Author Archives: Denise Barnes

Two paintings – enough to inspire my debut novel

ORSOVA_383Hanging on the wall in my writing cabin are two old hand-painted prints, about 2 feet across, in their original black japanned frames. My grandparents bought them as souvenirs when they were on board the R.M.S.Orsova, a ship carrying the mail and twelve hundred sea-faring passengers and crew. The young engaged couple were bound for Australia. The year was 1913. One image is of the ship in stormy seas, the other in calm.

Since a child I’ve always loved these two pictures. When our parents would take us to visit Nana and Pop in their little terraced cottage in later years, my sister would fly through the front parlour to find them, but I would always hover in front of the two ship pictures, staring at them, imagining the people on board and wondering where they were going. It was only when I was about ten that Pop told me he and Nana had sailed on that ship all the way to Australia, and I would beg them for stories about the voyage and what happened when they got there. They eventually came home with two-year-old Harold (who was to become my father), after seven years because Nana pined for her sisters. At least that was what they told me at the time. The truth was very different. If only I’d written it all down, as I only remember bits and pieces of their lives in Melbourne.

MigrantsBut the pictures were enough to give me the idea and inspiration to write my first novel, using my grandparents’ decision to emigrate to Australia as a trigger point for my heroine, Annie. But almost everything in Annie’s Story is fictitious and does not follow my grandparents’ story. I don’t want Nana and Pop performing somersaults in their grave thinking the readers will get the wrong idea!

It was a moment of connection when Tracy Chevalier gave a talk at a Persephone lunch one day on her best-selling Girl with a Pearl Earring. Apparently Tracy had Vermeer’s print on her bedroom wall since she was nineteen, and one day she wondered what story lay behind the girl in the painting.

I believe that behind every novel lurks a real-life snippet that inspires the author to get that story written down. In fact, if authors made a point of telling their audience what inspired them to write their novel, I am sure some fascinating stories would emerge.

Inspiration, then doing it.

inspirationI’m talking about inspiration. Who or what inspired you to write your first novel? What was the moment when you knew you could do it and would do it? When you suddenly gained the confidence to tackle something so mammoth? When your life and family and job, even if one or more of those areas was in disharmony, still pointed the way that ‘this was the hour’ to make that decision and actually begin?

I’d wanted to write ‘a book’ since I was nine. By ‘book’ I meant fiction, such as the kind of adventures my idol, Enid Blyton, wrote about. I began by writing a serial and was the only pupil to have it pinned up on the class notice-board. I remember even to this day the thrill of seeing my story on display, and a group of children clustered round, avidly reading it. Then demanding to know when they would be able to read the next episode. Oh, the stress, even for a nine-year-old!

Adult life rolled along, and my writing consisted of dozens of short stories and articles and letters, together with some editing of a couple of charity magazines. But I was no nearer to my dream of writing a novel. And if I thought about it, I was beset with fear that I wasn’t clever enough.

But the dream kept nudging me. So I decided to go on a writing course. The only possibility in Tunbridge Wells at the time (ten years ago) was one morning a week at a script-writing course put on by the Adult Education Centre. I was disappointed it was script writing. ‘You’ll learn just as much, if not more, about novel writing on that one,’ said Richard, my published friend. So I took his advice. We started with a class of about 15 with Malcolm Davidson, our tutor. He had a wonderful wry sense of humour so I wasn’t surprised he had been on the US team writing the great American sit-com, The Golden Girls. He was an excellent teacher but even so, our class dwindled rapidly to a half a dozen.

At the end of the year I had a one-to-one with him and told him my secret dream of writing a novel. He asked me if I had An Idea. I told him I had two pictures of a ship called the Orsova hanging in my sitting room, which my grandparents had bought when they sailed to Australia in 1913, thinking they were going to emigrate. I told him I didn’t know many details of their journey or their seven-year time spent in Melbourne, but had enough of my own ideas to completely fictionalise it. Then I said I wanted to intersperse it with a present-day heroine who follows in her grandparents’ footsteps.

‘That’s a parallel timeline,’ he said.

‘Do you think I’m being too ambitious for a first novel?’ I asked.

‘No,’ was his answer. ‘If you get stuck on one story you can turn to the other. And I can see you’re excited by the idea, so that’s the one to go with. You can do it.’

So I did.

Christmas chats and cheers

Terri, Tessa, DB_sepiaTerri, one of the girls from our small (but select!) writing group invited the other member, Tessa, and me to her Christmas party. Terri lives in an Edwardian mansion in Royal Tunbridge Wells which she and her husband have practically had gutted, to get both the exterior and the interior looking as handsome as the day it was built. Actually, more so, with its mod cons and Terri’s decorating flair.

