In the current issue of Writers’ Forum, I am writing about how I got the idea for one of my short stories and promised that the story in question, Good at Saying Goodbye, would be on my blog.

So, here it is.  And if you have taken the trouble to come here after reading my Idea Store column, then thank you very much.

If not, then I hope you too will enjoy the short story, which came about after I got chatting to a lady in a supermarket car park. 

Good at Saying Goodbye

By

Paula Williams

“Well, what do you think?” Paul asked.

Maria looked up from her magazine, her warm glow from fantasising over Triple Chocolate Mousse with Black Cherry Compote fading abruptly at the sight of her husband.

He was dressed in walking boots and waterproofs, with a bobble hat at least three sizes too small (which, she supposed, one of the kids must have left behind) perched on top of his head like a big red pimple.  

And – this was what turned her warm glow to icy chill – he was holding her boots and waterproofs with the same self satisfied smirk the cat had when offering her a freshly caught mouse .

“Come on, love,” he said, in that bracing voice she’d come to dread.  “It’s a lovely day.  I thought we’d go up HenleyHill this morning and then have lunch out.  What do you say?”

‘No’ was the first word that came to her mind, followed swiftly by ‘way’. But she settled for: “It’s cold, windy and they’re forecasting rain.”

“But we’ve got waterproofs.  Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Fun?  Maria would have more fun filling in her tax return than struggling up those near vertical, scarily narrow paths that snaked up through the woods on Henley Hill, where partly exposed tree roots lurked ready to trip you up and bramble ropes swung menacingly from the trees’ branches, waiting for the chance to garrotte you.  

And yes, if you survived all that, the view from the top probably was fantastic, but Maria would be too busy fighting for breath to notice or care.

It was all right for Paul.  He was built – and acted – like a mountain goat, except for the hat, of course which, if he’d been a real goat he’d have eaten by now which would have been no bad thing.

“I’m not really in the mood,” she said.

“But a bit of fresh air will make you feel better.”

Maria was about to point out that a couple of hours on the sofa with her magazines and a bar or three of chocolate would make her feel better but he had That Look on his face again.

That Look had first appeared the day she’d had a funny turn in the undies section of Marks and Spencers.  Her legs had, for no good reason, suddenly buckled under her and as she fell, she grabbed the nearest thing – a rack full of Special Offer knickers.  The last thing she remembered before darkness and knickers overwhelmed her was how her mother used to tell her if she was going out to make sure she had clean underwear on, in case she had an accident and ended up in hospital.

Well, she didn’t end up in hospital – although she’d have been as well prepared, knicker-wise, as she’d ever be – but in the doctor’s surgery, where both he and Paul had That Look on their faces.

“You’ve had a wake up call which you’d do well to heed,” the doctor said before coming out with such a torrent of long, unfamiliar words that her eyes glazed over, while Paul was nodding vigorously.  The only words she did catch, although she wished she hadn’t, were Late Onset Diabetes, diet and lifestyle changes.

“Are you still fostering?” the doctor asked.

“Just Jay and Bethany at the moment,” she said.  “Three year old twins. I’ve been looking after them while their mum recovers from an operation but she’s back on her feet now so they’ll be going home any day now.”

“How many children have you fostered now?  Or have you lost count?”

Lost count?  She’d never do that because they all meant so much to her.  Some, like little Jay and Bethany, only stayed for a couple of weeks while others were with her for years.  She loved and remembered them all.

“Eighty-seven,” she said proudly.  “It takes forever to write my Christmas cards.”

“I’m sure.”  He flashed her a brief smile, then sent her world spinning out of kilter as he added: “You’ve done a great job but I strongly advise you call it a day now.”

She heard Paul’s sharp intake of breath, felt him lean across and take her hand in his as she stared blankly at the doctor across his desk.

“You mean – g-give up fostering all together?  B-but I can’t do that.”

“And what would have happened if Paul hadn’t been with you and the children this morning when you blacked out?” he asked.

For once in her life, she didn’t respond with her usual breezy: “Oh, I’ll manage.  I usually do.”

……………………

Two days later, Jay and Bethany went home to their mum, leaving Maria wandering forlornly through the empty rooms. She’d never known her house without children, at least not for the last twenty years.  Twenty years of tears, tantrums and tussles as well as love, laughter and sheer unbounded joy.

It was what she did.  Looking after children, caring for them, loving them. Watching so many of them grow from  poor broken little people into happy, confident ones gave her a buzz like nothing else could.  And she was good at it.  

She was even good at saying goodbye, knowing she’d helped turn their lives around and that many of them would stay in touch. Knowing, too, there were always other children, waiting for the chance that she could give them.

‘But being good at saying goodbye isn’t really much to show for a lifetime’s work, is it?’ she thought with an uncharacteristic spurt of self pity. ‘When Paul retired recently, he left with a half decent pension and a set of golf clubs.  But without children to look after, I’m not much good at anything, except perhaps cooking.  My chocolate cake has coaxed many a withdrawn youngster out of their shell.’

“You know what the doctor said, love,”

Maria looked up sharply.  She’d almost forgotten that Paul was still standing there, his waterproof rustling, his pimply hat pushed back even further where he’d been worriedly scratching his head.  And she hated worrying him.  She’d tried, really tried to follow the doctor’s advice.  But it was difficult.

“Lose some weight and get plenty of exercise,” he’d said. “That will put you back on your feet.”

But the trouble was, without the children to run around after, picking up everything from stray socks to lost homework, her weight began to pile on, not come off.  This, of course, wasn’t helped by the fact she was still doing the same amount of baking as always, only now there was only her and Paul to eat the cakes, pies and puddings she loved to cook.  And now, Paul was even suggesting she gave that up.

He’d taken on the task of her ‘Lifestyle Change’  with the same single-minded zeal he’d approached his job. She’d become, she realised, his latest Project. Every week he’d come up with some new form of torture that he laughingly called exercise.

First there was golf.  But she didn’t get past the first green and would be still there now, trying to get that silly little ball into that miniscule hole if the foursome behind hadn’t got impatient.  Then there was swimming, but she hurt her back climbing down the steps into the pool.  And as for getting on a bike again, the memory of that out of control, headlong rush into the hedge where she’d ended up face down in a patch of brambles still gave her nightmares.

Now he thought he was going to get her to go charging up Henley Hill with only the promise of a slimline tonic and a lettuce leaf at the end of it?  In his dreams.  She picked up her magazine, ready to return to the Triple Chocolate Mousse.

