Ring Out The Old, Ring In The New.

New Year's Eve means so many different things to different people. For some, it's a farewell to what was maybe not such a good old year, a chance for things to change for the better. For others, it's the opportunity to state, almost publicly, the things they're going to achieve in the next twelve months - lose weight, quit smoking, maybe even finish that novel....!

Me, I don't make resolutions any more, partly because I rarely keep them and can't stand the beating-myself-around-the-head moments when those bathroom scales show the lbs creeping back up, or the clock hasn't quite made it till 6pm before I reach for my much-needed Friday night glass of wine! Nowadays I don't sign myself up to anything other than perhaps simply the acceptance that things will happen anyway and sometimes you can't do a thing about them other than grabbing the lemon squeezer and a big jug full of ice and see what good lemonade you can make!

If you insist I call that a resolution and have to give it words, okay. I resolve to 'live in the now' as much as I can this year, and will take whatever comes my way with as much good grace as I can muster. Watch this space!

I read in the paper this morning about New year traditions throughout the world. The Scottish capital city of Edinburgh, a place steeped in fiercely guarded tradition, has developed a whole new set of celebrations right in the centre of the city - a massive, open-air concert in the beautiful Princes Street Gardens followed by a huge firework display from the Castle ramparts. Edinburgh knows how to party! (Look out for my short story Edinburgh Fog coming from Muse It Up Publications next year - I told you I'd be open to opportunity!) It'll be cold in Edinburgh, but in Sydney, Australia, it's midsummer, and it'll be fireworks and parties in shorts and summer dresses. Times Square, NYC, has the famous ball-drop, while in Spain you'll gobble up one green grape for every stroke of midnight to ensure a year of good luck.

In A Different Kind Of Honesty, Tony talks about the New Year traditions beloved of his Italian family, as you can read in the excerpt below. He reminisces about childhood, maybe a little wistfully, sure. But he's man enough to know that New Year's about moving on, too. He's open to what comes along, and I'm taking my cue from him this year.

However you celebrate, I wish you all the very best for 2011. Enjoy every moment, and remember - make lemonade whenever you can. Happy New Year!

'Tony looked up at the New Year’s moon, smudged and dusty behind the clouds scudding across its face. Out in the dark, the sound of a party in full, drunken swing carried across the clear night air. “When I was a boy,” he said, “right about now, my mother would be throwing plates out the window.”

Maggie’s lips formed the beginnings of an incredulous laugh. “She what?”

”Oh, yeah. Damn crazy Italians, you know what they’re like.”

“I’ll say. Never know what they’ll do next.”

“You got it.” Glad she’d relaxed a little, he carried on. “It’s traditional, throwing out all the old stuff you don’t need any more. Like the New Year being a time of, I dunno. Renewal, I guess.”

“Out with the old, in with the new.” Maggie nodded. “Clear out all the rubbish.”

“That’s it. Plates, pots and pans...chairs, beds, anything she wants to get rid of.”

“Very funny.” She smiled. “What else would she be doing?”

“Let’s think. Serving up zampone sausage with lenticchie. The lentils represent coins, you know? Which is the only reason my dad eats them. And she’ll be making sure everyone in the house is wearing red underwear.”

She looked at him sideways. “Oh, you’re making that up!”

“Nope. It’s the only thing to wear, if you want good luck for the rest of the New Year. I don’t suppose..?”

Maggie threw her head back and laughed, just the way he remembered. “Not a hope - a girl’s got to have some secrets, you know.” But then, despite the laughter, sadness slipped over her again like the fleeting clouds crossing the moon above them. “I remember my mum cleaning the whole place from top to bottom,” she said. “She’d rope us all in. Very bad luck to go into the New Year with a messy house. But that was a long, long time ago.” She pulled her coat closer around her shoulders, as if she was wrapping herself up safe against the memories. Tony longed to touch her, to kiss all her sadness away forever.

“There’s another thing,” he remembered, “holding a big party that has to last all night so you can see the first dawn of the New Year with everybody you love the most. That’s the best luck of all.”

“And did you?”

“Oh, my brother and I always tried to stay awake, but we could never last the night.” He smiled. “We were just kids. I always wondered what that would be like, to sit up and watch the sunrise. But I never did.”

He leaned his forearms on the rail and looked down into the moonlit yard. Most of the tealights had gone out by now, though a few little golden flames still edged the darkness. A cheer burst out from the distant party, the kind when someone pops open champagne. He let it float past and dissolve into the night.......