Terri came to the door looking ravishing in a shiny black-sequined dress with plunging decolletage, showing off her curves to perfection. ‘You’re last,’ she said, as she took my coat and stood while I changed into party shoes. ‘We’re waiting for you so we can eat.’

I looked at my watch. Getting on for eight-thirty. ‘I thought it would just be a drink and nibbles and wouldn’t matter when I arrived.’

‘No, no, it’s a sit-down, so we can have proper conversation.’ She looked at me quite sternly. ‘You haven’t eaten, have you?’

Thank goodness, I hadn’t. Unless you count half a small avocado and a bit of cheese and cracker. She led me into the kitchen where catering-sized casseroles were bubbling away with something which smelt really good and spicy. ‘Vegetable curry,’ Terri answered my unspoken question. I licked my lips in anticipation.

With a glass of Harrods’ champagne in my hand I wandered through the house, as ex-estate agents can’t help doing. Everywhere was decorated just like you see in the ‘country living’ magazines: candles flickered over a Merry Christmas banner as you stepped into the cavernous reception hall; swags of greenery floated across the mantelpieces of several fireplaces and followed the curved banister to the first floor, and a ceiling-sweeping tree stood in the library, dressed in golden birds and white baubles, and a thousand glittering lights. The two candlelit dining tables beckoned me to grab my tray, choose my food, and sit down and relax amongst convivial guests.

Inevitably, Tessa and I sat next to each other and talked about our writing. She’s a published romantic novelist and professional editor, so she always has updated news of what’s going on in the publishing world. Soon some of the other women at the table were drawn into the conversation. Then one of the husbands, an Aussie, had quite an in-depth discussion with us about the difference between men’s and women’s reading matter, and the reasons why. Apparently, men like to cut to the chase in a perfectly logical and linear way (natch!), and women emote over relationships and go off at tangents, thereby affecting their choice of books. Strangely enough, he didn’t come across as chauvinistic, but was telling it as he saw it and was keen to hear whether we agreed. I was surprised he was so interested in the subject, but we later learned his father was a published poet, and he’d even written a few himself. He certainly came out with some ideas and opinions which are sure to find their way into the personalities of my future male characters, especially the alpha heroes!

It was good to know the other non-writing guests were interested in the process and impressed with all the work involved, both during and after the book is finished. They weren’t aware that the writing is one of the easiest bits of the process. The hard work, I explained, is when you think you’re finished. That’s when it’s just about to start.

‘May I top your glass up with more bubbly?’ Terri’s husband asked me, and did so without waiting for a reply. Now that’s what I call a real alpha hero!

Brief Encounters with London taxi drivers

taxi_bigbenTaxi drivers are a pretty diverse lot. Most of them enjoy a friendly chat. Some of them are really interesting with the added bonus of having a wry sense of humour, and I often learn useful snippets of information. But some drivers can be quite morose.

I use London taxis frequently and always make an effort to make some contact with each one. If they look sulky or uninterested in me and where I’m going, it becomes a challenge to change their mood. Take last week. I gave the driver a big smile as I asked him to take me to Mayfair and he just nodded. As I stepped into the taxi I said a cheerful ‘Good morning’, and didn’t even receive a reply. So I added, ‘Now what’s made you so grumpy today, when the sun’s shining?’

Yes, I know I take the risk that I will receive a short sharp retort but it’s a risk worth taking. This taxi driver immediately gave me a wide grin and said, ‘Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to be.’ We proceeded to have a stimulating talk about setting the world to rights – often their favourite subject.

When they ask me what I do and I say I’m a writer they are almost always impressed. One said, ‘I had one of you romantic writers in the back of my cab the other week.’ I asked who it was. ‘Katie Fforde,’ came the unexpected reply. ‘I know her,’ I said, delighted. ‘She’s lovely. And a best-selling writer, too.’ He was very pleased he’d met someone so famous!

I always ask very politely if I may leave one of my bookmarks on the back seat. (You never know who might climb in after you’ve vacated.) This would be awkward if I’d remained silent until I got to my destination. But by now we’re old friends and without fail they say, ‘’Course you can, love.’ If I haven’t already told them what it’s about they usually ask me, and have occasionally ended up buying a book there and then. (Every published writer should carry a copy of her latest book at all times.) If I really like them and they seem genuinely interested, I give them a book instead of a tip. By the time I’ve done the honours and signed, there’s a good chance I’ve missed my train. But I’m not grumbling.