“My back still hurts from swimming and my bramble scratches are still pretty uncomfortable,” she said.  “But you go ahead.  I’ll be fine.”

But of course she was anything but fine, sitting sad and alone in the tidiest, the quietest and the emptiest of empty nests. An old fat mother hen with no chicks to fuss and cluck over.  She missed the children so much it hurt and the realisation that there would be no more grieved her beyond belief. 

Paul, desperately anxious to find something, anything, to help lift her out of her depression had even suggested she get a job to give herself something else to think about  – but what could she do?  What sort of jobs were there for people whose only skills were baking cakes, telling stories that would turn tears into laughter – and, oh yes, being good at saying goodbye.

……………………..

Maria beamed with triumph as she stepped off the scales.  A whole stone gone.  But she didn’t need the scales to tell her she was losing weight – her clothes were doing that.  Some of them were so loose she’d have to go and get some new ones.  She hadn’t been back To Marks and Spencers since the knicker rack incident but she was fairly sure they wouldn’t recognise her.

She looked – and felt – better than she’d done for years and the doctor was as delighted as she was.

And it was all down to having young Ben in the house.  As demanding and hard work as he was, she was loving every minute of it and was delighted the house was filled with laughter again.  It had lost its unnatural tidiness too, as his toys were scattered about the place, just as she liked it.

He kept both her and Paul busy and she was so thankful to Paul for suggesting it.

“It’s ok. If it looks like being too much for you, I’ll help,” he’d said when at first she’d looked a bit unsure. “I’ll enjoy it.  He’s such a lovely little chap, so bright and affectionate. Well?  What do you think?”

What did she think?  She thought having Ben was the best thing that had happened to her for ages. It had banished her depression and turned her life around in the best possible way.  Since his arrival she’d been too busy to bake – and chocolate cake was bad for him anyway.   She’d started walking more, too.  At least twice a day, every day, whatever the weather.  They’d even been up Henley Hill several times and although it still made her puff and pant, it was getting easier.

Paul was right about Ben being intelligent, too.  He was as bright as a button and was learning every day, bless him.  So, of course, was she.

Her initial doubts, when Paul had first suggested they become Puppy Walkers for the Guide Dogs for the Blind had long gone.  And their first puppy, Ben, a beautiful golden labrador, was a delight.

There was just one slight problem looming on the horizon.  In spite of what she’d told them, she wasn’t at all sure that, when the time came, she’d be any good at saying goodbye.

1820 words

I am delighted to welcome one of my favourite authors to my blog this week.

I discovered crime writer JD Kirk thanks to the great Facebook group that I’m always mentioning – The UK Crime Book Club.  I joined a few years ago now when the numbers were in the low hundreds and there are now, I believe, over 20,000. I have met some fabulous, new to me writers there – and JD Kirk is way up there with the best of them. (Sorry if I sound a bit fan-girly but I had Covid recently and JD’s Logan series as well as his new series, took me right out of myself and even made me laugh out loud on days when I really didn’t feel like laughing).

So if you haven’t come across his books yet, do check them out. The DCI Logan books are police procedurals set in Scotland.  They are full of brilliantly drawn characters, evocative settings and great storylines. He is (as I’ve said in the magazine extract below) one of those truly gifted writers who can make you laugh and cry in the same scene.  There is one scene in particular that for some reason has stayed in my mind all this time, where he’s delivering some harrowing news to a couple and it’s all very emotional and sad.  But at the same time he is sitting in one of those bendy Ikea chairs and wondering how on earth he is going to get out of it!  I have one of those chairs and the memory of that scene makes me laugh every time I sit in it. 

I contacted JD to see if he would be happy to be featured in my Idea Store column in Writers’ Forum and also on this blog and I was delighted when he said yes. I was particularly interested in talking to him about a spin off series that he’s written, featuring Bob Hoon, a secondary character from the Logan series.

I asked JD what made him choose Bob Hoon – or was he one of those characters who simply would not go away?

‘It was exactly that,’ he explains. ‘And also the complete opposite of that. I never intended Bob Hoon to be anything but a background character – a caricature of a horrible boss, who readers would love to hate. Before long, though, the majority of the emails I was receiving was from readers who either wanted more of Bob in the Logan books, or wanted him removed completely, because they couldn’t stand him. That was when the idea of giving him his own book first came to me, and while I initially dismissed it as a ridiculous idea, it – and he – kept nagging away at me until I could no longer refuse. It was a bit like a demonic possession which I’m now in the process of trying to exorcise!’

I am one of the readers who loved Bob Hoon, mainly because JD Kirk writes with such humour although be warned: if you don’t like strong language in a book then you will definitely be one of the people who don’t like Hoon! He takes swearing to a whole new, creative level.

I have recently finished North Wind, the first in the Hoon series and I loved it. It has all the ingredients I’ve come to expect from a JD Kirk novel – plenty of action, great characters, lots of humour and deeply touching moments of pathos. He is one of those talented writers who can make you laugh and cry in the same scene.

Does he have any more books planned for Bob Hoon?

‘I knew from the outset that I wanted to give him a trilogy, telling one overarching story, but with each able to be read as a standalone. The second book in the series, Southpaw, is published in March, with the third, Westward, coming out in May. Frankly, after everything I put him through, it’s a miracle he survived the first book, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed heaping even more pain and misery on him in the sequels.

‘Part of the appeal of writing a Hoon series was the challenge of taking this frankly horrendous character and getting readers not just to tolerate him, but to actively root for him to succeed. From around the seventh book in the Logan series, I started to introduce a different side to Bob, and while he always remains pretty relentlessly awful, you get to understand why, and see occasional hints that he might not be a complete monster all of the time. Just most of the time.’

He has certainly succeeded, and it has been fascinating to see how Bob Hoon’s character has changed over time as the reader discovers more about his background, which goes part of the way to explaining why he acts the way he does.

But does that mean that there aren’t going to be any more Logan books? I asked JD anxiously, because I – like many others – am a huge fan of the series which just gets better and better.

‘There are plenty more Logan books to come, and I have no plans to stop them at any point soon. I’m already hard at work on book 14, City of Scars, and am starting to throw around ideas for the one after that, too, so Logan is going nowhere!’

………….

Me

Thank you so much for the magazine interview and for agreeing to this Q&A session.  Firstly, how would you describe your genre?

JD

I think the Logan series can be best described as a Scottish police procedural with a heavy dusting of dark humour, and the Hoon series as “Jack Reacher, but with a lot more swearing.”