..........Tony walked through the silent house, switching the lights off behind him as he made his way to the loft room where he unzipped his overnight bag. He brought out the tiny grey box that had lain there, waiting quietly since the day he bought it. He removed the lid and lifted the top layer of tissue paper to look at the bracelet inside. Silver for moonlight and sapphire for her eyes. He closed the box and put it on the nightstand. Even if she said no to coming with him, he’d still give it to her. It couldn’t belong to anyone else.

At the window, he pushed back the drape with one hand as he unbuttoned his shirt with the other. It was snowing again, a scant fall of tiny flakes that probably wouldn’t last. He thought he heard firecrackers in the distance, a tap-tap-tap barely audible underneath the sound of the party along the road. It only took him a second or two to realise it wasn’t firecrackers.

He opened the door to Maggie, still wrapped in her blue velvet coat. He stood aside to let her in. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not really. It’s only, there’s such a beautiful moon tonight. Look.” She crossed the room to the window. “There it is...I think it’s following me tonight. You know something? When it’s like this, all silvery and perfect, you can sometimes still see it in the morning. Even after the sunrise.”

“The first dawn of the New Year,” he said.

“Yes, that’s it. And I was thinking, what a pity it would be to let that chance go by. When it’s something you always wanted to do.” A single tear escaped and she closed her eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

He took a step toward her and stroked her cheek with the side of his thumb. “Maggie...I don’t know what might happen with us. But I do know there’s no way I can walk away from you tomorrow. I love you too much.”

“Enough to watch the sunrise with me?”

Another tear followed the first and he smoothed it away. “Every sunrise from here on in. Whatever you want. I promise you.”

“I’m not looking for promises,” she said. “All I know is now.”

“So stay with me...now. Watch the sunrise with me.”

“Sunrise is hours away.”

“I know.” The blue velvet slipped from her shoulders as he pulled her close, moving his mouth to hers. “Hours and hours.” '

A Different Kind of Honesty is available from the publisher, or on Kindle, and from all the usual sellers in print and in e-book.

http://www.janerichardson.co.uk/

A Girl's Best Friend.

‘“Here you go. A slice and some ice, just enough to make that satisfying clink as one gets slowly sozzled.”
“Danny, you’re my hero. Say you’ll marry me.”
“I thought you’d never ask. A church do, naturally.”
“Only if you promise to wear white.”
“And you promise to wear as little as possible.”
“Cheers, you loony.”’

Recognise that sort of exchange? If you’ve got a best friend, then you will! That’s Maggie Lawless, my heroine from A Different Kind of Honesty, and her best friend Danny Chang. I don’t think I could ever write a heroine without writing her best friend too. My heroines aren’t dependent on my heroes – God forbid! – but they’re definitely dependent on their best friend. A girl’s best friend provides the shoulder to cry on, and the metaphorical ankle to kick. He – or she – will set her straight, cheer her on, and point out the error of her ways in the nicest possible way. Well, you knew that! But in terms of writing the story, the Best-Friend-Character is a great tool. The heroine can say things to the best friend that she might never say to the hero, and maybe not even to herself. Having the BFC shows us how the heroine conducts her relationships with other people, and tells us a lot about her loyalty. As a writer, I love writing the heroine’s best friend, because I get to indulge my naughty side. I can tease the heroine, I can stop her taking herself so seriously and let her laugh at the occasional absurdities of her romance with the hero. Here’s another exchange between Maggie and Danny.

'Maggie didn’t even pretend not to watch as Tony walked toward the sliding doors.
Danny folded his arms and tsk-tsk’d.
“Honestly. Put your tongue in, girl, it’s not ladylike. Listen, do you have any idea how much I’ve been dying to get you on your own since the softball game?”
Maggie picked up the hand towel from the counter, making a big deal of shaking it out and hanging it up on its hook. “Have you really?” she said, as lightly as she could manage.
“Just a little! I nearly followed you to the bathroom at one point, but I decided that was a bit too juvenile even for me.”
He hoisted himself up on the counter and swung his feet like a ten-year old. “What happened out there? That was one helluva tackle.”
Maggie tried to keep her expression as serene as possible. “We just crashed and tripped, that’s all.”
“Oh, yes, silly me.” He raised his eyes skyward. “And you just happened to end up underneath him. Gosh, the memories must have come flooding back.”'

In my short story Perfect Strangers, the heroine’s best friend is vital. Marco, Anna’s best friend, has let her use his apartment for a few days – the same apartment where she and the hero spend their one perfect night. We never actually see Marco, and only hear from him once during one short telephone conversation, but I was able to use this BFC to move the story along and tell the reader a bit more about Anna.

'She remembered their phone conversation as if it was yesterday.