At the moment I’m promoting Seller Beware: How Not To Sell Your Business, which is probably more appropriate than handing them a romantic novel, as taxi drivers still tend to be male. But this is what happened the other day when the driver dropped me off at Charing Cross station.

‘May I leave a bookmark of a book I wrote which was recently published?’ I asked.

‘Not this one, is it?’ he swung round in his seat and held up my Seller Beware bookmark. I was astounded. ‘Out of all the 22,000 cabs in London,’ he parodied in a dreadful Bogey accent, ‘you have to ride in the back of mine.’

We burst out laughing.

‘I’ve given away about 30 Seller Beware bookmarks to London taxi drivers in the last year,’ I said, ‘so what are the chances of that happening?’

He drove off, still chuckling.

I love these brief encounters. Now all I have to do is make sure I get a smut in my eye before I step into the next taxi and hope the driver’s got a clean hankie, ready to whisk it out! Who knows where that might lead me!

How to get back in gear (If only I knew!)

IMG_3871I’ve been rewriting and editing my three (rather long) novels which make up my trilogy: The Voyagers, for many months now. I actually thoroughly enjoy this process, as it’s usually easier to correct something than to create something, but it does spoil you for not having to worry about new characters and plots, and writing fresh scenes.

Yesterday, I looked at a brief outline of a possible novel I jotted down several months ago. It gave me about a third of a story and I have no idea of how the sub plot would work, nor any idea of the ending. And I truly don’t remember the working title I gave it. When did that happen? Do other writers look at their work and wonder how the words got there?

I haven’t looked at this outline for months but when I read it I thought maybe – it was just possible – that it had legs. But here I am today, having done a massive clear out of my office (it needs one more session for me to get really exuberant) and any burst of creative story-telling energy has left me sitting here thinking, ‘Am I excited enough by this story to spend a year or so on it?’

The answer is, ‘I think I could be if I just started writing the damn thing.’ Well, I do have a first sentence, but the style is more rom-com than mystery saga, which is what I always seem to be drawn to. Shall I risk a change of genre and see whether it might develop into a rom-com after all? Or change that first, rather good, sentence?

Answers, please, on a postcard!

What’s in a pseudonym?

agatha_archaeoI’ve been fascinated with pseudonyms even before becoming a writer. Why would anyone change their name unless it was really awful, like D’eath or Ramsbottom, for instance? None of us would probably be too happy with either of those, though I do know of the D’eaths and the Ramsbottoms, and they are both really nice families.

Well, as a writer there is often a strong reason for having a pen name. It could be because you write in different genres and don’t want to confuse your different readerships. I was intrigued to read Agatha Christie’s pseudonym when she sometimes broke away from her famous detective stories to write about flawed introverted heroines and heroes. She wrote under the name of Mary Westmacott and apparently loved this genre. Strangely enough, I’ve never read one of her detective novels (though I loved her autobiography, Come, tell me how you live: an archaeological memoir), but I’ve read all six of her psychological novels and thoroughly enjoyed them.

It could be because you’ve written some steamy sex scenes, or even erotica, and you don’t want your mum to know.

Or you might want to change your real name because it has never sounded like an author.I write fiction and non-fiction so have a good case to choose a pen-name, particularly as I think Denise Barnes sounds rather businesslike, though it was perfect for my two published non-fiction memoirs, from Bad to Wurst: Bavarian adventures of a veggie cook and Seller Beware: How Not To Sell Your Business. I just don’t think it has the right feel for my trilogy, which is a romantic family saga. So I’ve chosen to be known as Fenella Forster.

I didn’t pluck the name out of thin air. It happens to be the name of my grandfather whom I never met, and who might not have had any idea that he had a daughter (my mother), let alone that I existed. I will never be able to find any of his side of the family because I have no details about him, except my grandmother thought him the kindest man in the world, but at least I’ve acknowledged him by ‘borrowing’ his name as the author of my novels.

Trouble is, what do I sign the novel as – Fenella or Denise?

I would love to hear from other writers who have a pseudonym and why they chose it.

Being a poor judge of character could leave you in ruins!

Denise_questioningHow good are you at judging character? Most people think they’re pretty good. I thought I was. How wrong can you be? I’d gone on first impressions instead of looking behind the person, their body language, what they didn’t say. It’s important to make an accurate judgment in our daily lives as we interact with people by making new friends, employing new staff hoping they live up to their CVs working with our colleagues, and buying products and services. Weighing up people is crucial when you come to sell your business. If you choose the wrong buyer it can have a devastating effect on the rest of your life.