Me

Great answer!  I’m a huge Reacher fan. What inspires you most when you start writing? Is it the characters? Settings? 

JD

For me it’s always about the characters first and foremost. Everything else comes a distant second. With the Logan series, while the plots are all proper crime fiction storylines with murders happening left, right, and centre, readers keep coming back to spend time with those characters again, not to find out whodunnit.

Me

We certainly do.  I think I’m more than a little in love with Jack Logan.

Tell us a little about your writing journey.  How did it start?

JD

I’ve wanted to be an author since I was nine years old, when I first discovered you could get paid for making up stories!

The first piece of writing I was ever paid for was a comedy horror screenplay set in the Highlands of Scotland, which I wrote when I was 17. Since then, I’ve written over 200 books for dozens of publishers, under a variety of pen names, covering everything from picture books to science fiction.

Me

That’s an incredible body of work.  And your plans for the future? Lots more Logan books I hope.

JD

I write about 5-6 books a year, so my future plans are largely to slow down a bit and occasionally take some time off! Whether that will ever happen, though, is a different matter.

Beyond that, I’m developing a new series that’s part crime fiction, part fantasy, which is unlike anything else I’ve ever written. The first book, RAGNAROK RIDGE, should be out towards the end of the year.

Me

5 to 6 books a year is an astonishing output, especially books of such high quality. I should think you have totally earned the right to take some time off. Although speaking as one of your fans, I can’t help hoping it won’t be for too long. 

Finally, tell us three things about you that we might not know about you.

JD

1  I wrote for The Beano for a number of years.

2 I (technically) co-wrote a book with Roald Dahl long after his death.

3 Since 2018, I have exclusively self-published all my own work.

Me

The Beano and Roald Dahl!  My son was an ardent fan of both and he will be well impressed – as am I.

Thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule to answer my questions so patiently.

Social Media Links, blog, website etc.

Twitter.com/jdkirkbooks
Instagram.com/jdkirkbooks
Facebook.com/jdkirkbooks

website

JDKirk.com

The all important buy links.  

link.jdkirk.com/dciloganseries
link.jdkirk.com/hoon1

Author Bio

JD Kirk is the author of the multi-million selling DCI Logan series. He also does not exist. Instead, he’s the alter ego of author Barry Hutchison, who lives halfway up a mountain in the remote Highlands of Scotland with his wife, two children, and an assortment of annoying pets. He enjoys reading, eating excessively, and writing about himself in third person.

I’m delighted to welcome romantic suspense author, Morton S Gray to my blog this week.

I featured her recently in my Ideas Store column in Writers’ Forum because I had recently read and enjoyed The Truth Lies Buried with its engaging characters, lovely setting and a great storyline.  I was intrigued to find out where the idea for the book came from.  So I invited her on to my blog and thankfully, she said yes.

Me

Welcome, Morton and thank you for agreeing to answer my questions, particularly the one all writers are said to dread.  (Although I love it when people ask me that question!)

Where do you get your ideas from?

Morton

I have no problem finding ideas for books, it is more the time to write up all of them I struggle with.

At a writing workshop run by author Linda Gillard at a Romantic Novelists’ Association conference, Linda handed out postcards to evoke a descriptive piece of writing. My postcard was an advertising postcard for a company producing quirky garden buildings, the one in the picture was a fairy-tale castle complete with pointed turret towers and arched windows. I dutifully completed the descriptive writing and then, after the course, started to ponder who would live in a house like that and Carver Rodgers, carpenter and hero of The Truth Lies Buried was born.

For me inspiration can come from anywhere. The hero of my first published novel, The Girl on the Beach was conjured from a model’s face in a clothing catalogue. The first scenes at a high school art competition were from an art exhibition at my son’s school. I have been known to furiously scribble down bits of overhead conversation in cafés and have an overflowing file containing pictures of potential characters, rooms and locations.

Ideas and themes come to me at inopportune moments, like when I’m driving or taking a shower. I do try to keep a notebook to hand, particularly in the bathroom, but have been known to have opened out empty cardboard toilet roll tubes with closely scribbled writing on them in my ideas pile. I love writing first drafts long hand when I have the luxury of time and have been known to write at my son’s swimming lessons, sitting in doctor’s waiting rooms, on trains, planes and buses. I even tried to capture my feelings of trepidation when I was waiting to be taken down to the operating theatre one time.

My fictional seaside town of Borteen, which has been the location for six published novels so far, is very real to me. I can walk along its streets in my head and have drawn a map on several pieced together sheets of paper with the key locations marked and images stuck to the map depicting how I see the buildings, beach and caves.

It sometimes feels like I am an empty container and ideas like to find their way to me to fill this up when I least expect it. The process of piecing diverse ideas together for characters and scenes almost like a patchwork quilt is for me the most exciting part of writing a novel.

Me.

That’s brilliant.  I love the sound of Borteen which you have brought so vividly to life.  You’ve mentioned you have based six novels there.  Are your books a series? Or can they be read as standalone?

Morton

For the past few years, I have been writing stand-alone novels, but set in my fictional seaside town of Borteen. Inevitably in a small town, some characters from previous novels have a role in a new story, but the books can be read in any order.

Me

And how would you describe your genre?

Morton

My books are usually categorised as Romantic Suspense, but I describe them as romance with a mystery to solve.

Me

So far I have read two of your books (and very much looking forward to reading the others) and have loved the mystery element in both.  What inspires you most?

Morton

My inspiration can come from anywhere. It can be a couple of words in a song or even a phrase overheard in a café. I can see a face in a magazine of clothing catalogue and a character can develop from there. If I let my mind freewheel, a story often appears. I have absolutely no problem finding ideas for novels, it is more the time to write up all of them I struggle with.

Me

How did your writing journey start?

Morton

I truly cannot remember a time when I haven’t written or read avidly. Those were my favourite things at school. I used to hide away and write poems as a child and wrote my first novel aged fourteen. That first one, which I still have, features galleons and pirates. I think it was inspired by the Errol Flynn films I used to watch with my nan on Sunday afternoons.

Inevitably life got in the way and I didn’t take my writing seriously until I was in my fifties when life took yet another turn. I won a short story competition and began to attend a weekly writing class. My first novel was published after I won Choc Lit Publishing’s Search for a Star competition in 2016 with the manuscript that became The Girl on the Beach. I guess I am the proof that it’s never too late.

