Summertime...
... and the living's anything but easy. Well, easy enough maybe, but not lazy. This summer seems to have been a busy time of train journeys, events and meetings. All very enjoyable, but it's been hard to find a concentrated time to write. Which is why I'm delighted to be heading off to Oxford tomorrow. More about that later.
The Harrogate Festival was as successful as ever and I enjoyed it more this year because I was there as a visiting author and not working as reader-in-residence. Martyn Waites, who's taken over from me, is doing a magnificent job. He travelled all over the north of England in the run-up to the Festival, promoting the delights of crime reading. Whenever I saw him over the weekend he was his usual good-natured self but he did seem a bit frazzled and exhausted. It's a responsible role and I was more than happy to hand over the responsibility!
Photo © Sam Atkins.
My panel with forensic scientists attached to the Macauley Institute in Aberdeen was a joyous experience. These were lovely people, confident in their own skills and passionate about their work. The fact that they threw mild criticism in the direction of me and Mark Billingham - OK, I accept that a CSI might not disturb a crime scene to look for the murder weapon, and if 'd known that the consultant pathologist covering Shetland was going to appear with me on a panel I might not have described him in BLUE LIGHTNING as overpaid - only added to the fun. The room was full to bursting point and I think we could have answered questions for the next hour. I'm doing another event with the Macauley folk during the Orkney International Science Festival in September and I'm really looking forward to it.
I was home for a night after Harrogate, then I was down to London for the Readthrough of Telling Tales, the second ITV episode of VERA. It was weird meeting up with the regulars - Brenda Blethyn, David Leon and Wunmi Mosaku - in a church hall in Bloomsbury. Last time we met was on a freezing set on the Northumberland coast. Again Paul Rutman has done an astounding script, capturing the essence of the book. The relationship between Vera and Joe is cemented here and there are flashes of wit and humour to lift the mood. I think it might be even better than Hidden Depths. There's a great list of supporting actors too.
And tomorrow I'm off to Oxford. I dropped out of university without getting a degree, so when I was invited a few years ago to speak at the St Hilda's Crime and Mystery Conference, I was pretty intimidated. Presenting a paper at an Oxford college! But the regulars were so friendly that I enjoyed it hugely and since then I've been hooked. For the past couple of years I've gone to St Hilda's early to stay in college and have a few days uninterrupted and self-indulgent writing time. I pretend that I'm a student and I absolutely love it. If you enjoy the gentler art of crime-writing, perhaps St Hilda's would be for you.
Posted by Ann on Sunday, August 8th 2010 @ 09:08 AM GMT [link]
On growing up and going back
I spent a few days last month in North Devon, where I spent much of my childhood. My father was headteacher of village primary schools there, first in Umberleigh in the Taw valley and later in Woolacombe on the coast. We lived in Barnstaple and I was a pupil of what was then the Grammar School and is now The Park Community School. The school is celebrating its centenary - there's a new and very interesting book charting its history by Trevor Hill - and I'd been invited along to run some writers' workshops for pupils. It was CWA crime fiction week, so it seemed an appropriate date for the visit.
I was happy in the school. It stands on a beautiful location looking down at the river and I made friends who are still important to me: my best friend at school lives in the town, we're still very close and I had a great few days with her. We walked the Tarka route between Fremington Quay and Instow, listened to jazz at the Barnstaple Festival and ate cream teas. Now it seems to me that what I gained from that experience didn't have a lot to do with exams and knowledge. I learned to read widely and perhaps my passion for European crime fiction developed from the enthusiasm for French literature passed on by Barbara Morrish, our brilliant teacher. Camus's La Peste is still one of my favourite books. (My English teacher, Michael Grey, was more interested in Dylan than Shakespeare and is now considered an authority - the English classics rather passed me by...)
Mostly though, when I remember schooldays, especially my sixth form, it's about the other students. Beach parties on Croyde beach, with firewood nicked from the lifeguards and too much cheap wine, and walks through Anchor Woods. All the time talking. About our dreams and our loves, about painting and poetry. The sense that understanding the other as an individual was as important as understanding ourselves. In these days of targets and league tables it seems idealistic and self-indulgent. How can you measure emotional intelligence after all? But that desire to get inside another person's skin and see the world through their eyes is what writing's all about. It was the best possible training for me.
It was very odd to go back to the school. I was seventeen when I left and I've never been there since. There were odd flashes of memory. Of the library, of rehearsing school plays in the hall, of a classroom where a particularly strict and scary teacher had taught, of speech day and betting on the length of the chair of governors lecture. But the young people were much the same as we were. And the writers in my group showed a concentration and skill that I'm not sure I would have had at their age. I hope they get as much out of their schooldays as I did.
