I doubt any writer can deny that each of their characters bears some small resemblance to a person or persons the author has met. I’ve never actually taken someone I know and plonked them into the middle of my work, but I may have mined their personality for some nuance I might bestow upon a character.

And boy, do we do meet characters in our lives? Some years ago, on a residential writing course, I kept a journal because I thought it would help the writing flow. I discovered this journal recently and have plucked from it comments I’d noted on the people joining me on the course. I’ll share them with you here. Names have been changed to protect the libelled.

Kevin: I walked into the kitchen when I arrived, to find a chap sitting on the table, drinking coffee. “I’m Kevin, who are you,”  he said. “Rosie” I replied, after which he checked the delegate list and kindly provided me with my surname. At the group introductions, he treated us to a potted life history and précis of three novels he’s written. A leading publisher has promised to publish if he can just get his hero right. Which, bearing in mind the novels are partly autobiographical, probably means we’re safe.

Jolly Jim from Glasgow: “my life’s a comedy drama, you’d be amazed what happens tae me!” Oh – and he’s told us. He is quite entertaining – in small doses – and has plenty of charm but overly interested in talking about himself.

Anne: who Jolly Jim has christened June Whitfield. Suffice to say, when I went into the kitchen at seven o’clock this morning, for my first brew of the day, the two of them were already head to head over a pot of tea and she was sharing her life history with him. I stuck around for the death of her first husband, killed by a drunk driver (he may have jumped) through her late education and remarriage, to her early retirement due to illness.  I didn’t stick around for the prognosis, but no doubt I’ll have it by the end of the week.

Sue: who, at breakfast, very quickly got onto the topic of what she likes to write and in some detail. I left the kitchen with a mouthful of toast. I had to stuff it in there to keep me from screaming.

Briony: offers more hope. She works as a script editor. She’s funny and spare with her words of wisdom, and the only one not to bore the arse off me.

Laura: Laura is a charming lady, wheel-chair bound with multiple sclerosis and well-stocked with cannabis, apparently. She might prove rather popular as the week progresses.

By Wednesday, Kevin and Jolly Jim, had jacked it in – much to the relief of all concerned. Kevin had become weirder and Jim less Jolly. Kevin terrified Briony when he said he could read a lot about her from her retina – and proceeded to do so. Not-so-jolly Jim, who had a fund of anecdotes he was hell-bent on sharing, left because he said wasn’t getting anything out of the course. He thought the tutors were all “me, me, me”.

Apparently, when Kevin told the tutors he was leaving because the course wasn’t helping him, he said, “I feel like I’m walking away from a £200 whipping!” The tutors looked suitably non-plussed so he added, “Come on, we’ve all done it.”

“Yes but never paid for it,” they replied.

* * * * *

Although life is full of people who are even-tempered and possibly even a tad dull, it is essential that your characters are not; unless dullness is a trait you wish to emphasize and develop for contrast or humour.

Many books have been written about developing characters, and I’ve dipped into a few. I’m particularly fond of studying star sign traits to add consistency to some of my characters’ personalities.

In case you might be interested, two books I often refer to when developing characters are: A Writer’s Guide to the Zodiac by Giselle Green and The Character Map by Laurie Hutzler – an excellent guide for mapping a character’s emotional conflicts and how those tensions lead to their transformation.

I have a writing ritual, which helps me get into the ‘zone’ so I figured fellow writers might too…and they do, as you will see.

I like a pot of decaf coffee on hand; I burn joss sticks to put me in the writing frame of mind; I have Classic FM playing quietly in the background (because if I play contemporary music, I end up singing along and dancing, when I should be working); finally, if it’s cold, I like a hot water bottle tucked into the small of my back.

On days when it’s not going well, I graze on biscuits, crisps, cheese, chocolate, blueberries, hard-boiled eggs – quite simply, anything I can lay my hands on that can be munched immediately. This is a ritual of which I am not proud.

Here are some other writers’ rituals:

Rhoda Baxter – writer of smart, contemporary romantic comedies

Mine are very boring, I’m afraid – cup of tea, heated bean bag and mobile phone at my elbow to keep an eye on Twitter.

Each new book starts life as a list of scenes (which will change) written on a pad of lined A4 paper, in pencil. I’ve tried different paper and different pens, but none of them ‘feel’ right. If that makes any sense.
http://www.rhodabaxter.com/

Anita Burgh – is the author of several bestselling novels

I work in chaos, tidiness makes me uncomfortable. I can work anywhere, I don’t need silence.