Me

Indeed it’s not.  I’m looking forward to seeing those pirates and galleons make an appearance in a future Borteen novel. (Now there’s a challenge for you!)

Finally, tell us three things we might not know about you.

Morton

1. My favourite period of history is The English Civil War – I have more books in my study about this period of history than anything else.
2. I’m an avid family historian and have been for many years, even teaching the subject at night school at one point.
3. I make my own soap. I’ve been on a mission to reduce the amount of plastic in my bathroom and as a part of that I went on a course to learn to make and perfume my own soap and I now use solid shampoo bars.

Me.

Thank you so much for answering my questions so patiently – and I too have discovered the joy of using solid shampoo bars. (I don’t make my own though, but maybe one day…)

Author Bio

About Morton S. Gray

Morton lives with her husband, two sons and Lily, the tiny white dog, in Worcestershire, U.K. She has been reading and writing fiction for as long as she can remember, penning her first attempt at a novel aged fourteen. She is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and The Society of Authors.

Her debut novel The Girl on the Beach was published after she won the Choc Lit Publishing’s Search for a Star competition in 2016. Her other books for Choc Lit are The Truth Lies Buried, Christmas at Borteen Bay, Sunny Days at the Beach, Christmas at the Little Beach Café and Summer at Lucerne Lodge.

Morton previously worked in the electricity industry in committee services, staff development and training. She has a Business Studies degree and is a qualified Clinical Hypnotherapist and Reiki Master. She also has diplomas in Tuina acupressure massage and energy field therapy. She enjoys crafts, history and loves tracing family trees. Having a hunger for learning new things is a bonus for the research behind her books.

You can catch up with Morton with the following links:-

Website and blog at www.mortonsgray.com

Twitter @MortonSGray

Author – https://www.facebook.com/mortonsgray/

Instagram – htwww.instagram.com/morton_s_gray/

Morton is celebrating two things at the moment, the release of her sixth novel for Choc Lit – Summer at Lucerne Lodge and the paperback release of Sunny Days at the Beach.

Summer at Lucerne Lodge tells the story of Tanner and Rosie. They first meet at a charity auction held in the grounds of Lucerne Lodge on the outskirts of the seaside town of Borteen. However, that first meeting isn’t as innocent as it sounds, because Tanner has found a private investigator’s file on his father’s desk about Rosie and wants to know why …

Sunny Days at the Beach begins when commitment free singleton and craft shop owner Mandy takes in an abandoned teenager, but then gin distillery owner Graham arrives in Borteen with some unexpected news 

Buying links for Summer at Lucerne Lodge

Amazon http://getbook.at/SummeratLucerneLodge

Choc Lit for other retailers https://www.choc-lit.com/dd-product/summer-at-lucerne-lodge/

Buying links for Sunny Days at the Beach

Amazon http://getbook.at/PaperbackSunnyDays

Choc Lit for other retailers https://www.choc-lit.com/dd-product/sunny-days-at-the-beach/

I’m delighted to welcome one of my favourite crime authors to my blog today.  I featured David in the March issue of Writers’ Forum but  the 800 words I am allowed for my column are just not enough to do justice to this prolific and highly successful author.

Me

Welcome to my blog, David.  Let’s kick off by talking about about your books in general.  What genre do you write and do you write a series or are your books standalone?

David

I write crime. Mostly blue collar cosy with a deliberate vein of humour. But I also turn out much darker works, Feyer & Drake, for example, or the Cain Hypno-Thrillers published under my pen name, Robert Devine.

I try to produce series. It’s a commercial decision as much as anything. Series sell much better than standalones, and readers soon become familiar with the core characters. As you progress, however, it becomes more difficult to say anything new about those key characters, which is why I put Joe Murray through the mill over the last few Sanford titles.

Me.

The Sanford titles would be your Sanford Third Age Club mysteries, which I really enjoy. ‘Blue collar cosy’ has a nice ring to it and sums up the series perfectly.  How about giving us the blurbs from, say, your first book and then your most recent one?

David

I have nothing in the immediate pipeline so here’s the blurb from the very first, Sanford 3rd Age Club Mystery, The Filey Connection, published nine years ago by Crooked Cat, and now under CC’s darkstroke banner. It’s followed by the blurb for The Frame, the second Feyer & Drake title.

The Filey Connection

It’s summertime, and the Sanford 3rd Age Club are living it up in the seaside town of Filey. But the hot months don’t pass without problems for amateur sleuth, Joe Murray.

Was Nicola Leach’s death an accident or deliberate? Did Eddie Dobson fall into the sea or did he jump? What’s going on behind the innocent façade – and closed doors – of the Beachside Hotel? And who raided Joe’s room?

Joe and his sidekicks must find the answers to solve the mystery of The Filey Connection.

The Frame:

Sam Feyer, relishing her role as head of Landshaven CID, and Wes Drake, a broken man after the murder of his partner, are charged with reopening the inquiry into Barbara Shawforth’s brutal murder.

For Sam, it’s a path littered with obstacles from the autocratic hierarchy of Landshaven and the police, to handling the ill-tempered Drake, a man who greets every attempt to thwart him as a personal challenge there to be crushed.

Amid frequent disagreements, an air of thin tolerance between them, they must forge a fresh alliance to battle through a smokescreen of corruption, suspicion and lies if they are to learn what really happened four years ago.

Then the body count begins to rise

Me.

Thank you, David.  I’ve only recently discovered the Feyer and Drake series and really enjoy them.  And I understand there’s a new one coming out this year which is something to look forward to.

So, what inspires you most when you sit down to write? Is it characters?  Settings? Or maybe even books you have read?

David

My work is mainly character driven. I’m an ardent people-watcher and the apparently random, sometimes mindless activity of others is a source of endless fascination to me. Many of the humorous incidents in the Sanford Mysteries are events I’ve observed in real life. The snooty receptionist in Summer Wedding Murder is such an example, although the hotel in question was in Majorca, and the receptionist was neither female, nor aiming his criticism at me. I simply observed it.

Location comes second. My wife and I are seasoned travellers, and most of the towns, hotels, holiday parks I write about are based on places we’ve visited. Of particular note is the architecturally quirky hotel in Peril in Palmanova. That hotel exists and it’s as described, right down to the entertainment staff identified with the word “Animacion” on their uniforms. 

Landshaven, the location for The Frame, Feyer & Drake #2, is a barely concealed clone of on Scarborough, one of our favourite British seaside towns.

I never base any of my work on books I may have read, although I do read a fair number and often think to myself, “I could have done that better”.