Den photo2_sm
You may be fantastic at running your business, having built up a successful enterprise that is in good shape, and are now ready to find the right buyer with the right offer. Before you go any further, STOP! You need to read my own nightmare journey when I came to put my chain of estate agents on to the market. Yes, I went through all the right channels such as putting my precious baby with a business agent, and using a well-respected firm of solicitors, but if you read my true story in Seller Beware: How Not To Sell Your Business, you’ll see this is not enough, and that even the professionals can let you down big time. And this is before you have a prospective buyer sitting in front of you.

businessmen
That’s where your antennae must be at their most alert. The prospective buyer can tell you anything from exaggerating their experience in the area you work in, misleading you by their financial standing, to relating a full pack of exquisite lies. I was duped by all of these. So was my original solicitor, and even the bank manager who financed them.

Seller Beware

 

You can read the whole miserable story (interspersed with plenty of humour) of how I was left in financial ruin, not to mention a reputation shot to pieces. There’s a practical checklist at the end of each chapter warning you what to do and what not to do in Seller Beware: How Not To Sell Your Business.

I would also love to know if anyone reading this blog has been conned in a way that has actually affected their lives. Please share it with me. Somehow it helps to know I’m not alone!

 

Seller Beware: How Not To Sell Your Business is currently on special offer £5.00 plus post and packing. Offer includes signed copy and special bookmark.
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/offer-listing/1849545367/ref=dp_olp_new?ie=UTF8&condition=new
For all other countries, please leave a contact email in the comments and we will send you a tailored price quotation.

What others have said…
“…well written and eminently readable. I’d recommend it to any businessperson who is embarking on any significant action in which they have no prior experience.” http://www.amazon.co.uk/review/R29F97GY29XZRC/ref=cm_cr_pr_perm?ie=UTF8&ASIN=1849545367

“It is not very often that EAT raves about a book – but this one really is a page-turning must-have for estate agents.”
http://old.estateagenttoday.co.uk/news_features/My-real-life-nightmare-an-estate-agent-tells-her-story

“If you own your own business you should definitely read this book before even thinking of selling it.”
http://www.wearethecity.com/new-book-release-seller-beware-one-womans-road-to-ruin-by-denise-barnes/

 

The Marrakech Express

marrakech trainPeople’s jaws drop when I tell them my sister and I have just been to Morocco and back by rail. ‘I didn’t think it was possible,’ several people said, so I had to explain there’s an hour’s ferry trip involved when you cross over to Gibraltar. But it was so much more fun than hanging around an airport for hours, with all the queues for security searches, not to mention being trapped in an aeroplane with inferior food and breathing in the same stale air. By rail means you simply board the train, open the window to let in some fresh air, and start travelling. And because every train ran on time there were no delays.

We were a group of 28 on The Marrakech Express booked through Great Rail Journeys. Irene (flowery t-shirt on left-hand side below), our bubbly German tour manager, kept us all under control (being mostly of the older generation we sometimes became a bit unruly), looked after our welfare, sorted out any problems, and shared hilarious anecdotes of previous trips. She was a hoot. We came off the train every night, staying between one and three nights in Biarritz, Seville, Rabat, Marrakech, Fez, Granada and Barcelona.
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For practically the whole way the scenery was stunning: mountains, fields of swaying wheat, barley and corn, grazing cows, goats and sheep, and extensive forests. When we arrived in Morocco it wasn’t red and barren as we expected, but green and lush. If we’d flown we’d never have enjoyed the changing countryside as we travelled from Europe to Africa.

Being a writer I made lots of notes of the trip and our mini adventures, as my next heroine might well go to Morocco by train. But she’ll have to tell me what happens when she meets a gorgeous Moroccan on board, as unfortunately I didn’t have that experience! It will have to be a case of ‘write what you don’t know!’

The (Paddy) Power of Networking

Ian Dale and Denise Barnes

Me with Ian Dale

An exciting invitation recently came through – well, I’d like to say the post, in a gilt-edged envelope – but of course that probably only happens if the Queen has invited one. Anyway, it popped into my Inbox, and was from my publisher, Iain Dale of Biteback Publishing. He founded the Paddy Power Political Book Awards last year (before I was published) and so being a Biteback author, though not political, I was invited to attend.

What a fantastic evening! The awards were held at the British Film Institute IMAX just below Waterloo Bridge. The taxi couldn’t take me right to the door, so I stumbled along in highish heels down the walkway under the bridge and over the pedestrian road and through the glazed doors of the cinema. I was warmly welcomed with a glass of (proper) champagne and directed up to a very large room where hundreds of people had already gathered.