There was a time when I was plagued with rituals. It was imperative that I had yellow, A4, legal pads. Since I was living in France and could not find them I had to import from England – a dozen at a time. They were stacked up – a constant reminder to “get on with it.” I wrote in longhand with black ink and an italic pen. Without these three things – paper, ink and the pen I could not write a word.

And then I damaged my right elbow and could not write but could tap on a keyboard – it was a revelation and I never went back to longhand.

One thing, however, I have kept to – I cannot tell anyone what my book is about, if I do I am convinced the book will be ruined.
www.anitaburgh.com

Julie Cohen – writer of smart, contemporary women’s fiction

I make soundtracks to my books of songs that suit the mood or the story, and I always play them while I’m writing. Sometimes I play them when I’m running or driving, too, and that helps me get into the story world in my head so I can plot or plan as I’m doing other things.
http://www.julie-cohen.com

Cara Cooper – writer of heart-warming contemporary women’s fiction and regular short story writer for women’s magazines

Firstly, I have a huge amount of energy and inspiration for writing first thing in the morning. The period between sleep and wake is when my subconscious works so that when I wake and I am ready to get things down on paper that lasts for about 2 to 3 hours. Anything after that is completely an uphill struggle.

I need to have constant coffee on the go and total silence. Music or any other noise just doesn’t do it for me if I am at home. I have however successfully written in coffee shops where there is a constant low-level noise which in some ways is similar to silence. I like grapes when I am writing because it is easy to pick on those without one’s fingers getting mucky, so you can still write at the same time!
http://caracoopers.blogspot.co.uk/

Claire Dyer – writer of poetry and thought-provoking novels

I write in the mornings: no music, just my cats and black coffee for company. 1,600 words = 1 boiled egg and soldiers.
www.clairedyer.com

Beth Elliott – writes about adventure and romance in Regency times

I begin writing about 10.00pm, when I’m sure nobody will disturb me. Sometimes it can get to 2.00am before I notice, although often the cat asks to go out for the night about midnight. Music is a helpful stimulus – a lot of Chopin, classical guitar, or if I’m dealing with a big hero moment, some fine singing from Barihunk Ildebrando d’Arcangelo. And then there’s Tarkan. And if inspiration falters, tea and two Rich Tea biscuits help. Maybe the chewing wakes the brain up again.
http://bethelliott.webs.com/

Janet Gover – writer of contemporary romance, set in her native Australia

I have no food in the house (or not much) when writing. I spend the morning faffing about on the internet, pretending it’s research. Then comes lunchtime and I have to walk to the supermarket to buy food for
lunch and dinner. It’s about a mile each way. By the time I get back, the next scene is in my head and just flows out…

There are also many cups of tea involved.
http://janetgover.com/

Jenny Harper – writes compelling contemporary stories about modern women

I have to set up ergonomically because of back and shoulder problems – no more lolling around with a laptop on my knees!

I like SPACE. I can’t work in my den if it’s untidy (which it often is because I’d rather write than tidy up). If I do, I like to face out into the garden if I can. I have slatted wooden blinds to take off the glare (remember sunshine?). Otherwise, I try to beat Robin to the dining room, which has a door to the garden and is the one room I usually keep really tidy. It’s a spacious, calming room and I can just feel my mind opening up. Also, there’s an open gas coal-effect fire in the winter, which is very comforting.

No music. I get too easily distracted.
http://www.jennyharperauthor.co.uk/

Janie Millman – author and proprietor of the fabulous creative writing course centre, Chez Castillon, SW France

By preference, 6.00am – in the library, with a mug of lapsong souchong laced with whiskey – peace and quiet, apart from the little street outside waking up and the almost unendurable smell of freshly baked bread and croissants – at that point I move onto coffee. You can picture the scene!

But…in reality…planes, trains, buses, cafes and most recently – hospital waiting rooms!

PS…only kidding about the whiskey! And sometimes the tea is crap French breakfast tea! Nice thought, though!
http://janiemillman.blogspot.co.uk/ &  http://chez-castillon.com/

Please, if you have any rituals you’d care to share, do confess them here.

My first guest author is best-selling writer, Carolyn Arnold, known for the Madison Knight crime series, Although we largely write in different genres, we do share a love of beagles. I had one for fifteen years and Carolyn has two – which is brave as, IMHO, aside from being adorable, beagles are delinquent.

Carolyn’s writing has been compared with New York Times Bestsellers such as JD Robb, Mary Higgins Clark, Sue Grafton, Michael Connelly, Tess Gerritsen, and more.  She is a member of Crime Writers of Canada and lives with her husband, and the aforementioned beagles, in a city near Toronto.