Me.

So, how did your writing journey start?  Have you always written? And what was your first published piece?

David

I’ve been writing since my teens, but I didn’t publish my first piece until the mid-1980s. It was a short article published by our local newspaper, and it concerned the colloquial language differences between my home city of Leeds, Yorkshire, and Northeast Manchester where I now live. Only 35 miles separate us, but the linguistics differences are striking. The article paid me the princely sum of £8.

Me.

Ha!  My first piece earned me the princely sum of £6 from BBC Radio Bristol.  They obviously pay better ‘up North’!  

I really enjoy your dry sense of humour, David, and love your YouTube channel.   How did that come about?

David

A combination of arthritis which makes typing tedious and often difficult, and my frustration at never having the bottle to try my luck as a stand-up comedian. I’m naturally gregarious, possessed of what I call a ‘one-megaton sense of humour’, and I’m more than a little eccentric. Sitting, talking to the webcam is faster and less painful than typing out or even dictating blog posts. 

Me.

And what of your future plans?

David

More of the same. A third F&D novel, working title The Crypto Killings is well-advanced, and the 22nd Sanford Mystery, Death on the Shore is in progress.

Me.

Hooray!  I’m really looking forward to that.  So finally, tell us three things we might not know about you.

David.

1: I had my tonsils and adenoids removed when I was eight years old. My recovery at home coincided with the 1958 FA Cup Final between Bolton Wanderers and a Manchester United team rebuilt after the Munich air crash. During that game (which United lost 2-0) I became a devout Man U supporter. This is despite being born a Yorkshireman and attending most of Leeds United’s home games.

2: After a minor operation went wrong in 1989, my liver couldn’t drain and in 1991 I was told that I without a transplant I had two years to live. It was a misdiagnosis (although I did need five hours of surgery to correct the problem) but it took away any fear of death I may have had. I’m in no hurry to shuffle off this mortal coil, but I have no fear of dying. 

3: Over the last 30 years, I have attended no less than six funerals of relatives who should have outlived me. Three stillborn grandchildren, a nephew killed in a car crash at the age of 20, my younger brother, aged only 54 when he had a massive heart attack, and most distressing, my daughter, barely 49 years of age when she died through complications of Motor Neurone Disease.

me.

That’s really sad, David and I am so sorry for your losses.  Thank you so much for answering my questions with such openness and patience.  And thank you, too, for the hours of reading pleasure you have given me and your many fans.

Social Media Links, blog, YouTube, website etc.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/dwrobinson3

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/user/Dwrob96/videos

Website: www.dwrob.com 

Blog: https://mysteriesaplenty.blogspot.com/ 

GoodReads:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4496576.David_W_Robinson

The all important buy link.

All titles are exclusive to Amazon

Sanford 3rd Age Club Mysteries

The Filey Connection: https://mybook.to/fileyconnection

The Summer Wedding Murder:https://mybook.to/sumwed

Peril in Palmanova: mybook.to/peripal

Tis the Season to be Murdered.mybook.to/Stacseason

Feyer & Drake #2

The Frame mybook.to/frame

Author Bio

David Robinson retired from the rat race after the other rats objected to his participation, and he now lives with his long-suffering wife in sight of the Pennine Moors outside Manchester.

A workaholic, gregarious and eccentric, and an animal lover, he has an absolute loathing of politicians, over-hyped celebrities, and television.

Best known as the creator of the light-hearted Sanford 3rd Age Club Mysteries, and the cynically humorous Midthorpe Murder Mysteries, he also produces the darker, more psychological, Feyer & Drake police procedural crime thrillers.

Writing as Robert Devine, he also produces stark psycho thrillers bordering on sci-fi and horror.

When I was searching around for something to write about in my column in the current issue of Writers’ Forum, I turned to my often used source for inspiration, my old notebooks.

I have kept journals, diaries and notebooks most of my life.  Many of the earlier ones were thrown away but one of the oldest to survive was a diary that I kept the year I was taking my ‘O’ Levels when I was, it seemed, far more interested in the boys on the school bus than I was in my schoolwork.  Funny that – I always told my sons that I was a model pupil!

I kept a diary, too, in the months leading up to my wedding and, a few years later, in the months leading up to the birth of my firstborn.  That one stopped abruptly when he was about two weeks old.  (Can’t think why!).  I love flicking through them every now and again and it always brings back such lovely memories.

But when I began writing and selling short stories,  about fifteen years ago, I started to keep a writing journal and have kept it up more or less ever since.  It’s not nearly as entertaining (or cringe making) as my diaries but a lot more useful when I am looking for something to write about.

I have kept notes about most of my short stories (and there are, by now, literally hundreds of them) and these notes have been a goldmine when looking for something to write about in my monthly column, Ideas’ Store.

And the current issue was no exception.  As I opened one of my notebooks, I found a handwritten note inside from the then Fiction Editor of Woman’s Weekly, enclosing a letter from a reader saying how much they’d enjoyed a particular story of mine.

It’s very unusual for a short story writer to get reader feedback (or, at least, it is for me) and this was such a lovely one.  It was from a man who said my story had moved him and his wife to tears (but in a nice way).  So I dug the story out, which I’d called Paradise Revisited and read it through – and it moved me to tears as well!

So in my column I wrote about how I came to write this particular story and promised the readers that the full story would be on my blog.  And here it is.

I hope you enjoy it.  It certainly is one of my favourites.  And a little note of warning to anyone thinking of signing away all rights to their work, which many of the magazines are now asking for.  And which I refuse to do.

Because had I done so, I’d have been unable to reproduce this story here.  Or anywhere else, come to that.  

Anyway, on a happier note, I hope you enjoy reading Paradise Revisited as much as I enjoyed writing it.  And if you want to read the story of how I came to write the story (if you see what I mean)  it is in the current issue of Writers’ Forum, which is packed, as always, with lots of wonderful, writerly goodies.

Paradise Revisited

They say it’s best not to go back, don’t they? That places are never as good as you remember. Or you’ll find they’ve built a supermarket on the fields where you used to walk the dogs and they’ve ripped out the hedges where you used to gather musky sweet blackberries and sloes, sharp as sherbet lemons, that shrivelled your tongue when you bit into them.

Better by far, they say,  to leave those special places  precious and untarnished in your memory.  It’s good advice, of course, but when did I ever take any notice of good advice?  And yes, I admit, that sometimes that’s been to my cost.  But there are other times, like today, that I’m glad I ignored them because I know everything’s going to be as wonderful as I remember and nothing, but nothing is going to spoil it. 

