Valentine Romance

In the Western world we pepper the year with days of special significance.

Valentine's Day ushers in moods of rejoicing and hope, when, briefly, people can forget our political, global and personal woes, and remember the joys of love and friendship.

When I moved from New Zealand to Australia in 1986, I found myself in the company of a group who dressed up and recreated medieval times. Romance and courtly behavior were high on their agenda. As well as the feasting and jousting, roses and verses were normal courtship aids. How impressed I was!

I am happy to tell you I found my own romance here, and have never left this magnificent country.
I wrote the first draft of VALENTINE MASQUERADE a long time ago. Recently I found the old manuscript. I was about to burn it, but started reading and became engrossed in the story. After a rewrite, it was accepted by Sweet Cravings Publishers in America.

I have been a writer for several decades, but only lately have I turned to writing romance, including all the ups and downs of understanding and loving another human being. My dogs also feature in each book, bringing their own special kind of love to each story.

As a special gift to you for Valentine's Day, my publisher has reduced the ebook price of VALENTINE MASQUERADE to only 99 cents on their website.

I hope you will grab a copy and share the journey of my lovers and the beautiful dog on the cover.

Available now until February 14th:  http://store.sweetcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=206

Who's your pin-up? I vote for Cary Grant

I’ve been enjoying a Cary Grant feast.

Born Archie Leach, he had a chequered childhood. His mother was placed in a mental home for depression (it happened in those days) and he was expelled from his high school. His career began in vaudeville, where he learned such skills as stilt walking, acrobatics, juggling and mime.

     Cary Grant hit Hollywood in 1931, and went on to be voted the most popular male film star of all time. He was incredibly versatile. He played in comedies, dramas, naval epics, romances, drama and suspense. Even the grumpy Alfred Hitchcock loved him.

     His life apart from acting had many highs and lows. He married five times, producing only one child, a daughter who was as infatuated with her father as the rest of the female population. Cary also attracted men, leading to suggestions he was bi-sexual.

     His interest in yoga, hypnotism and mysticism suggest that his inner life was a struggle. In seeking to come to terms with himself, he used LSD, then a legal compound one of his wives introduced him to. He claimed it was effective.

     He was a hard worker, and suffered the cerebral haemorrhage that caused his death when he was preparing to go on stage with his one man show in America. He was 82. One cannot help thinking he was lucky, enduring only a few hours before dying, and working right to the end of his long life.

     Cary Grant left us a gift in his legacy of films. Old, many in black and white, with none of the frills and million dollar effects of today, his movies entertain and grip. He wasn’t using stand-ins when he did his back flips in Holiday, or sang, whistled and danced his way to stardom. At the same time, a lost era of fashion, hairstyles, décor and transport remind us how things were back in the 30s and 40s.

     Even fashions in male pin-ups have changed. Today’s sexy male is admired for his pecs, abs and buns. But for me, the brooding good looks of Cary Grant, fully dressed, take my vote.

     Do you ever wonder how your books might be viewed by posterity?  Our work reflects the norms of this century and decade. There are no computers or cell phones in Cary’s movies, and the cars are collectors’ items, if they are still around. In the future, what will be happening to values, to how we dress and eat, how we get around? What technology will be available?

      I wonder!

Homage to a Master Storyteller.

As troops assemble in the name of peace, a timely reminder of war's reality is offered to us by the Australian novelist, Tom Keneally. His portrait of the Great War as it affected those who fought and particularly those who nursed the wounded, is an unforgettable experience.
     Here is my review of 'The Daughters of Mars'.
    

Homage to a Master Storyteller., August 29, 2014 By Margaret Sutherland    This review is from: The Daughters Of Mars (Kindle Edition) There are already 226 reviews of this book so what makes me want to write another? It is rare to find a book I regard with wholehearted admiration. What did I admire? Everything. The scope of the story, the writing, the research, the compassion, the acceptance of life in all its conflict. This is just a big, marvellous novel. I feel I have lived through the First World War. I am a nurse, and I can imagine the challenge of going from a country hospital in Australia to work in the field of bloodshed, amputation and agony. Sometimes it seems kinder to let the injured die, except that nurses and doctors may not make such decisions. The Durance sisters have experienced one parallel before they go overseas. Their mother, dying of cancer, moves Sally Durance to consider euthanasia, using morphine. Her sister, Naomi, seems to pre-emp her sister, taking the burden of the decision on her shoulders. Working through a misunderstanding brings the sisters close, as does the near-drowning they share when their troop ship is torpedoed. Gas attacks, pneumonia, gangrene, blindness, shell shock, syphilis...it's not a pretty world, and the comforts are uncertain. Sally has 'a soul destined for belief' while Naomi is 'disappointed with the deity.' There are days of compensation; a day in Paris, viewing the Louvre and Notre Dame 'from whose tower she could see the hatted heads of men in the open-topped pissoirs, capable without embarrassment of lifting their hats to passing ladies.' There is room for brief romance and the hope of future marriage, but all emotions exist against a random backdrop. Nothing is secure and death can strike the most unlikely victims. Yet how much can people care about the fate of others? Life still goes on. Farmers and their wives plough and plant, indifferent to the nearby field of crosses. Time can be found for a Sunday game of cricket. Naomi, always philosophical, decides that 'life was so ridiculous...that it must be accepted and worshipped as it came.' Some reviews remark on the odd ending of the book. It is an odd ending. But by that stage I was totally in Tom Keneally's hands and willing to go wherever he led. The ending didn't matter. In life there is no ending, just beginnings and more beginnings.

