I’m changing things up a bit over here. If you’re a regular subscriber, you’ll find a few posts under the archive tab that I haven’t emailed out. They’re largely my thoughts on writing and life, plus lots of info on how I manage to write four books a year.
Last week, I went to London by train. And picked up Covid… Yippee - thanks for that! After a full-on, hot and sticky day jammed with appointments, I arrived at Victoria Station at rush hour. Glancing up at the departure boards, my heart sank when I saw that my train was delayed. Ten minutes later, the train was cancelled. No reason was given. No idea whether later trains would also be cancelled. I had to make a quick decision. Hang fire for another thirty minutes or an hour or several hours, along with the ever-enlarging crowds, or get on any train that would take me vaguely in the direction of home. I chose the latter.
I hopped on a train just before it was due to leave, squeezed along the narrow aisles with hundreds of people in front and behind me. It was standing room only, and standing room packed in like sardines. It got me thinking about two things. In the seats near where I was standing, there were three children. One was a toddler sprawled across the seat; another boy under the age of ten, and a girl, perhaps eleven or twelve. When I was a kid, it was expected that we should give up our seats to those more senior than us. Toddlers were put onto their mother’s knees to free up adjacent places. Yet no one looked up; no one suggested that perhaps the older lady standing halfway down the carriage may be of greater need of a seat than the toddler. When I was in pain (prior to my current magic pills), I had little compunction about asking for a seat. But it was difficult and awkward because my metal femur is invisible and who the heck cares that my leg goes into horrendous spasms? I’m one of the unseen, unknowing, less abled. Frankly, today, no one gives a toss about anyone other than themselves. Maybe it’s the Covid fog that’s imbuing my thoughts with negativity, but that’s the tragic lesson we’re teaching our children. Only care about yourself. There was a minuscule glimmer of hope though when later in the week the British press shared an article about how we should teach empathy in schools. Hooray to that, I say!
If you’re not in the UK, this might surprise you. If you are a Brit, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. The other thing that struck me was how fragile some of our trains are. I was standing right next to the little concertina section that attaches one carriage to the next. The fabric and some of the metal was broken on an accordion fold and I could see the daylight through it. Fortunately, it also blew in some much-needed air. But as we hurtled bumpily along, that fabric seemed just too precarious to be holding hundreds of people. In some respects we’re living in a nanny state (think the new 20 miles an hour speed limits in towns) but in other regards we’re totally cavalier to safety. Broken trains. Minor country roads that have 60 miles per hour speed limits when they’re a heck of a lot more dangerous than dual carriageways, and recourse for locals to get speed restrictions imposed. (Speaking from experience here.)
So what has all of this got to do with writing? It’s the little things that bring our stories to life. The innate selfishness of people (or am I being overly cynical?); the little cracks in the train’s wall that might let you see a flash of something perhaps you shouldn’t have seen; the cavalier attitude to safety that could result in something catastrophic happening. Or what about the things that are out of our control? How would our characters react to those? Do they stick to the speed limits or make their own judgements, or perhaps they ignore rules altogether?
I try to put my characters in my everyday experiences. How would they react? Because although I’m creating my characters, they are not me. And increasingly, the more books I write, the less like me they become. For that, I’m relieved!
Quite a few of my psychological thrillers include trips to London, however What She Knew and The Concierge are actually set in the capital. A total coincidence that they both ended up with blue and yellow covers!
Now to the less controversial section of today’s musings! My mini book reviews:
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📚Meet The Parents by Emily Shiner
Meet The Parents has all the elements of a great domestic thriller – truly horrible characters, a love story and a claustrophobic feeling that keeps you tearing through the pages. Revenge and a mother’s obsessive love, lies at the heart of this book and all the characters had their own horrible motives. Although we’re meant to be rooting for Gina, even the main protagonist is a deeply complicated, flawed and rather unpleasant heroine. I raced through this book as I love Emily’s style of writing. The ending wasn’t my favourite due to the unbelievability, but all in all I really enjoyed this thriller.
📚Just The Nicest Family by Alison James
I listened to this as an audiobook and loved it. Tim and Louise Cutler with their two kids, seem to be the perfect family. And when they go to stay in a luxury villa in the South of France courtesy of the woman who is buying Tim’s veterinary practice, what on earth can go wrong? There is plenty of tension, unlikeable characters and flashbacks to the awful thing that Tim did twenty years ago that has overshadowed his life ever since. Of course, Tim isn’t the only one who is lying. This is a quick, extremely enjoyable read.
📚The Widow’s Husband’s Secret Lie by Freida McFadden
This is a very short, satirical novel by the queen of psychological thrillers. It’s not her best book, but then she didn’t write it to be her best book – it’s crammed full of laughs and cliches and general taking the micky out of thriller books, yet still with all the traditional tropes. Don’t go into this thinking you’re going to be reading a normal psychological thriller but if you’re wanting a light-hearted very quick read, then this is for you.
📚The Commuter by Emma Curtis (pub date 10 October)
Emma Curtis’s books are an auto buy for me. This story follows Rachel who is married to Anthony, a much older man, who has a narcissistic, unpleasant daughter. Rachel forms an instant attraction with a fellow commuter, but then awakens in a hospital bed, unsure what has happened. And then she's told that her husband is dead. This is a twisty domestic thriller. I thoroughly enjoyed the first two-thirds of the novel, but with so many plot turns, I became a little confused towards the end. Nevertheless, this is a great read and the writing is superb.
📚Here One Minute by Alex Stone (pub date 24 October)
This is an excellent book about a dysfunctional family, full of twists and with a great premise. It starts off with a bang, featuring Anna, a fifteen-year-old girl who goes missing at Manchester airport. Shortly afterwards, her younger half-brother, Oakley, also disappears. And so begins the roller coaster hunt for the truth which weaves back through time and the complex family dynamics. There are plenty of unpleasant characters in this novel and although as a seasoned thriller reader, I worked out who ‘did’ it, that didn’t detract from my enjoyment of the book. Thoroughly recommend.
📚Beautiful Ugly by Alice Fenney (pub date 30 January 2025)
Beautiful Ugly is an exquisitely written mind twisting novel about bestselling author Grady Green whose wife has disappeared. Set on the remote Scottish Island of Amberley, the novel explores grief, identity, and marriage plus the lies we tell ourselves and others. The setting provides a fabulously claustrophobic and creepy backdrop to a story where nothing is quite what it seems. This is an excellent book and I raced through it.
I’m super behind on deadlines and trying to quell that bubble of panic that grows in my throat. But one thing that helps keep me calm is my knitting. This week I gave away three bin liners full of leftover yarn to a newly established local crochet group. I felt a mixture of sadness, regret and relief because some of those skeins I’ve had for years. But mainly I’m happy that new crafters will be able to enjoy them. Anyway, thanks to Covid and being bedridden, I’ve made good progress on the sweater I’m knitting for my daughter’s birthday. She gets one every year! This is actually a repeat of a pattern I’ve already knitted her twice, but it’s in a new colour way. Here’s the pic.
I hope the summer has been sweet to you. Sending best wishes from my sick bed!
Miranda x