Exquisite Sounds

Carcassonne – The End

Thurs. 27/9. Our day of departure. We weren’t due to fly out of Toulouse until late that night. After a lie in, and discovering we could leave our luggage in the casa until the afternoon, we wandered back across the footbridge to the Citadel. The slope was easier to handle than the steep steps, and it was good to find ourselves back in familiar surroundings as we emerged from the Porte d’Aude into the square bordered by the Hotel de la Cite and the Basilique Saint-Nazaire.

artworkI wanted to buy some postcards, and there were convenient public toilets nearby. The Theatre was closed, so we entered the Basilique and sat at the back of the empty church. Four Russian singers, dressed in sombre black, were performing, unsmilingly, against the background of the stained glass windows. Exquisite sound filled the building. A prayerful chant – the Kyrie Eleison – followed by Ave Maria solo in falsetto voce which made my spine tingle. We stayed to meditate for a few minutes, then emerged into the bright sunlight for a walk anti-clockwise round the little city. Cobbled streets, many eating places, intriguing touristy gift shops. The French are versatile in the variety of their trinkets. I restrained myself. I was here for the experience, not for the shopping. But I did buy a couple of keyrings for my daughter back home.

We passed by the two ancient wells and in no time were at the Porte Narbonnaise. We sidestepped the queues of tourists waiting to enter the Chateau and the inner ramparts; we’d been there for our wine-tasting.  We bought ice-creams at a highly recommended shop and sat on a low wall facing the Basilique, savouring our cornets. A gathering of people were trooping into the church so we followed, taking front pews this time. Carrie-Ann delved into her bag for her mobile, and she gasped. Her purse with the mobile was not there. She spilled the contents of the bag over the pew between us. Nothing.

“I must have left it on the wall; maybe someone picked it up and gave it in at a nearby shop.”

“You go and look for it,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye on your bag.”

The quartetThe gigantic stained-glass windows rose above me. The Russian quartet gathered in the front pew opposite. The church was almost full. Carrie-Ann had not returned. The man took their stand in a stolid line facing the congregation. Carrie-Ann came back, a broad grin on her face.

“You found it?”

She nodded. “Someone had handed it in to the nearby shop.”

“Thank God!”

Heavenly voices chanted in Latin and once more the Ave Maria filled the building. The men retired to the pews after a short appeal to the audience to buy their CD. I watched them. Not even when the tourists bought CDs, did they smile. We stayed on for ten minutes to listen again, this time to different pieces.

Not a quiver of emotion passed over their faces.

“They must be quite bored doing this all day, every day, every ten minutes – or maybe they’re immersed in the spirit of their performance…?”

We were hungry.

“Let’s give that pizza restaurant a chance,” I said. “The one which turned us away on Tuesday.”

We felt we belonged, as we easily found the place and ordered a pizza to share between us. The waiter was lethargic, and when it came to issueing the bill, he seemed reluctant. The pizza did not rise to the standard of Katy’s one in the Bastide the day before. Neither of us felt like tipping him.

It was time to go down the hill again, collect our luggage and trundle it to the station. On the way out of the Port d’Aude we saw the little train-shuttle crawling at snail’s pace down the rough pathway. I’d thought of taking it earlier, to save my weary legs, but was glad we’d decided to walk instead.

I needed to post my cards to the family, so Carrie-Ann used her mobile to guide me expertly to the post office. But the battery gave up as we headed towards the train station. She knew the way, she said, and I followed her blindly as we tramped an extra mile round three sides of a square…

Oh well – we caught an earlier train than planned and were in good time to take the shuttle to Toulouse airport. A seasoned traveller now, I checked my case into the handsfree bag drop, no problem, and we had a smooth flight home.

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“Diverse” Settings For Two Reasons

A warm welcome to my long-standing friend, Roland Clarke. We have much in common, and if you share a love of horses with us, you’re in for a treat! You can read my review of Roland’s Spiral of Hooves on the Amazon UK link below.

I must begin by thanking Jane for having me on her blog – or maybe I invited myself like an imposing friend.