Suzanne

Suzanne Sangster, Biteback PR

The noise level almost knocked me backwards. At first, I couldn’t make out anyone. People were standing practically shoulder to shoulder, and everyone seemed to know everyone. I walked round the room three times trying to spot my host, Iain, but although he usually stands out, being very tall, I couldn’t see him or any other Biteback members of staff.

I noticed a pretty blonde girl standing at the edge of the room with her drink and went up to her. We got chatting, and guess what? She was a writer from my favourite magazine, The Lady. She’s taken my card and is hopeful that my book Seller Beware: How Not To Sell Your Business might tie in with an appropriate feature coming out soon.

440px-Widdebookclub_(cropped)MaryBeardI hobnobbed with Ann Widdecombe and Mary Beard which was very exciting, and then my editor introduced me to an agent who’s read the first three chapters of my novel and has asked for the full manuscript. She was absolutely charming. I’d love her to represent me. We had a really nice chat, though she’s not yet got round to reading the rest of my novel, what with the London Book Fair looming. She’s promised to do so as soon as she can, but at least I’ve met her in person – always a Very Good Thing.

Michael-DobbsThe awards, in several categories, were very exciting, and one of my favourite authors, Michael Dobbs, won the political fiction book of the year. We had a chat afterwards and I reminded him that he’d given a talk at my club, the University Women’s Club, and he’d signed his latest book at the time for me. He was very pleased when I told him I’ve had a book published since then. I gave him a bookmark which has the same blurb on the back as the actual book, and was thrilled when he read it, then put in his pocket. Another customer?

Two minutes later a gorgeous-looking woman came and chatted to me. She led me to the bar where delicious bowls of food were set out, and as we were tucking in I found out she is a journalist, presenter and interviewer. She was fascinated with my story when I sold my estate agency business to the wrong buyers. She kept introducing me to minor politicians (at least, I’d never heard of them) and telling them about me. I wanted to giggle as their eyes glazed over. Most politicians are not one scrap interested in business, but that didn’t deter her. She said I should be on Woman’s Hour and all sorts of business programmes, and she’s going to try to do something to get me some publicity, and suggested we keep in touch. I shall, don’t worry! When I got home and went on to her website I nearly fainted. She’s a real high flyer, and very much respected in the news world, both nationally and internationally.

champagne‘More champagne, madam?’ asked the waiter. ‘Oh, yes, please!’

Oh, I nearly forgot. I came away with a goody bag containing two of the shortlisted books, a tiny bottle of gin, and a pair of bright rainbow coloured shoelaces from Paddy Power himself!

All right, maybe nothing will come of any of all this, but it was certainly fun meeting such an interesting and diverse group of people, and you never know…

Giving’s the word on World Book Night

WBNWBN copyI’m flattered and delighted to be told by World Book Night that I have been chosen as one of the givers on 23rdApril.

Last year I did this for the first time. It was exciting picking up the box of books from Tunbridge Wells library. The one I’d chosen was JoJo Moyes: Me Before You. I’d read it only because JoJo had given a talk at the Romantic Novelists’ Association (RNA). It wouldn’t normally be a book I would’ve picked up, but her talk was so fascinating I decided to buy it. What an amazing story. I couldn’t help admiring the author for tackling such a difficult subject and producing a novel that is not at all depressing – in fact, quite the opposite. (Hope I’ve whetted your curiosity and you rush straight out to get it!)

Because I enjoyed reading something ‘different’ I wanted to pass this particular title on to other people. Me Before You is not a thick book so I felt it wouldn’t be too daunting for those who may not have read a book in a long time, or who never read, full stop. Wheeling my trolleyload of books through my village on World Book Night (it didn’t have to be night so I plumped for the afternoon), I met both strangers and people I knew.

One or two refused point-blank to accept a book but most people’s imaginations were caught as they’d not heard of World Book Night. Young, harassed-looking mothers gripping their toddlers’ hands and pushing prams with dangling shopping bags told me they never had time to read, but that the book looked interesting and they promised to make a special effort. The funniest encounter was two grinning builders who came down from their scaffolding and grabbed a copy each.

I offered one to my postman who shook his head in wonder as he popped the book under his arm and turned back down my drive. Two days later a relief postman knocked on my door.
‘I just want to thank you for the book,’ he said.
‘What book?’ I was puzzled.
‘The one you gave my colleague. He doesn’t read. He’s passed it on to me. I usually only read the newspaper but I’m really looking forward to reading a book for a change. This one looks intriguing.’

And that, I believe, is what World Book Night is all about.