, her privy purse. I simply hadn’t the weight, I knew it, to counterbalance all she would have lost.’

It has long been clear that the tragedies that would later unfold in Margaret’s life, started with the demise of her relationship with Peter Townsend, and the end of such an enduring relationship, must have no doubt taken a psychological toll on her. Yet publicly, Margaret remained strong in herself, and faithful to her duties as a royal and as a patron. She continued a life of great socialisation and luxury; her morning routine consisted of two hours in bed smoking, reading the papers and listening to the radio, followed by an hour long bath and a ‘pick me up’ drink of vodka before lunch. This is what we the youth often refer to as a ‘big mood’. Margaret’s vivacious personality could also flip to great snobbery and rudeness, swinging between frivolity and formality, especially in the eyes of the media. Yet her devotion and support for her sister were as strong as ever, and she was described by cousin Lady Elizabeth Shakerley, as a fiercely loyal friend. Another side of Margaret which is too often ignored, is the extent of her charity work; she was involved with over eighty charities, and was president of the NSPCC and of the Royal Ballet. Indeed, most of her charitable acts revolved around children and her love of ballet and the arts. The princess was also Commander in Chief of several military units, such as the 15th and 19th Royal Hussars. She received the Order of St. John of Jerusalem in 1956, and was awarded the Royal Victorian Chain in 1990, along with numerous other accolades of public service.

It was Margaret’s adventurous social life which led her to meet photographer Antony Armstrong-Jones at a dinner party in 1958. A few months later, Armstrong-Jones did a photoshoot of the princess, and the romance blossomed from there. The relationship was kept very secret, so the announcement of their engagement in 1960 was a great shock to the public, and many suspect the swiftness may have had something to do with Peter Townsend’s own engagement to a young Belgian woman, who bore remarkable resemblance to Margaret. Although there was naturally great dismay from some at Margaret settling down with a commoner, the royal family were very pleased with her choice, impressed by Armstrong-Jones’ manners, charm and respect for the Queen. The couple married on May 6th of the same year, in a spectacular ceremony that dwarfed even Elizabeth and Philip’s in 1947. It was the first royal wedding to be televised, to 300 million eager viewers, and featured 20 wedding cakes along with a 60 foot floral arch. Including the honeymoon, the whole affair cost around 86’000 pounds. The Queen lent her sister the Britannia for a honeymoon cruise, and gifted her a 20 room apartment in Kensington Palace as a marital home. Sometimes, it does pay to have one’s sister be the Queen of England.

The marriage was initially a very happy one, with both parties enjoying the company within various bohemian circles, and sharing an affectionate relationship full of fond banter. Their first child, David, was born the year after their wedding, followed by Sarah in 1964. Armstrong-Jones was created the first Earl of Snowdon in 1961, and continued to enjoy the royal family’s respect as well as an increasingly blossoming photography career. But towards the end of the decade, the couple began to drift apart, both participating in extra-marital affairs. For Armstrong-Jones, who was rumoured to be bisexual, they appeared to be mere flings, but Margaret seemed to lean on her lovers as a source of comfort. The most notable of these was her long term relationship with Roddy Llewellyn, a young landscaper, whom even the Queen admitted made her sister exceedingly happy. Margaret spent a great deal of time at her residence on Mustique, a property which she had ironically received as a wedding gift; there were rumours of much debauchery and drug use on the island, and the public regard for the princess continued to plummet. Yet the media had little consideration for Margaret’s clear unhappiness, and her increasingly fragile state of mind. Proof of her loneliness could not be more plain than on the occasion where Llewellyn left on an abrupt trip, and she overdosed on sleeping tablets. ‘All I wanted to do was sleep,” Margaret heartbreakingly commented, exhausted by the stresses of her increasingly transparent private life. Finally in 1976, her love affair with Llewellyn was officially exposed through the lenses of vulturous photographers; Margaret was branded by the media as a predatory older woman, and her public face was shattered. Two years later, she officially divorced Lord Snowdon, marking the first royal divorce since Henry VIII’s from Anne of Cleves in 1540. Although she was bitterly reprimanded by the public for destroying their image of the ideal, perfect royal family, the end of Margaret’s marriage paved the way for Prince Charles, Princess Anne and Prince Andrew, to take similar steps to leave an unhappy union.

The press continued to hone in on Margaret’s love life for some time, endlessly speculating about her possible relationships with the likes of Mick Jagger, Warren Beatty and gangster John Bindon. Whether there was any truth to these we shall never know, although again I’ll place a bet that the evidence that these claims were based upon was non substantial. As for Llewellyn, he married in 1981, with the princess remaining a close friend to himself and his new wife. However Margaret’s public charm and outstanding charity work soon began to repair her reputation, and with the arrival of Princess Diana in the family, the media gun soon switched its target. The next battle she would face was to be that with her increasingly faltering health. A life of heavy drinking and chain-smoking was catching up with the princess, and she underwent surgery for a possible bout of lung cancer in 1985, the fear being that she would suffer the same illness as her father. But the tumour proved to be benign, and soon the strokes afflicting Margaret were to be a greater issue. She spent the nineties in and out of hospital, contracting pneumonia in 1993. However, she was able to meet her old love, Peter Townsend, one last time in 1992, three years before his death. He was ‘exactly the same’, she remarked. Held in Royal Archives, their love letters will be released to the public in 2030, a hundred years after Margaret’s birth.