7120_102388529776541_4135091_nSetting plays a key role in not only my writing as I met Jane wearing a different hat. Back in 2005, I was co-organiser of Borde Hill Horse Trials held at my family home which I’ve always felt was the right setting for horse events. Jane was part of our amazing team as one of the experienced dressage judges. Most eventing shows that I ever attended as a professional equestrian journalist and photographer were in glorious locations – the pinnacle being Badminton.

Nobody was surprised then when my debut novel, Spiral of Hooves used many of these locations, including Borde Hill and Badminton, for its mystery set against the eventing world I knew. There is a draft sequel written, set in France and the USA, that adds endurance events to the line-up – and Idaho where I now live is central.

SnowdonHowever, my writing focus is back where my wife and I lived last – Snowdonia. My mind and heart are there now. There will be some horses, although outnumbered by the sheep that are everywhere in North Wales.

Snowdon Shadows is a police procedural series that roams over much of the picturesque scenery that draws so many tourists to North Wales, from the mountains of Snowdonia to the beaches along the Llyn Peninsula.

What would have been Book 1, Fates Maelstrom was originally set on Dartmoor – until my wife and I moved to Harlech with its castle, and a view from our house of Snowdon. It didn’t take me long to create Craig-y-Niwl, a fictional village in the heart of Snowdonia, inspired by the villages we encountered as we explored the area.

Sadly, due to health and other factors, we left Wales in 2016 so my wife’s family in Boise, Idaho could help us. But that Snowdon view is above my desk and my characters need me back in Wales. Their interaction with settings beyond Craig-y-Niwl add texture and, sometimes, motivation. I have scenes on beaches, in castle ruins, pubs and restaurants that demand realistic details.

Some places I remember, but I always do additional research online using a variety of searches like Google Maps which I find opens other sources. For instance, for a short story that will be part of Fevered – the new Book 1- I used some standing stones at Porthmadog that we used to drive past. Using Google Maps, I could revisit the scene with views from the road and within the circle.

Sometimes, Google Maps will give landmarks with website links, although more often it’s more a case of doing a search on a place name. Yes, I admit that Wikipedia is often a starting point, but it can be a gateway. Photos have proved invaluable and allow me to visit parts of North Wales that I missed, and ideas occur that I can apply to my settings.

Confession: I never reached the top of Snowdon even though it is wheelchair accessible.

However, The Village below Snowdon in our view was one of our first destinations. To date, Portmeirion hasn’t featured in my series but that could be rectified. ‘Almost like a world on its own.’

When it comes to finding the right words to create a sense of setting, I strive to sketch enough details to create pictures in a reader’s head, and if the reader knows the place then I aim to evoke their memories. Whether that works remains to be seen when the first book emerges from Snowdon’s shadow.

Oh. I used the word ‘diverse’ for two reasons. First, the locations themselves are varied. Second, my series tackles ‘diversity’ issues. Is it wrong to make my MC a queer detective? It doesn’t change how she reacts to her surroundings – to that glorious Snowdonia vista.

To learn more about me visit:  

My website: https://rolandclarke.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rolandclarkewriter/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/rrclarke53

Spiral of Hooves is available at Amazon including USAUK


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New Book Release – Jane Bwye – “Going It Alone: A Beginner’s Guide To Starting Your Own Business” (Non-Fiction)

It’s people like David who make the world go round…. thank you for “having me”!

toofulltowrite (I've started so I'll finish)

Hey there friends, it’s Author Interview time again.

I interviewed Jane Bwye a while back about her exciting Romance novels set in Africa and she has now come to back to us regarding a new Non-Fiction book that she has just published that is sure to take the business world by storm.

Before we cover that though, here is the link to our original Author Interview, where you can find out more about her African Historical Romance novels.

Author Interview – Jane Bwye – “Breath of Africa”, “Grass Shoots” & “I Lift Up My Eyes” (Historical Fiction/Romance)

And now let’s get chatting to Jane about her new business book and how her useful advice could help you with your business ventures.

Thanks for reading and as always have a good time 🙂

Hi there Jane, a sincere pleasure to have you back here with us again to chat about your…

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Slow Burners and Book Reviews

It is now November, so I trust you’ll forgive me for talking about Christmas – which reminds me: my good publishers’ SALE is in full swing, and if you’re quick, you’ll catch my two remaining books for £ / $ .99.