Posted by Ann on Tuesday, July 13th 2010 @ 01:03 PM GMT [link]
Heading west
I collect islands. I've lived on two - Fair Isle, which I described in last month's post, and Hilbre, where we lived when we were first married. This is a tiny tidal island in the Dee estuary and we were the only residents. I still have escapist dreams of running away to a small croft, with a view of the sea, hens in the garden and the sound of sheep in the background. Tim though is very fond of his suburban existence, his friends close by and an easy walk to the pub. And I'm sure I'd miss good public transport, local food shops, the convenience. I love the idea of self-sufficiency, but I'm too lazy to make it happen. Even a small town garden is too much work for me. So islands are for holidays now.
I'd never been to the Hebrides - unless you can count ten minutes in Stornaway on a day trip from Ullapool - so when Tim suggested a trip to North Uist to visit an old birdwatching friend I was definitely up for it! Because I'd just come back from Shetland it was easy to make comparisons between the Uists and the Northern Isles, to decide which I liked best, but of course this is foolish. The two groups are very different, in size and culture and temperament.
My first impression of North Uist was that, although it was less than two hours by ferry from Uig in Skye, it seemed very remote. The landscape was different from anything I'd experienced before - very low and boggy, lots of lochs, iris beds just coming into flower and long white beaches. So wherever you looked there was water. And there was a sense too of being somewhere foreign because of the Gaelic place names and the fact that for many islanders Gaelic is the first language.
Brian and Anne were tremendous hosts. Brian took Tim birdwatching and Anne is an artist who understood perfectly that I'd like to write ever day. So in the mornings she'd draw and I'd set up my laptop on the kitchen table, and in the afternoons we'd explore the islands, meeting her friends or walking Flora the dog on one of the long stretches of sand. And gossipping. This was a great place for gossip.
Ann with Felicity Bramwell and Donald Ewen Morrison - and the mobile library
In small communities people have different roles and Anne works as a relief library assistant at the library in Benbecula (North Uist, Benbecula and South Uist are joined now by causeways). So when I was given a chance to spend an afternoon on the mobile library, I jumped at it! What better way to see more of the island and meet the people! Donald Ewen, who's in charge of the van, knows every one of his readers. He takes the mobile right to their doors, is aware of their preferred reading, knows where to leave the books if they're out. For elderly customers, he's regular contact with the outside world, a source of news (and tatties and fish). He understands his readers because he grew up on the island and like many of them, Gaelic is his first language.
While for an author, chatting to readers about books and advising on finding a publisher, might seem like a busman's holiday (almost literally in this case), I had a brilliant day and wouldn't have missed it for the world.
It was a pleasure too, to accept Felicity's invitation to visit the community library based at the school in Benbecula. Felicity is the librarian, enthusiastic and welcoming, and I enjoyed the chance to talk with a couple of the writers' group.
It had been a busy Spring and this was just the break we needed. To spend time with good friends, to walk in the sunshine - and to get a few thousand words of the new novel written too - made it a perfect holiday.
Posted by Ann on Wednesday, June 9th 2010 @ 10:27 AM GMT [link]
The fairest Isle
Months ago I had the brilliant idea of having a launch party for BLUE LIGHTNING in the new bird observatory on Fair Isle. The book is set in a field centre on the island, I first went there 35 years ago to be assistant cook, and besides I love the place and wanted to share it with friends and colleagues. Helen, my publicist knows and likes Shetland, and she encouraged me. She thought the novelty of a launch party on the most remote inhabited island in the UK would attract the press – and anyway it would provide an excuse for her to visit too! Hollie, the observatory’s administrator, was enthusiastic because it’d give us a chance to show off the smart new building.
From the beginning the planning was a little stressful. The plane that runs the scheduled flight into the Isle will take 8 at a push – if everyone’s skinny and doesn’t have much luggage - and we were bringing in a couple of dozen people. But there are two flights on a Saturday and some people agreed to use the mail boat, the Good Shepherd, so we got that organised.
Then just a few weeks ago Hollie was told by the contractors that the observatory wouldn’t be ready for guests in time for the party. Everyone had paid for their flights into Shetland, we had a publisher and press coming from Sweden, and features writers from a couple of major British newspapers on board. We both decided that it would be too disappointing to cancel. Hollie, who must have been already frantic coping with builders, took on the task of finding accommodation in the island for all our party. Some people would be there for 5 nights, but still islanders offered up their spare beds, Dave at the South Lighthouse put his guest house at our disposal, and the observatory domestic staff offered to do the party food – although the only cooking facilities they could use were at the Puffinn, a glorified fish hut, where they were camping out. And though Ann, head cook, right-hand woman, and my very good friend, had been diagnosed with a serious illness and wasn’t there. The team decided that they’d use Ann’s planned menu and follow her special recipes – their own tribute to her.