And so, here we are now, me, Paul and our daughter Sophie, packed snugly into in our little blue Morris Minor that’s more at home on smooth surfaced suburban roads than chugging up and down these steep, winding roads, some of which, Paul is horrified to see, have grass growing up in the middle. We’re on our way, Morris Minor permitting, to a remote valley deep in the Yorkshire Dales where my parents took me when I was four years old, the age Sophie is now.

It’s strange but that trip to Yorkshire was the only holiday I remember as a child. There may well have been others but I can’t recall them. But people didn’t go away so much back. Not like now, jamming the roads with their cars and caravans every Bank Holiday.

‘Paradise,’ my mother told me when I asked where we were.  She got out of the car, stretched her arms above her head, tilted her face to the sun and filled her lungs with the crisp, clean air. ‘Smell it, Libby.  That’s Paradise, that is.’

It wasn’t until years later I discovered the valley’s real name was Langstrothdale. Named by the Vikings when our history was young but the landscape over which they rampaged was already old.

So today, Paul and I have brought Sophie with us to Paradise  I’m holding my breath as we drive along the narrow winding road, with its unforgiving stone walls on either side.  Past fields full of lambs and cow parsley.  Past the small, squat church at Hubberholme that I still think looks like a fat broody hen, even though my mother used to tell me I was being fanciful and silly.

The car bumps over the cattle grid, we go round a corner and Langstrothdale opens up in front of us, spreading out like one of those books Sophie has where the pictures pop up when you open the pages out flat. And today, there’s no Mother around to tell me off for being fanciful.

Yes, oh yes.  I was so right to come back.  It is all exactly as I remember.  I am back in Paradise.

Paul parks the car as close to the river as we can get.  I think this may be the exact spot where my father parked all those years ago, but can’t be sure.  But what does it matter?  We’re here.  That’s enough. 

‘Be careful,’ I call out as Sophie jumps out of the car and dashes down towards the river, long golden plaits flying out behind her.

But I wasn’t worried.  At this part of its journey, the river Wharfe is just a baby, playful and gentle, teasing us with a game of  hide and seek as it slips in and out of the boulders at the river edge.  

I show Sophie how the river bed is made of giant slabs of smooth grey rock that look as if they’ve been carved into steps.

‘Do the steps go all the way to the giant’s house?’ she asks, her voice catching with excitement, ‘Like in Jack and the Beanstalk? Shall we find a giant if we climb up the stairs?’

‘We might so you’d better hold my hand,’ I say. ‘Just in case.’

Sophie and I take our shoes and socks off, then holding hands and giggling, step gingerly into the brown peaty water.  We wade across to the top of the step where the water slithers over and down on to the next, like a small waterfall.

We laugh as the river rears up around our feet like a startled horse.  The afternoon is warm but the Wharfe started life at the top of the nearby fell and hasn’t travelled far enough to lose its legacy of winter snows.  It is cold.  So cold our feet ache and our toes are turning numb.

The river, as always, wins.  Sophie and I return to the bank.

Still in bare feet, we walk on the close cropped grass which is soft and springy as newly laid carpet.  I tell her how, when the winter rains come, this placid, easy-going river turns hot-headed and wild, like some stroppy adolescent, and storms down the valley, tearing vegetation from the banks in restless, reckless fury.

‘What’s a stroppy adol … adoless ..?’ she tries to ask but the word is strange and new to her and ties up her tongue.

‘We’ll both find out soon enough,’ I say and although I laugh, a chill runs down my back at the thought of how soon that time will come. I think of tears and tantrums and staying out too late. Of outrageous clothes, unsuitable boys and loud, messy music.

But today is Sophie’s first trip to Paradise so I push the thought away, unwilling to let fears of the future cloud this oh so perfect day.  Instead, I  show her where the swollen winter torrents have left clumps of dried up grass hanging like a forgotten line of washing on the lower branches of a sycamore tree on the opposite bank.

I sit down and absorb the sights and sounds of the valley.  There are black-faced sheep nagging at their lambs to stay close and swallows that shriek and chatter as they flicker over the surface of the water like skimming stones. And I am content.

Sophie’s behind me, stretched out on her stomach, her chin resting on her hands.  She never ceases to surprise and delight me, this so precious child of ours who arrived like a miracle when, after three miscarriages and years of monthly disappointments, we had given up hope.

It still amazes me how one minute she’s a bundle of shrieking, hyperactive energy, like the swallows and the next, like now, is quiet and still as she watches a bee plundering a blue-grey harebell, its fragile stem trembling under the bee’s weight.

Sophie is totally absorbed, not moving until the bee flies off.  Then she looks up at me.  Her beautiful eyes, the same blue-grey as the harebell, are wide with the wonder of it all.

Too soon, the spell’s broken.  She hears Paul calling and scrambles to her feet.  She urges me to hurry as she runs ahead, skipping and dancing, golden hair glinting in the sunlight.

I follow more slowly but just as eagerly, for we’re both drawn by the smell that drifts towards us. Paul’s cooking sausages on a small camping stove.  As I get closer, I can hear them hissing and spitting and smell, too,  the crusty rolls that were still warm when we bought them in the shop in Hawes this morning.  There are apples and nuts, crisps and chocolate and, as a special treat, a large bottle of brilliant orange, fizzy Tizer.

And I realise I’m hungry.  Very very hungry.

………………

‘Can’t you sleep, dear?  Can I get you something?’

A woman is bending over me.  Who is she? Sophie?  Maybe.  No. Can’t be.  Sophie’s got blue eyes.  These are brown.  So who -?

‘What’s going on?’ I try to say.  ‘Who are you? And what are you doing in my bedroom?’

Only I don’t say anything.  Because someone’s making soft whimpering noises.  And I rather think it’s me.

Don’t like this.  Don’t like it at all.  I’ve got to sort things out.  Get my bearings. Think, woman, think.  I know one thing for sure.  This is not my bedroom.  Mine has pink walls and white floaty curtains and a vase of ivory silk roses on my bedside table.

This place is beige with high narrow windows and ugly pipes travelling up the walls. Someone’s tried to hide them by painting them the same boring beige as the walls.  But it hasn’t worked.  They’re still ugly.

Then I see the lettering on the beige cellular blanket and, finally, I remember. It says ‘Bankside NHS Trust.’