There’s a host of quality books on their list, especially if you like cosy crime, romance, or historical fiction.

As a taster, here’s a link to the reviews I have written on Amazon. Many of them are Crooked Cat books.

My award-nominated best-seller, Breath of Africa is now out of print. Grass Shoots, the standalone sequel is burning slowly, and its fuel – in the form of reviews – has all-but stagnated. Going It Alone has barely left the starting stalls…

If you can find time to leave a review, that would be fantastic.



If you sign up for my occasional Newsletter on MY WEBSITE

I will send you a FREE e-copy of BREATH OF AFRICA!


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A Spirit of Place!

I’ve at last managed to chase John Jackson down! It’s a privilege having him join me today, and learning more about the bogs of Ireland. Over to you, John – I thoroughly enjoyed your book (here’s my review of Heart of Stone), and I too, was brought up on Georgette Heyer!


For me, writing historical novels based on facts and on, as much as possible, a known series of events, correlating the words on the page to the location is vital.

In Heart of Stone, the action takes place principally in Ireland, in the area aroundbook
Mullingar in County Westmeath, and in Dublin. If you look at a map of Ireland, County Westmeath is pretty well slap bang in the middle. It is a mixture of rich agricultural land and peat bog. Peat has been the fuel of Ireland for many centuries. Each household and farm would have access to the bog, and they would cut, stack, dry, turn (or “rickle”) their peat and then bring it in to be stacked near the dwelling. These days, there is still some cutting of peat, but its use as a power station fuel has stopped. Its agricultural use is also much reduced.

However, you can’t set a whole book in a peat bog! Heart of Stone is, for the most part, concerned with houses; Gaulstown, the old family home of the Rochforts, and now vanished, Belfield, the home of Arthur Rochfort, also vanished, Rochfort House, now a ruin and renamed Tuddenham House, and, principally, the manor of Belvedere. Fortunately for me, Belvedere House is still very much there, as is its famous Wall. They are national monuments and open to the public, and well worth a visit. I had the privilege of giving an Authors Talk and a signing actually AT Belvedere.

Anti-clockwise from the left: Belvedere Manor,  The “Jealous Wall”, and Tuddenham House, now a ruin. 

When I wrote Heart of Stone, I completed the first draft using existing photos and old maps, etc. This was fine, but I knew I HAD to visit the place to get that “sense of place”; to make sure that what I had written was reasonable and feasible. Even such trivial matters as the height of the hedges in the roads – can you see over them on foot? (No, not really, but you can from the back of a horse!) I also wanted to absorb and breath in a real part of the atmosphere of the whole area.

I also felt I needed to get a feel for distance. How far were the houses from one another? How long would it take a pony and trap to drive from Gaulstown into Mullingar?

The names of Gaulstown and Belfield are maintained as the names of the old farms, now sold and redeveloped. In Gaulstown you can still see the remains of the avenues of trees that radiated from the front of the house.

It’s not just maps and ruins though. So much depends on your feelings when you shut out extraneous noises. What can you small? What crops are they growing locally? Imagine there is no modern machinery. What would you still be able to hear?

My next book, tentatively titled Strange bedfellows, is mostly set in London, in the area of Stanhope Gate, Clarges street and May Fair! By 1770, the streets of London were set with cobbles, and – wonder of wonders, the main streets had pavements!

John Jackson

After a lifetime at sea and in ship management, I am now retired and living in York.

An avid genealogist, I found a rich vein of ancestors going back many generations. My forebears included Irish peers, country parsons, and both naval and military men. They opened up Canada and Australia and fought at Waterloo. My late mother’s maiden name was DUMARESQ, which is a Jersey name. It is so unusual, it makes it easy to find. It is through my mother that my family go back to Robert Rochford and Mary Molesworth.

I also have a Hare great grandmother, from Listowel, and a Jackson great grandfather, again on my mother’s side, from Clonmel, who became a railway contractor and worked on the Chester – Holyhead railway. He had 5000 navvies working for him at one time.

A chance meeting with some authors, now increasingly successful in the world of romantic fiction, both historical and contemporary, have led me to turn my efforts to setting down some amazing stories. I am a keen member of the Romantic Novelists Association and part of their New Writers Scheme. I am also a member of the Historic Novel Association and an enthusiastic conference-goer for both organizations.