“Ciao, bella, come va?”
“Marco! I’m fine, you?”
“Good! But I have a little mystery which I think maybe you can solve for me.”
“A mystery?”
“I have an envelope, addressed to—let me see—’Marco, Director, L’Accademia, Venice.’ That’s all. Inside, a note and another envelope. Cara mia, what have you been up to? I think it’s meant for you.”
“For me? Why?”
“Listen. ‘Dear Marco. Forgive me, but please pass this to the woman who stayed in your apartment last week. I never knew her name.’ It’s not signed.” He paused. “Anna, are you still there, bella? Shall I open it, yes?”
“Yes.”
She held her breath as she listened to the sound of paper tearing, then Marco’s voice back on the line.
“Ah, someone has taste...La Madonna della Sedia. Again, not signed, but there’s something written on the back. Let me make it out...’per sempre’. Dio, Anna! You keep secrets! You know who this is from?”
“I know who it’s from. Thanks, Marco. Please send it to me.”'

Finally, here’s an excerpt from an unpublished work-in-progress, Silver Wings. Amy is a WWII land-girl who helped rescue a Spitfire pilot whose plane crashed in the field she was digging. When he returns to the farm to thank her, her best friend Pixie knows she’ll find out what he said later – but nosy Dot has been listening at the door.

'Dot was hopping from one foot to the other, as if she was desperate to go to the loo, but wouldn’t go till I told her what happened. As if she didn’t know already, with her listening at keyholes. Well, she could pee in her knickers for all I cared; I wasn’t gong to say a word. Pixie was grinning again. She doesn’t need to spy to know what’s going on in my head, and she’d know I’d tell her later anyway. I love Pixie to death, and she knows how to keep a secret. But as for Dot...I couldn’t resist.
“I must talk to Tom about getting the farm cat down here,” I said as I walked past them, all airy. “I’m sure I heard mice in the hall. Or maybe even a rat!”
Pixie laughed her huge laugh, and Dot squealed and rushed off down the garden. I hope she wet herself before she got there.'

I love my heroines, and I love their best friends just as much. Here’s cheers to A Girl’s Best Friend!

Hidden Feelings, Inner Thoughts.

A while ago, a bunch of us on another blog had a brief discussion about whether contemporary men have a deeper side to them. Well, of course they do! But then again, I would say that. It’s what I enjoy writing the most. I’m interested in the internal stuff; the internal dialogue and the sense of self. Perhaps it’s because of the work I’ve done in the past - the theatre is a place where emotions are always on show and you're surrounded by actors and singers whose job it is to show their deeper feelings to an audience by means of music, dialogue or soliloquy. Very often, as in real life, the persona a character presents to the outside world bears little or no relation to what’s really happening deep inside. In the case of ‘the hero,’ how he deals with this persona and these feelings is what interests me.

When it comes to ‘sense of self,’ Tony Valentino, my hero from A Different Kind of Honesty, has had to deal with more than most. As an undercover FBI agent, he’s spent much of his time ‘being’ another person – in his case, a full-on, player-type named Joey Pescolloni. While Tony and Joey were two different kinds of men, what interested me was how the real person inside – Tony – coped with this dual personality and double life. Well, the truth is, he coped fine. Most of the time.

“It was like being both, me and Joey, all at the same time. Him on the outside, me on the inside... “

Tony has accepted that he has to carry everything inside, rarely expressing his real, true self. That comes with the job, a job that can involve personal loss and major life changes. But Tony’s a professional. He’s trained to work that way, he can handle it. At least, he thought he could handle it, until the day he met Maggie Lawless and knew right away that she was ‘the one.’ In a world of secrets and half-truths, Tony has no choice but to keep the truth about himself hidden from her, and that means the relationship’s over before it’s barely begun. When he meets her again six months later, he knows he must explain.

“Maggie, I need to talk to you. About what happened before.”
She swung around to face him, forcing her brightest smile.
“You know, you don’t have to say a thing about that. I can guess how it was.”
“Can you?” He raised an eyebrow in surprise. She said nothing and he took a step towards her. “Maggie—”
“It’s okay.” She cut him off, unable to bear hearing him say her name if all he meant to do was to tell her what a mistake he’d made. “These things happen and then they’re best forgotten. I understand that.”
Tony drew a breath. “No, wait a second...there are things I should explain to you. Things you might not have understood......Yes, I asked you to dinner because it suited Joey, but as soon as we started talking, I mean, really talking—” He dropped his hands to his sides, facing her, breathing hard. “I was lying to you and I didn’t want to. But I had no choice.”

