Friday, August 10, 2018

In the Beginning

I’m often asked why I wanted to write fiction - and I’m still struggling to find a definitive answer. The desire to tell a story - to delve into the realms of the imagination - is hard to define. It simply exists.

The first seeds of Anya Paris were sown many years ago when I landed as a newly-wed in the far northeast of England. Coming from a small seaside town in Sussex - a classic never-been-north-of-Watford girl, or more accurately the Wembley ITV studios where I worked transmitted - I found myself in a very different world. But beyond the immediate industrial landscape of coal mines and shipyards which initially shocked my system, I discovered the windswept wide-open spaces of Northumberland. I was captivated by its wild contours, its colourful history and border legends and I think perhaps from that moment writing fiction was practically inevitable.

Anya Paris is in many ways a testament to my affection for the area. Predominantly it is a love story, with the added dimension of a mystery involving an art scam - not so much a whodunit as a did-she-do-it, which I hope keeps the pages turning. It is quite simply the novel I promised myself I’d write when I first set foot on the Roman Wall.

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Friday, June 29, 2018

Audio Book

Anya Paris has now been published as an audio-book, which has been splendidly narrated by Tony Cookson and is available on iTunes. I do hope my readers will enjoy this version and I look forward to hearing from them (by email at bmparker38@gmail.com) with their verdict on this new innovation!

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Diamond Wedding

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17th May was our Diamond Wedding Anniversary - a gloriously sunny day - spent at the Summer Lodge in Dorset. At the end of the month we celebrated further with two splendid parties, the first at the Grange in Oborne where we lunched superbly with our nearest and dearest - then the following day with an even larger crowd in our garden at home. Maybe I should apologise for this unliterary blog, but since even the queen acknowledged the day’s significance, who am I to question where such memories might lead?