I was brought up on Georgette Heyer from an early age, and, like many of my age devoured Robert Louis Stevenson, Jane Austen, R M Ballantyne, and the like.

Modern favorite authors include Bernard Cornwell, Liz Fenwick, Simon Scarrow, Carol McGrath, Lindsey Davis and Kate Mosse.

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The view from a country churchyard

Amen to this.

Jim Webster


A funeral is a formal occasion rich with symbolism. Dark clad people stand solemnly, and as they leave you’ll notice that some of the faces are tear-streaked. Yet there is such a thing as a ‘good funeral’ where the stories are told and you catch up with people you haven’t seen for a decade or more.

And then there’s the ‘crem.’ We’re an overpopulated little island and there isn’t the seven feet of ground available for most of us, so the Crematorium is involved. Some people cut out the middle man and have the funeral there. Some do both, the crem service being after the funeral and reserved for immediate family and the closest friends.

Finally, the last part of the process, we have the disposal of ashes. Some people scatter them. Given the amount of heavy metals etc involved there are actually rules about it, but I’ll let that…

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Churches, a Museum and More Food

fountainCarcassonne. Wed. 26th September 2018. Most of the authors have left by now, and I enjoy a leisurely morning writing my diary while Carrie-Ann works on the edits of her new book. The hours speed by and it is time to meet Steph and Laurence for our final lunch under the shadow of the Fountain of Neptune. Miriam and Katy complete our table of six – the final remnant.

last lunchI am hungry and my chosen dish, smoked salmon ravioli looks meagre, but it satisfies me adequately, followed by a delicious apple tart and cream. I am proud I’ve resisted the rich profiteroles on the menu. We say our goodbyes.

It has been a memorable few days. I’ve got to know my publishers much better as people this time. The experience has been warm and friendly as well as fruitful and satisfying.

Carrie-Ann and I amble down the narrow streets towards the Aude river and spend an hour or so admiring some huge impressive works in the Museum of Fine Art. My favourite is a small depiction of a traveller; it could be St. Peter with rheumy eyes and thick-veined hands. A masterpiece.

start of the viaWe tarry for ten minutes in the Chapel of Notre Dame de la Sante, thankfully devoid of tourists. We savour the tranquillity of the place with its ribbed vaulted ceiling. It marks the start of the Pyrenean foothills path leading towards St. Jean Pied de Port, on the way to Santiago de Compostella.

We find a path along the river to the footbridge across to the medieval city and rest at a wooden trestle table before retracing our steps, sidestepping a potential dog fight between three animals and their owners, shouting French obscenities at each other.

We wander along now familiar streets back to the Rue Arago, stopping awhile to listen to a deafening recital of organ music in the impressive interior of St. Michael Cathedral with its enormous stained-glass window. The instant we enter the door to enjoy the lovely stained glass window and rest awhile in the peace of contemplation, we are surrounded by the deafening sound of an organ. Somebody must be practising. Once my ears become attuned to the din, which pervades my very being, I surrender to the sounds. We don’t wait to the end, and outside is blessedly peaceful.

I don’t feel like going out again for supper, but Carrie-Ann is a night owl, and has taken the key to the casa. She’s been out a couple of hours now. I’ve devoured the chocolate left by our landlady, eaten a  banana and had two cups of jasmine tea.

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Four Species in Perfect Harmony