The blanket’s been smoothed with prim, pristine precision to cover my old, useless legs. To cover me, an old useless woman who’s lived too long and is now nothing but a worry to her daughter.  Those lovely harebell blue eyes, that once marvelled at the antics of a bee are now dulled as Sophie has grown old herself, worn out and tired from the strain of worrying about me. Wondering if there was anything she could have done to prevent that stupid fall that broke my hip and a couple of ribs and landed me in here.

The nurse – I remember her now, bright and kind enough in her own brisk, impersonal way – has asked me if I want something to make me sleep.  But I don’t want to sleep.  Sleep is black.  Empty.  Nothing.  I want to stay awake forever and dream.

I want to close my eyes and dream of how it used to be when Sophie and I were much, much younger and my darling Paul was still alive.  I want to relive again and again that moment of perfect happiness all those years ago in that lovely Yorkshire dale. 

I’ve noticed lately it’s been there for me every time I close my eyes. And every time it gets harder to come back.

‘I said, would you like some hot chocolate, dear?’ The nurse has obviously asked the same question before because she laughs softly and adds: ‘You were miles away just then.  Where were you?’

Ah yes.  I was indeed miles away.  So many miles.  And so very, very far away.  Shall I tell her where I’ve been?  If I do, she’ll no doubt think I’m crazy.  Going gaga.  Losing my marbles.  One more thing for Sophie and that social worker with the soft voice and ill-fitting suit to fret over.

So what the hell? They do that anyway.  I’ll tell her.

‘I’ve been to Paradise,’ I say and then I wait, impatient for her to leave.  Impatient to get back there, to see once again the sunlight sparkle on the miniature waterfalls, to rejoice in the wonder in my child’s eyes, there for all eternity. And to take off my shoes and socks and dance the dance of life and youth and gladness on the soft springy turf.

This time, I’m not coming back. Not for the hot chocolate which I have to sip through a straw like a child.  Not for this beige room with its empty beige windows, nor for the nurse whose eyes never meet mine and who’s more interested in the numbers on the chart that’s clipped over the end of my bed than in me as a person.

No, I’m not coming back, not even for Sophie, who needs to be free of the detritus of my life – the social workers, care workers and now, we are told, nursing homes – and get on with her own life again.

This time when I get back to Paradise, I’m staying there. For ever and ever.

It’s a great pleasure to welcome fellow crime writer, Robert Crouch, to my blog this week. 

I first ‘met’ Robert on the UK Crime Book Club on Facebook.  This is a brilliant group (link here) whose almost 11,000 members include a mix of readers and writers, including some very well known crime writers.  

The site was set up in 2016 by David Gilchrist with the aim of discussing and promoting the work of (mostly) UK crime writers and is one of my favourite  Facebook groups.  I am grateful to David as, through his group I’ve come across some brilliant, new to me authors, including Robert Crouch.

I really enjoyed No Accident, the first book in a series featuring Environmental Health Officer Kent Fisher.  I was intrigued by this unusual choice for a ‘sleuth’ so I contacted Robert and asked if he’d be interested in being interviewed for my column, Ideas Store in Writers’ Forum with the option of a longer interview for this blog.

Thankfully, he said yes!

The Writers’ Forum interview is in the current issue but unfortunately, as a result of lockdown the magazine’s publishers put publication on hold.  It was published recently, but as many of the WH Smith stores are still closed (at the time of writing this) this issue did not reach its usual number of readers.

So I am reproducing the interview here in which I ask Robert where he gets the ideas for his books.

Ideas Store, Writers’ Forum Issue 223.

“When I had the idea to write crime fiction, I wanted to create something new and distinctive, something different from the police procedurals and private eyes novels around. I wondered if an environmental health officer (EHO) like me could solve a murder,” he explains.

“I was driving around my district when the idea came to me. There was only one small problem. You wouldn’t walk into your local council offices and ask an EHO to investigate a murder. But what if the murder wasn’t a murder? What if it was something an EHO could investigate – like a fatal workplace accident?

“If the murder was disguised as a work accident, the police would leave the investigation to environmental health. Time for my hero, Kent Fisher, to step forward in No Accident, the first novel in the murder mystery series.

“After solving the murder, he’s a local hero with the credibility to investigate more.

“Aware I’d created something unique, environmental health had to be an integral part of the stories. I could give readers a glimpse into a world they knew little about, and plunder my extensive experience for inspiration and ideas.

“I’ve used infectious diseases, such as E. coli, which can kill the vulnerable, in No Bodies, the second mystery. If anyone dies without relatives to bury them, the local council step in. I used this in No Remorse, to draw Kent into another investigation.

“In No More Lies, the police seek his assistance with a cold case, linked to a café he closed for poor hygiene ten years before. The latest novel, No Mercy, features a restaurateur from hell, who complains about the poor hygiene rating his restaurant is awarded. When he’s found dead inside his deep freezer, Kent Fisher becomes a suspect and has to solve the murder to clear his name.

“The ideas aren’t restricted to murder. Having managed an environmental health team through austerity and cuts to public services, I use my experiences in the backstory, to add more depth, conflict and drama to the novels.

“EHOs work differently from police officers. EHOs can go into most workplaces and food businesses, offering almost limitless opportunities for settings, situations and plots that will hopefully keep my stories fresh and interesting for a few more years.

“But while I may harvest my experiences for ideas, everything is fictionalised to protect people. It’s also far more exciting to write.”

Of course, Robert Crouch isn’t alone in using his day job as material for his writing.  Agatha Christie herself qualified as a pharmacist’s assistant in 1917 and went on to use her extensive knowledge of pharmaceuticals in many of her novels. 

A few years ago now I worked as a village correspondent for my local newspaper and covered such exciting (not!) events as parish council meetings, jumble sales and flower shows.  I particularly liked covering flower shows as they always had long lists of prize-winners – and I got paid by the line.

 So when I was looking for an occupation for Kat, the main character in my Much Winchmoor Mysteries series, this was an obvious choice as it gave her the opportunity to go around asking questions.  She’s found, as I did, that the job doesn’t pay very well, so she’s also a dog walker (handy for discovering dead bodies in out of the way places) and a barmaid (incredibly useful for overhearing local gossip and, sometimes, careless alcohol fuelled talk).  

Kat has what is called in recruitment consultant speak as a ‘portfolio career’, which, according to her is: “when you don’t have one decent full time job but a variety of rubbish part time ones that no one else wants to do and for which you get paid peanuts. With, of course, zero staff benefits, such as holiday or sickness pay.”