I expected that some of my guests might back out at this point, but everyone decided that they’d go ahead. The first of us went in on the Good Shepherd from Lerwick with boxes of Shetland smoked salmon and smoked mussels, a leg of reestit mutton (a Shetland delicacy), all donated, along with crates of Unst beer, by Promote Shetland. And at the North Haven in Fair Isle our hosts were there to meet us. Some very old friends and some people new to me, all equally welcoming.
I stayed with Margo and Bill in the Koolin. When I first worked on Fair Isle, they’d not long moved there with two young children. Bill was a lightkeeper at the North Light, travelling to the remote north of the island at all times and in all weathers to wind up the clockwork weight every forty minutes to keep the lens of the light turning. Margo was full of ideas about crafts and knitting and was a founder member of the Fair Isle co-op of craftspeople. They often rescued me when I needed time away from the observatory, and they rescued me too much later when my husband was ill and we needed somewhere for him to recuperate. Now, they took me in again, and my good friends Ingirid and Jim, who arrived in the following day from Shetland.
Early on Saturday morning I had a text from my Swedish publisher to say that volcanic ash had descended again and they wouldn’t make it. Liz Hunt from the Telegraph got as far as Aberdeen, but had to turn back. The volcanic ash also grounded the small plane due to bring in more guests that afternoon, but Neil, skipper of the Good Shepherd, held the boat at Grutness and everyone who’d reached Shetland got in.
And the party? Of course that went ahead and everyone, from the smallest baby, to their great grandparents had a wonderful time. We had music from the world-famous Chris Stout and from other fabulous island musicians: both Stuarts, Neil, Lise and Angela. There was beer and wine, bannocks filled with Ingirid’s reestit mutton, oatcakes and smoked salmon, and mounds and mounds of homebakes. Cathy had made a felted wall-hanging, depicting the lightning strike featured on the jacket of BLUE LIGHTNING, to be auctioned in aid of Vaila’s Fund and the new observatory – if you’re interested in bidding check out the observatory website. We all sang Happy Birthday to island children Robyn and Raven.
On Monday most of my guests had gone and I had time to do what I remembered doing when I lived there. I sat in croft kitchens drinking tea – or something stronger – and talked. Jane and Dave at Field and Jimmy and Florrie at Skerryholm made me feel as if I was 20 again.
I left the island on the Tuesday boat, not feeling too emotional because I knew I’d be back the following day on a day trip with two German journalists. We had beautiful weather on Wednesday, a smooth flight and a clear day. Deryk showed us the new bird observatory and close-up views of puffins. Hollie made a wonderful lunch. Leaving that time was more difficult. I made sure I sat at the back of the plane so nobody could see me cry.
Photgraphs by Roger Cornwell; you can see Dave Wheeler's photographs here.
Posted by Ann on Saturday, May 15th 2010 @ 03:09 PM GMT [link]
The bright lights...
Writing is generally a solitary business and that's one reason why I like it so much. I love sitting in my kitchen in the early morning waiting for the story to develop, creating people and places in my head, and if I don't have time to myself every day I go quietly crazy. But occasionally it's lovely to get out into the real world, to catch up with colleagues and to share gossip. In the last couple of weeks I've had trips south to the bright lights of London and to the very classy setting of the Oxford Literature Festival.
I was voted a member of the Detection Club more than a year ago and I try to get to the dinners whenever I can. The Club has been in existence since the days of Agatha Christie and the members have included most of the stars of British crime fiction. It's a huge honour to have been invited to join. There's a delicious air of secrecy surrounding the Club, so I'll just say that meetings are always jovial events and that the March dinner was no exception.
The following morning I had a meeting with ITV Productions boss Kate Bartlett to discuss my response to the DVD of the first episode of VERA. I sat in the very smart office in Grey's Inn Road and struggled to believe that this was really happening. Five years ago all my backlist was out of print and publication of my new book by no means certain. Now I was talking about the television adaptation!Kate is lovely and we had a very positive chat about the production, about how wonderfully Brenda Blethyn had captured the spirit of my character and about the sparky on-screen relationship that's developed between her and David Leon, who plays Joe Ashworth.
Later that evening I went to a reception at the Swedish Embassy, (as you see, I move in very grand circles these days!) where a panel chaired by Mark Lawson discussed the worldwide phenomenon of Steig Larsson. Most sense came from my friends Barry Forshaw and Hakan Nesser. Loads of people had been invited - bloggers and reviewers, writers and publishers - and it was a fantastic opportunity to catch up with fans of Scandinavian crime fiction.