I can’t remember how or when I found Jim Webster. The dry humour of his regular blogs makes my day every Monday, when I catch up with fellow authors. He has great insight to how animals behave, in a human sort-of way, and I hope you will appreciate this little rambling.
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It’s when you deal with dogs, cattle, and sheep at the same time that you
realise that, to be honest, they’re not all singing from the same hymn
To give an example, because of the grass situation we had a couple of dairy
heifers in the same field as a lot of sheep. The heifers needed some
supplementary feed, but at that stage of the year, the sheep didn’t. So I
had to go into the field, accompanied by Sal our Border Collie, and feed the
cattle but not the sheep.
Now you might wonder how easy this was to do. If I walk through the sheep
accompanied by Sal, the sheep gather in a group some distance away and watch
me with hawk-like intensity. This they’re quite happy to do until I leave
the field and then they get back on with their own lives.
But then on one occasion, one of the sheep noticed I was carrying a red
plastic bucket. These red buckets are what I use to carry feed in. Suddenly
that sheep in the huddle suddenly bleated and set off towards me. Within
seconds the rest of them started bleating and in spite of Sal being there, I
was swamped by the mob.
Yet, if I carry an empty red plastic bucket over one shoulder, it obviously
isn’t a bucket and the sheep leave me alone.
With the two dairy heifers, they tend to ignore overt signals such as
buckets and the like. If I appear, they immediately converge on me and check
me out. To them, I am the source of food, not the bucket. The bucket is
merely the thing I sometimes carry food in. Thus to the cattle, it is my
presence that produces the reaction.
So to feed cattle but not the sheep I merely have to walk through the field
with the bucket held in my hand opposite the mob of sheep. The two cattle
will join me, and the sheep will ignore me because they don’t see a bucket.
Provided I can feed the cattle somewhere where the sheep don’t see them
eating, I can get away with it.
On another occasion we have a batch of fattening lambs being fed in some
troughs. We had to move the troughs out of the first field into the second,
and hide them behind a hedge, because some cattle in a field adjacent to the
first field would see me and climb over the hedge to get to the feed.
If I put the troughs where the cattle couldn’t see them, then they lost
interest. Me just looking at sheep wasn’t interesting enough to climb over a
hedge for. But unfortunately the sheep in the first field who could see the
troughs, would stand there by the fence between the two fields, bleating at
the troughs, rather than following me round through the gate.
I would then have to send Sal to collect them, because otherwise they’d just
stand there bleating until their smarter mates had finished and had wandered
off to do something more interesting.
Sal on the other hand tends to regard the two dairy heifers as potential
playmates. She doesn’t attempt to herd them, but just frolics around them
and sniffs their noses. She also leaves them to get on with eating because
she doesn’t want to be casually buffeted out of the way by a heifer’s nose
that is bigger than she is.
But with the sheep she’ll move up to a trough I’ve put feed in, and the
sheep will quietly evacuate it, heading for the next trough. Sal will then
pinch a few pieces of the cake before running back to join me.
Me? I’m Jim Webster, farmer, writer and whatever. I’ve done a couple of
collections of blog posts about farming, dogs, quadbikes, sheep and life.
One of my books is
I also write fantasy with four paperbacks out there. (they’re available as ebooks as well but for some weird reason Amazon has cut their paperback price down to their kindle price.) So the paperbacks are worth checking out in case Amazon is still doing strange things with pricing. One of them is
I’ve also got a lot of fantasy novellas as well, which are all ebooks, but you perhaps ought to wander across to my Amazon page to take a look
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We Had so Much to Say

We got up early for a slog up the steep steps to the Porte d’Aude of the medieval city of Carcassonne. But I made it. At The Hotel de la Cite, we prepared for our day’s conference. It went so fast. We had so much to say and ask of each other, and items had to be scrapped from the agenda to keep to time.

Seventeen of us getting to know each other, learning interesting titbits about the publishing trade, discussing case studies. Then some serious stuff, bringing us up to date on the fast-moving writing world, and analysing how the best-selling CATS did it. A quick run-through of social media tips and techniques, and then it was lunch time.

lunch in the hotel
serving lunchAn epicurean meal, delicious, meticulously catering to individual tastes and needs. Beautifully presented by smiling waiters, always ready to pose for photos, and take a few against the spectacular backdrop of the castle battlements.


The two hours flew by before we trooped back to the conference room to discuss developing and working together as writers.


There was no time for tea, but we went out to the terrace for a final photo at 5pm, against the striking artwork of the battlements.

from the Hotel balcony We trooped down the hill in the dark to our various hotels and abodes, me trusting in Carrie-Ann and her mobile to pick our way through the darkened streets to the Casa del Teisseire.

A quick shower and a change, then off to the Bistro d’Augustin near the station to meet up again for supper with a diminished number of CATS. I made an unfortunate menu choice – ordering fisherman’s soup, stupidly thinking it would be bouillabaisse. A large bowl of deep brown liquid was put before me. I was hungry and mopped up several mouthfuls with French bread. But the taste wasn’t particularly pleasant and I wondered what fish, or parts of fish were included in the mess. I didn’t finish it. But made up for my mistake by tucking into a giant portion of rum baba dessert.