Princess Margaret’s last public appearances were in 2001, at her mother’s 101st birthday and her aunt’s 100th. On the morning of February 9th 2002, she passed away after suffering a fatal stroke at age 71. Her nephew, Prince Charles, paid tribute to his aunt in a television broadcast, and her funeral was held on the 50th anniversary of her father’s. At the princess’ request, the ceremony was a private one at St George’s church on the grounds of Windsor Castle.

The legacy of this vibrant woman is so much more than that of parties, drinking and love affairs. She was a person who dared to express her unique ideas and her passionate heart, both in a time when women were discouraged from doing so, and within an institution with principles based upon decorum and cooperation. Margaret’s charity work and vital contributions to royal publicity are evidence that a person can be devoted and dutiful, whilst remaining true to themselves. If only she had been given a happier life, and had the right partner by her side at the end of it. However I believe that the most beautiful relationship to take from her story, is that she shared with her sister, whom she supported through all the challenges of her reign, and who in return wished ultimately only for her happiness.

By, Rowan Speakman

10 Outrageous Stories About Princess Margaret – This is a great read!

(All images sourced from Wikimedia Commons).

Nine Perfect Strangers – Liane Moriarty (2018)

(SPOILER WARNING FOR: NINE PERFECT STRANGERS)

. Liane Moriarty is swiftly turning into a household name, as her bibliography of gripping Australian domestic thrillers and character driven dramas grows and grows. Her most famous novel, Big Little Lies, was adapted into a hit TV series starring Reese Witherspoon, and her other fanatastic titles such as Truly Madly Guilty and The Husbands’s Secret, remain bestsellers. But it is Moriarty’s latest book, that has stood out as my clear favourite. Nine Perfect Strangers follows the stay of nine charcaters of completely different natures and backgrounds, at Tranquilium House, a luxury spa retreat in the middle of nowhere which will supposedly turn their lives around. From the dark events which occur under the tryannical orders of Masha, the radical overseer of the guests, to the vividly unique atmopshere, to the sheer amount of time Moriarty imvests in quality characterisation, there’s something undoubtedly special about Nine Perfect Strangers. 

. The first of Masha’s victims we are introduced to is Frances, a thrice divorced, menopausal romance author, who has recently fallen victim to an online dating scam. Frances is a wonderful mixture of warmth, dry humour and enough messiness to make her deeply relatable and endearing. She’s a woman in her fifties who still swoons at love stories and has hormonal breakdowns whilst driving to a spa retreat, and I loved her all the more for it. But chiefly, Frances has a wonderful ability to view her fellow victims, lost to the desperate drive for self perfection, with a lense clear of judgement and full of the hope of friendship. She’s going to need all of that positively rather dearly.

. In the blistering heat outside the broken gate to Tranquilium House, Frances meets young couple Ben and Jessica, two unhappily married young lottery winners who are on completely different pages. Ben’s only great love is his car and a perpetual refusal to even attempt to understand his wife. Jessica is a plastic surgery addict, who clings to the belief that more surgery will return her husband’s affections to her. Her character is a poignant reminder that someone can appear the very idea of perfection externally, on social media and on first appearance, but feel utterly insecure and dejected behind closed doors. The other key group within the mix are Napoleon and Heather, a kindly but deeply traumatised couple who have brought their twenty-year-old daughter Zoe to Tranquilium house for a break, and to try and heal as a family from the suicide of Zoe’s twin, Zach. Whilst Napoleon appears to hold up perfectly, poor Heather frets constantly about her daughter’s mental state. Zoe is an understandably anxiety-ridden, cynical girl whom Frances feels a certain protective quality towards. 

. The remaining three guests are Lars, a handsome, arrogant lawyer, Tony, a retired sportsman and Carmel, a struggling single mother whose husband left her for a younger woman. And together, this odd-ball selection of troubled individuals are confined to the supposedly idyllic retreat for ten days, with only three members of staff for company. If the sheer enforced isolation of this doesn’t raise your eyebrows, what comes next surely will. 

. Tranquilium House is a place that enforces the life of what many of us in the modern world consider to be the ‘perfect person’. No mobile phones are permitted, no alcohol, an initial vow of silence is implemented, along with daily meditation and plenty of varied exercise. Some of the guests undergo physical therapy, some marriage counselling like Ben and Jessica, and some such as Frances, focus on their dietary issues. Exercise, cutting off screen time, therapy, clean diets; this is the lifestyle plastered all over Instagram, all over celebrity’s stories from a position of judgmental privelege. It’s the perfect, healthy mentality to life that a lot of us feel societal shame for not having. And taking care of onself is by no means anything that should be disocuraged, but in Nine Perfect Strangers, Moriarty provides an elaborate metaphor for the radical attitudes towards ideas of attaining perfection that often pervades the wellness industry. This is where the character of Masha comes in. 