To say he’s met with a mixed response is an understatement! But now Tony has to let Maggie to come to terms with what happened between them all those months ago, and deep inside, he knows what choice he wants her to make. He wants her back. But Maggie may not feel the same way.

In the excerpt that follows, Tony goes to visit an old friend, and we find out a little more about what’s going on inside.

‘Tony slowed the silver Taurus to a halt and killed the engine. The clock on the dash showed ten after one. He glanced in the rear and side view mirrors, but didn’t see any other cars on the road. Besides, he’d done a couple of tortuous circuits of the area before finally pulling into the Linares’ driveway.
He got out and walked up the path in the full afternoon sun, noting Ramon’s old station wagon in front of the garage. Behind that, parked in front of the Taurus, stood a brand new red Ford Fusion he hadn’t seen before. He checked through the driver’s side windows. A map lay open on the passenger seat, and on the backseat, a light blue sweatshirt with a faded surfer logo and a woman’s red jean jacket. Next to those, a couple of small mineral water bottles with sports caps, one empty, and a copy of the week’s Time Out. As he walked around the car, he saw a sticker in the rear window that read ‘Star Car Rental, NYC, NY.’
Tony thought a moment. Ramon hadn’t mentioned any houseguests. It occurred to him the car might be a set up, but he dismissed the idea almost immediately. The types who might have wanted a couple of short-and-to-the-point words with him weren’t that subtle.
Shrieks and yells burst from the garden behind the house and he jerked his head up. A woman’s laughter and shouts of encouragement floated over sounds of children squealing and he recognized Nina Linares’ voice. Letting out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, he closed his eyes and ran a hand over his forehead, wondering when the hell he’d forgotten how children’s games sounded. A knock on glass startled him and he looked up to see Ramon wave from the window and jab his finger towards the front door before he disappeared from view.
Tony walked over to the porch steps and turned to look back along the road he’d just driven. Very few houses sat out here and those that did were mostly obscured by bushy shrubs and mature trees. He didn’t see anyone, and it was doubtful anyone could have seen him. There were no cars parked on the street.
Despite the sunshine, a misty blue haze hung around the top of the hills beyond the valley, the way it always looked every time he’d visited. He’d last been here a couple of months back; before that, several years ago, before he’d gone undercover. The landscape had a Mediterranean look about it, the reason Ramon and Nina had chosen it as the place to make their home and bring up their three children.
Ramon sauntered down the front steps, relaxed in his weekend clothes instead of one of his tailored office suits.
“I heard the car. Glad you made it, my friend.” He clapped Tony on the shoulder. They shook hands then Tony returned his gaze to the view.
“Always looks so still. And the air tastes so good. Makes you think about what you’re breathing in the city.”
Ramon nodded his agreement. “Nina chose well. It reminds her of the mountains she knew as a child in Spain.”
“She still want to go back?”
“Ah, maybe one day.” Ramon shrugged, stroking his neat beard. “When we’re old and grey.” He looked at Tony. “What about you? You going to make that return trip to Italy you keep telling me about?”
“Sure, soon as I can. You know my folks went back there?”
“No, I didn’t know. To be near your brother and his family?”
“Paolo the hot-shot Rome lawyer, yeah. Seemed like the right thing for them to do, this time of their life. My dad decided he wanted to die where he was born. He’s not dead yet, though,” he added with a smile. “I’ll visit soon. When this case is over.”
“Relive a bit of your youth, huh?”
“Yeah. Last time, I was seventeen. Worked on my uncle’s farm a whole summer. Drove my aunt crazy, running around with the village teenagers at night.” He gave a short laugh at the memory. “She was all for sending me home, but my uncle bailed me out.”
Ramon nodded. “She’d be proud of you now, though.”
Tony turned to him in surprise, but Ramon kept his look directed at the distant hills. Tony looked at them too.
“Something else about that summer...I fell head over heels in love with the village beauty. Infatuated. She’d have nothing to do with me, though.” He smiled. “I don’t think she ever knew.”
“And it broke your foolish teenage heart?”
“Into a million pieces. And you know what? I can't even remember her name."
Ramon laughed. “C’mon. Nina is cooking paella to die for and there’s a cold beer out there with your name on it.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Ramon headed up the steps to the front door. Before he followed, Tony took one last look at the blue hills. He thought about the village beauty all those years back. Now there was another girl in the picture and it looked like she didn’t want to know either. Only this time, he hadn’t forgotten her name. This one was inked on his heart like a tattoo. And removing it would hurt like hell.’

A Different Kind of Honesty is published in print and e-book, and is available from The Wild Rose Press.