Do you use the experience gained in your day job in your writing?  As always, I’d love to hear from you.

………………….

No Accident.  The Blurb.

A former gangster is dead. It looks like an accident. Only Kent Fisher suspects murder.

When the police decide Syd Collins’ death is a work accident, they hand over the investigation to environmental health officer, Kent Fisher, a man with more baggage than an airport carousel.

He defies a restraining order to enter Tombstone Adventure Park and confronts the owner, Miles Birchill, who has his own reasons for blocking the investigation. Thwarted at every turn, Kent’s forced to bend the rules and is soon suspended from duty.

He battles on, unearthing secrets and corruption that could destroy those he loves. With his personal and professional worlds on a collision course, he knows life will never be the same again.

Inspired by Agatha Christie and Sue Grafton, Robert Crouch brings a fresh voice and a new twist to the traditional murder mystery.

‘Agatha Christie fans will love it.’ Tamara McKinley.

Me

That made a great interview for the magazine, Robert.  Thank you.  Now for the ‘extras’. So, what inspires you most? Is it characters?  Settings? Or maybe books you have read?

Robert

This is almost impossible to answer inspiration is everywhere.  It could someone you see in the street, an overheard snippet of conversation, a headline in a newspaper, a comment on social media.

I love the characters I’ve created, the relationships they have, and the way they develop with each story. I love the South Downs setting I’ve created, Kent’s animal sanctuary, his workplace and job. I love coming up with the most complex and baffling plots I can.

But most of all, being different inspires me most.

It’s taking situations and themes you wouldn’t normally associate with crime fiction and building murder mysteries around them. A murder investigated as a work accident throws up a very different type of story and process.

My sleuth is an environmental health officer. He works differently to a police officer. When I started, I thought an EHO would struggle to investigate a murder. After all an EHO doesn’t have the powers, technology, forensic support, national database, DNA and a team of dedicated officers to help.

Instead, my EHO has to be more imaginative and creative to get to the truth. He has to work much harder and approach a murder investigation in a different way. That’s what inspires me most.

Me.

Being different certainly works for you. Your settings are great and I love the touch of authenticity your day job gives you.

So, how did your writing journey start? 

Robert

Like many authors, I imagine, it began with reading. My father taught me to read the newspaper when I was four, so I had an early start. When I started senior school, English soon became my favourite subject, especially the writing stories. I always achieved high marks thanks to my love and enthusiasm for stories.

For my 13^th birthday, I asked for a typewriter and produced a comic/newsletter to entertain my friends. When I’d saved enough money from my paper rounds, I bought a much sturdier portable typewriter and wrote my first novel at the age of 17.

It still sounds pretentious, no matter how I describe it. That’s why I didn’t tell the publisher my age, believing they would think I was a precocious kid who thought he knew it all. They sent me a lovely letter, which I still have, complimenting me on my characterization and dialogue, but no offer to publish.

Sometimes, I wonder if life would have been different had I revealed my age.

Life, women and work got in the way after that. While I kept writing, it wasn’t until the early 1980s that I published my first piece of work. It was an article on the harmful effects of bonfire smoke. I sold it to national magazine, Practical Gardening and received about £40, I think.

More articles followed, including a regular column in Writers’ Monthly on technology. Computers were starting to become more widely available, along with the internet and email. It was great to get in at the beginning and secure a regular feature, which ran until the magazine closed down.

But I’d always wanted to write novels. After a couple of mediocre psychological thrillers, I found my niche with murder mysteries, thanks to Miss Marple, Morse and a fictional PI called Kinsey Millhone. Determined to use what I knew, I created Kent Fisher, an environmental health officer who solved murders. The stories were intended as a contemporary classic whodunit in the vein of Agatha Christie.

Thanks to Fisher’s Fables, a humorous blog about my experiences as the manager of an environmental health team, I found my author voice. It led to my first crime novel, No Accident, being published in 2016. Since then I’ve written four more whodunits.

Me.

I remember Writers’ Monthly and have always loved technology so I probably read your column!

What about your plans for the future?

Robert

I can’t think beyond the Kent Fisher novel I’m writing. As a pantser, I don’t plan in any detail. I usually have a scene, a snippet of dialogue or a theme I’d like to develop and start from there. As I write each chapter, the story becomes more complicated. I have more ideas as I progress until I reach a point where I have a fairly good idea what the story is about.

As the actions of Kent Fisher and other characters determine where the story goes, there are always surprises in store. They don’t always behave as expected and can take the story to places I hadn’t foreseen. When this occurs in the backstory, it can have a profound effect on what follows.

Before I start the next book in the series, I have to consider all the backstory issues, like Kent’s work, his animal sanctuary, relationships. Once I know where I’m going with these, I begin to think about the murders.

As long as this continues to work, and I write to a publishable standard, I will continue with the Kent Fisher mysteries.

I’ve also started writing a collection of the humorous events that I’ve had during my career as an environmental health officer. It’s provisionally entitled, When a Health Inspector Calls, and is a work in progress.

Me.

Sounds great!  I’ll look out for it.  Now, tell us three things we might not know about you.

Robert.

1. I’m half Italian, though I can’t tell you which half.
2. I won a national 500-word short story competition at the age of 12. This is what prompted me to ask for a typewriter for my 13^th birthday.
3. At the age of four, I almost drowned in a swimming pool. We were in a circle, playing Ring a Ring a Roses and I went under. No one noticed for some time, I was told, so I was lucky to survive. I was 15 before I plucked up the courage to enter a swimming pool again. That’s why I’m happy to remain on dry land.

Me.

Thank you so much for a fascinating interview, Robert.  It’s been fun.

Social Media Links, website etc.

Website – https://robertcrouch.co.uk

Twitter – @robertcrouchuk

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/robertcrouchauthor

Amazon – https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B01HFPCYOM

The all important buy link.

No Accident – https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0747S2YMP

Author Bio

In a crowded crime fiction market, it’s difficult to offer readers something original and fresh.

Inspired by his love of cosy murder mysteries, featuring characters like Miss Marple, Kinsey Millhone and Inspector Morse, Robert Crouch drew on his extensive experience as an environmental health officer to create a different kind of detective.

Only Kent Fisher’s not a detective – he’s an environmental health officer who uncovers a murder only he can solve.

This fresh approach to the murder mystery adds a contemporary and often irreverent twist to the traditional whodunit, offering readers something familiar but different.

After reading No Accident, bestselling author, Tamara McKinley, believes ‘Agatha Christie fans will loveit.’