. Masha is worshipped as some sort of goddess at Tranquilium House, boasting the perfect body and wellness orientated attitudes. Once a slick, overworked Sydney businesswoman, a heart attack transformed Masha into a health living nut case. And when her radicalism and her charismatic nature were put together, she became a formidable force within the industry, even managing to coerce Yao, the paramedic who treated her, into becoming one of her cronies. As seen through the eyes of her nine new victims, Masha is painted with a satirical brush, as she sits with her legs folded speaking of spiritual transformation, and the character’s reactions to her remain appropriately hilarious. 

. And then comes the climax of the novel, in which Masha locks her ‘guests’ in the basement of Tranquilium house, starving them and giving them MDMA to stimulate their minds, along with various ‘teambuilding’, ‘life changing’ activities. It’s a simultaneously twisted and highly humourous sequence, and it truly showcases Moriarty’s skill as a writer and as a master of character interaction. It takes an undeniable linguistic craft to set around half a book within the walls of one room, and still keep the reader highly engaged. If you’re a character driven writer, it’s an absolute dream to throw nine messed up people into a room together, watch their dignity be stripped back to its bones and see what happens. There’s bonding, there’s hostility, there’s heartbreaking MDMA trips that are a product of deep grief, and there’s shedloads of character development. Being locked up in a basement by a madwoman and being given drugs is bound to change a person, and Moriarty shows this perfectly. I believe it was this sequence that earned the book some criticism for overly focusing on characterisation. But I struggle to see how else a novel set in a wellness retreat could be effective.

. A fire is the trigger for the character’s escape from Tranqilium, and Moriarty appropriately depicts their fates after leaving the place, as is fitting for a book dealing with the theme of self-betterment. Napoleon, Heather and Zoe return home, Napoleon finally confronting his son’s death through clinical therapy, and discussing the trauma directly with his wife. Jessica reveals to Ben that she is not pregnant, as she claimed to be for a while in the basement, and the two prepare for an amicable divorce. Carmel returns home rejuvinated mentally and physically, and Lars finally comes around to the idea of having a child with his partner. Frances begins to take better care of herself, kindling a romance with Tony, and eventually marrying him with all the ridiculous beauty of an old romantic’s wedding. All of the character’s confront or discard whatever was holding them back in life, or gain something to bring them greater wellness. It prompts the uneasy question as to whether or not Masha’s madness and polarising methods actually worked. Was it her radicalism, or the manner in which her victims bonded together which healed them? Perhaps the greatest takeaway here is that health and happiness can be achieved, not by self punishment and rigorous lifestyless cleanliness, but by an honest examination of the components of one’s life. 

. Nine Perfect Strangers is being adapted into a Hulu minseries to be released this year, with a stellar cast including Nicole Kidman as Masha, Melissa McCarthy as Frances, Luke Evans as Lars and Samara Weaving as Jessica. Remind me to invest in a Hulu account, and to try and refrain from divulging everything to my family as I watch. 

By, Rowan Speakman 

To learn more about Liane Moriarty and her books, click here.

To buy a copy of Nine Perfect Strangers, click here.

The Demon’s Dollhouse Announcement!!!

I am beyond excited to announce that my debut novel, ‘The Demon’s Dollhouse’, will be released through Amazon in July 2021, and will be available in both eBook and paperback format!

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It has been my dream to publish a book for as long as I can remember, and I can’t believe that I will soon be able to share my work with the world. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once. This has been a long time in the making, and I am so proud of the novel, the characters and all the work I have put in from the very first notes, all the way to the beginning of the self publishing process!

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The Demon’s Dollhouse is a historical romance/psychological fiction novel set in the 1930s, following the dark developments in the lives of two young lovers, as they grow from haunted adolescents to cunning criminal masterminds:

I made reference to what I didn’t know at the time was to be my debut novel, in my post ‘My Writing Journey’, in which Demon’s was coded as the ‘summer manuscript’. In the post, I outlined how much this particular work means to me as a writer, so I am thrilled that The Demon’s Dollhouse will be my debut novel, and that I get to document the process here.

Once the book is out, I will be doing a series on self publishing, answering all those niggling questions about the process, detailing my experiences and explaining why I felt it was the right route for me. Thank you so much to everyone who has read and liked all of my blog posts; any interest, no matter how small, means so much, and I hope you’ll stick around for what’s to come!

The Demon’s Dollhouse will be available in paperback and as an eBook through Amazon Publishing on July 1st.

Follow me over on instagram at @rowan_writes_, or like my Facebook page, Rowan Speakman Books, to later get a weekly teaser extract from the novel, and to stay updated for news, the cover reveal and more!

Rowan Speakman x