A Winter Garden

I didn't think much of August. On a personal level, I had three sessions at the dentist for a root canal and I had to wrestle the tax return into shape. The world was a miserable succession of bad news, ranging from a loved actor's suicide to Ebola. And winter took on a vicious kick, finally dumping rain everywhere except where the farmers really need it.
The best thing about August was a book. "The Daughters of Mars'" by the Australian novelist Tom Keneally, is a brilliant re-telling of the 1914-18 War as experienced by the women who worked as nurses. Such a big, grand book, wide in its compass of history and geography, compassionate in its understanding of human suffering. Read it, it's wonderful.

You would hope the lessons of the past might be useful to a new generation. But no, we pursue the same old dramas, maybe learning a little as we go. What can we do as we are bombarded with reports of war, carnage and atrocity?
We can rest in the peace of small reminders.
As though unable to wait for the first week of spring, the very first Peace rose has bloomed in my winter garden. Already the plump bud droops, as though unable to bear for long the weight of such an opulent flower. Unfolding soft lemony petals, fluted with crimson, it is as lovely as morning dawning on a fine new day.

MEMORIALS

On a wintery July day in Australia, I received a package on my front porch. It was a rose bush, spindly and spiky, as bare-root roses are. It was the Daniel Morcombe Memorial Rose, beautifully packaged, but there was no indication who had sent it. I did not solve the mystery, but planted it in my garden.

Yesterday I saw a TV interview with Daniel’s father and mother. Their 13 year old son, who would have been a young man now, had been abducted and murdered. Over the years, putting their unimaginable grief to practical use, these parents have created memorials in his memory. The rose is just one gesture. His parents have also written a book, and campaigned to have child safety programmes built into the school curriculum.

Another reminder of loss occurred yesterday. In Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in Melbourne, a cross-faith service was held to acknowledge all those who died when Malaysian airline MH17 was shot down over the Ukraine three weeks ago. Priests and pastors of various faiths spoke words of comfort. There was singing. Strangers came  together and were united by this random act of violence.

We have all lost a partner, a parent, sibling, relative, friend or pet. Illness, a random act of nature or war can change our lives in a moment. It’s exactly one year since Jessica, our beloved golden Labrador, was put to sleep. Another puppy has recently come to help fill that void. In my garden, Daniel’s rose bush is putting on its gleaming coppery foliage, ready for a summer blooming. We go on. My wish is that our memories will be loving, and that all who feel grief and sorrow may receive a gentle healing.

Writing is valuable work

Is writing work? Recently a writer friend was very upset. Somebody had said to her that unless she was earning a living wage, she was merely a hobbyist.
This equation of writing success with earning money is misleading. Money is very useful and all writers wish to be paid. That's taken for granted. Yet writing is one of the last careers I would suggest to a person hoping to earn a living wage from their work.
A writer is not a hobbyist who picks up a work in progress now and then. What is driving this person, if it isn't money?
One way to decide whether a particular work is of value is to assess its effect on the worker over time. What kind of person constitutes a writer? Individuals we are, yet the work of writing forces certain qualities upon us. We are disciplined people who work alone. We must be resilient, or the knockbacks we have all endured would have finished us long ago.
We are curiously interested in life, people, language, customs, quirks and details.
We learn to develop empathy, which is the one quality that can change our self-centred lives.
We can never harm, rob or otherwise negate the being of any individual for whom we feel true empathy. Writing reaches out to people. It wants to be shared and in that sense is a loving impulse.

Chinese Take-out

For something different, here's a novel to try. It's a spy thriller based on a true story.

Chinese Take-out (Kindle Edition)

Ian Mathie is a well-established author of non-fiction. He has published several volumes of memoir, based on his work in the 1970s in Africa, where he developed water resources. Chinese Take-Out is his first novel. It is a spy thriller, based however on the true story of Fanng Lizhi, a Chinese astrophysicist, who with his wife was offered sanctuary in the United States at the time of the Tienanmen massacre.
Fact weighs strongly in the first chapters as the interwoven politics of China, America, Russia and Britain are set down, fixing the reader in time and place. The story opens with Green, a US government agent, being pulled off an operation on the Chinese/North Korean frontier, his preferred area of focus in Asia, to investigate a claim concerning smuggled arms and the possible export of nuclear secrets. A United States senator may be implicated. Green and his team carry out enquiries, bug the senator’s private hunting lodge and set up decoys to delay the operations until definite charges can be brought.
Meanwhile, in China, the protests in Tienanmen Square and demands for less rigid control by the government are turning nasty. The army is brought in, biding its time, while Chong (the fictional equivalent of Fanng Lizhi) seeks refuge with his wife in the American Embassy in Beijing. From there, they are airlifted out to safety under the nose of suspicious Chinese officials, in a daring rescue operation.
With two complex interwoven stories, the book maintains suspense, switching between story lines. The reader moves between high-flying naval and air force personnel, government agents, wire-tapping experts and the President himself. Between the defecting Chinese couple and the shady senator’s devious operations, the stories merge via the keen-nosed Green, who scents irregularity with unfailing instinct.
Readers of spy thrillers will not be disappointed in the author’s first book in this genre. It is a complex, fast-moving story with numerous twists and turns and deserves 5 star rating. However, Ian Mathie prefers not to be pigeonholed in any one genre. Who knows what he may surprise us with next?