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A Shed-load of Scenery

Having just returned from a memorable few days in France, I now understand why so many people love this country.  Angela Wren and I met there “in the flesh” for the first time, and I’m delighted to introduce her to you. She makes me want to return tomorrow, and I will re-read her books with a new light in my eyes.


Hi Jane, and thanks very much for inviting me back onto your blog.  I’ll try not to bore your regular readers with my enthusiasm for France!

I’m not ashamed to say that I’m a lover of France.  Have been since I was teenager.  I’ve been spending time there for almost as long and I still find the country fascinating and I never seem to stop learning new things about the history and the culture.  But there’s also the geography that is varied – from the flat marshy plains of the Vendée bordering the Bay of Biscay to the vast and spectacular gorges of the Tarn, Dordogne and Verdon along with the uplands of the Grands Causses of the Massif Central and the vastness of the Alps and Pyrénées.  At 6 times the size of GB, there’s a shed-load of scenery to look at!


Road to Lango

Today, I want to take you to one of my favourite places, the Cévennes, an upland area in south central France.  Look at a modern map of France and you’ll see the Cévennes is now defined as a national park that covers parts of 4 départements – Ardèche, Gard, Hérault, and Lozère.  It spreads south and west below the route nationale RN88, a major thoroughfare that crosses this upland area from Lyon heading southwest.  It’s an area I’ve visited many times and there’s a wild ruggedness and a silence there I can’t seem to find anywhere else.

When I visit, I like to be in a tiny village that sits just north of the national park in col de la Pierre Plantée (planted rock).  So called because of that vast grey rocks strewn across the open pasture areas as though they are growing out of the landscape.  Apparently they warrant the technical term of ‘glacial erratics’, having been deposited millions of year ago as the ice sheets retreated.

At an altitude of 1263 metres (that’s 4,144 feet above sea-level), it’s a bit like living close to the summit of Ben Nevis (4,413 ft), but with better weather in summer.  Come here in June and the pastures are pear-green, the pines are inky-green in colour with the pale yellow pollen from the cones drifting on the gentle breeze.  The leaves of the chestnut trees are the same lush shade of green as shamrock, and, amidst the green expanse sit clumps of sunshine yellow genêt (botanical name Genista) almost competing for a right to grow amongst the planted rocks.  When it’s 28° in the centre of Mende (préfecture for Lozère) it’s a balmy 22°/23° up on the col. 

Having said that, the weather can be extreme and it can change in a moment.  When I was there a couple of years ago, it last snowed on May 31st.  In July and August the weather can be hot and dry and the grass turns a straw yellow under the baking sun.  In September the balmy breeze returns but so can the rain, bringing with it vast storms and floods.  I remember watching the sky in 1992 as it raged above the col, the colours moving from white to yellow, pink, and then green as a storm devastated the whole area and forced a national emergency to be declared. 


Col du Rieutor in snow

That year it was rain, but sometimes it can be snow if the wind is coming from the right direction – as it was overnight on September 27th in 2007.  I woke up the next morning to a silent and white mountainous landscape and, after taking in the view, my thoughts turned to murder and how easy it would be to use snow in a place like the Cévennes to cover someone’s misdeeds.

So, I can honestly say that, I never made a single conscious or deliberate decision to locate my books in France. It, genuinely, just happened.

CoverArtA clear-cut case?

A re-examination of a closed police case brings investigator, Jacques Forêt, up against an old adversary. After the murder of a key witness, Jacques finds himself, and his team, being pursued.

When a vital piece of evidence throws a completely different light on Jacques’ case, his adversary becomes more aggressive, and Investigating Magistrate Pelletier threatens to sequester all of Jacques papers and shut down the investigation.

Can Jacques find all the answers before Pelletier steps in?


AEWBlackWhiteAmazon : AngelaWren

Website : www.angelawren.co.uk

Blog : www.jamesetmoi.blogspot.com

Facebook : Angela Wren

Goodreads : Angela Wren

Contact an author : Angela Wren




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