On March 23rd I had another long train ride - this time to Oxford for the Sunday Times Literature Festival. I was quite relaxed to start with, because Chris Stout had agreed to join me and I knew his music would put the audience in a good mood. And Andy Steven had arrived from Shetland, with beer from Unst and smoked salmon and oatcakes and fudge, so how could people not have a good time? Then my editor sat in the front row, along with VERA scriptwriter Paul Rutman who lives in Oxford, and suddenly I found myself strangely tongue-tied. The Festival provided accommodation for us in Christ Church, the college where it's based and later that evening looking out over a quad, once more I found myself hardly believing I was there. The impostor syndrome all over again.
The next day there was a shorter train journey into London to have lunch with Liz Hunt, features editor for the Telegraph. Very bravely she's agreed to come to Fair Isle in May, to write a travel piece, and also an article about the influence of the place on my books. We talked practicalities of boats and planes and I explained a little bit about the islands. My publicist handed over copies of the Shetland Quartet. There were three women at the table next to us in the very busy restaurant and suddenly one stood up:
'Excuse me. Is one of you Ann Cleeves? I'm sorry to interrupt but I just wanted to say how much I love your books.'
What timing! Just as Liz was leaving! That's never happened to me before. I do wonder though if Liz thought that the whole thing had been set up.
Posted by Ann on Wednesday, March 31st 2010 @ 02:55 PM GMT [link]
On bookshops and libraries
It's easy to get depressed about the selling of books. With the disappearance of Borders UK, Waterstone's is the only major retailer left on the High Street. Supermarkets sell too but at such a discount that it's hard to understand how the publishers make money, and besides, the range of stock is very limited. It's a delight then to come across a shop where the staff know, understand and love the books on the shelves. Such an establishment is Goldsboro Books in Cecil Court, just off St Martin's Lane in London. David, the owner, has developed a great relationship with publishers and authors. He specializes in hard backed signed copies and he hosted the launch party to celebrate the hard back publication of BLUE LIGHTNING and Martin Edwards' Lake District novel THE SERPENT POOL a month ago. It was a lovely evening and I was pleased that many of our guests raved about the shop and promised to go back and spend time there.
Libraries have taken on the role of guardians of our literary tradition in recent years. They stock the new and the quirky, translated fiction and short stories, the sort of books that don't make the display tables at the front of bookshops. Certainly there's no doubt that I'd be long out of print without library sales to sustain me. Libraries also provide a place where authors can meet their readers. In March thriller writer David Hewson and I made a tour of five of my favourite authorities here in the north east. He was bowled over by the welcome he received, by the professionalism of the staff and the enthusiasm of the readers. It made me realise how lucky I am to live close to so many supportive librarians.
Posted by Ann on Tuesday, March 9th 2010 @ 02:08 PM GMT [link]
Murder in the Cathedral (and on the radio)
January was an interesting month, with two unusual events.
At the end of last year I received a request from an old friend; she'd been co-opted onto the fundraising committee for the choir at St Nicholas Cathedral in Newcastle - her grand daughters are choristers - and wondered if I could help. I imagined she wanted books to raffle or sell and of course I agreed. It was only later that I realised her idea was rather more ambitious. Could I write a script for a murder mystery set in the cathedral?
She introduced me to the dean and his staff and their enthusiasm and sense of fun was so infectious that I got carried along with it. Sitting in our little appartment in the Chateau de Picomtal over the Christmas holiday the story came together. Back home I contacted my old friend CSI Helen Pepper and with characteristic generosity she gave her time and her expertise. We devised a murder scene in the crypt and the dean, his PA, the manager of the refectory and the organ scholar all agreed to appear as themselves - and as suspects. Meryl my friend persuaded local BBC television news that the event would make an interesting feature.
In the end it was a brilliant event. The suspects were scarily convincing and we attracted an audience of more than a hundred. Just one detective solved the puzzle exactly. My special thanks go to Helen who spent most of the evening freezing in the crypt explaining blood spatter patterns to the people in a very long queue. We made nearly £1000 for the choristers.
And on the Saturday before we killed off a fictitious young woman in St Nicholas, another young woman died on radio 4. The BBC took the decision to adapt RAVEN BLACK for radio nearly a year ago and it was broadcast on the Saturday closest to Up Helly Aa. The play was a pick of the day in the Radio Times and I could understand why. I thought producer Kirsteen Cameron captured the sense of place and the atmosphere of mid-winter Shetland beautifully.
Posted by Ann on Wednesday, February 10th 2010 @ 09:25 AM GMT [link]