Carolyn has just released a romantic thriller called Hart’s Choice – proceeds from the sale of this novella will be given to the Alzheimer’s Society, and it is being featured, this week, on theValentine’s Day Fantastical Reads Event where some of the finest authors will be offering books for sale, helping stoke the fires of romance, passion and love. Here’s what Carolyn’s story is about: 

For the lucky ones, there is a love so powerful that when it comes along, it changes everything.

As teenagers, just a chance meeting at a county fair would change Barry and Tessa’s lives forever. Yet with a summer romance that didn’t fully blossom and ended without warning, two hearts were torn apart by time and circumstance.

Tessa pursued her love of dance and found herself a ballerina in the 1962 production of The Nutcracker in New York City. But she still thought of Barry.

Reunited nearly a decade later, only to be ripped apart by war and loss, Tessa wonders if they will ever be together and dreams fulfilled.

For an excerpt, read on:

You don’t choose who you fall in love with.  It sort of just happens. It happens like a trip precedes a fall, like rain accompanies a thunderstorm.  For Tessa and Barry Hart, the cosmos intervened.  It was as if a magnet attracted their souls, and a mystical seamstress stitched two hearts as one.

She looked over at him as he lay asleep and thought of reaching out to sweep back the hair on his forehead.  But she didn’t want to wake him.  She just wanted to watch him as he rested and quietly appreciate all she had in life.

He said he knew they would get married from the start.  Of course, a lot of time passed before they actually did.

A smile touched her lips, and she couldn’t resist the urge to put her hand on his.  If she put it there lightly she shouldn’t rouse him awake.  Her fingers wrapped around his—the perfect fit.

She remembered when she met him.  It had been the summer of ’53.  He was so handsome but stubborn and cocky.  The fair music whirled loudly as a carnival backdrop, and the beeping and alarm-like noise of the gaming booths sounded regularly.  She knew the owners of the games would play the sound effects to entice those with desperate hearts, those hoping to win their girls the large, stuffed bear.  No one ever won as much as they made it seem.

Most on the grounds walked around with small bears, or heart-shaped cushions.  People held helium-filled balloons, and nibbled on cotton candy that had been swirled and piled high on a stick.  Laughter filled the air along with the smell of carnival food—funnel cakes and popcorn.  The merry-go-round spun as a colored blur like a kaleidoscope of patterns and shades.  While most had a sweetheart to share the day with, Tessa had her friend Mary.

Sixteen.

To believe she was that young when this all began.  It felt so long ago now.  How time pressed on without waiting for its occupants to get on board.

Tessa wore a net petticoat beneath the black and white checkered circle skirt her mother had made her.  She paired it with a white, scooped neck blouse.  The effect accentuated her thin waist, yet gave her fluidity as the skirt filled out.  Her blonde hair was curled, the result of a night spent sleeping with large rollers, and tied back into a ponytail with a piece of the material that matched her skirt.  Her trimmed bangs were left to frame her face.

“Tessa, let’s just do it.”  Mary looped her arm through one of Tessa’s.  For being a brunette, Mary had always been more adventurous.

“I don’t know.”  They both stood there watching the Ferris wheel, as the carnival employees boarded new occupants and unloaded ones who had their turn.  “It’s so high.”  Tessa smiled at her friend and tapped the back of her hand that was resting on Tessa’s forearm.

“You don’t know until you try it.  Come on.”

Tessa smiled.  Mary had a certain way she would look at you that had the ability to transform your mind over, weaving a negative response into a positive one.  Her head cocked to the side, a grin lit her face, and her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischievousness—the kind that would make you curious and wonder if you would miss out on something by saying no.

“Okay, fine.  But if I die my parents are going to kill you.”

A squeal escaped Mary’s throat, and she tugged on Tessa’s arm.  “We won’t die.”

Their skirts swayed, caught in the momentum, as they hurried to get in the line.

“Two tickets for the wheel, Miss.”  The ride attendant extended a hand to collect their tickets.

“Two?”  Tessa asked and turned to her friend.  “That’s a lot of money, Mary.”

“Come on, it will be the ride of your life.”

Until now, Tessa never realized how true that would be.

“Fine.”  Tessa parted with the tickets, careful not to allow physical contact with the man.  Those who worked in carnivals were scary to her.  They didn’t have roots; they traveled across America.  Her father warned her about them every year, but especially when she left this afternoon.

You’re beautiful, Tessa, and some men would love to take advantage of that.  You watch out for them.

It seemed like time took pause, for once, as she watched the wheel go around, lifting its riders sky-high before grounding them.  Her stomach tossed, and she glanced at her friend.

“It’s going to be so much fun.”  Mary bounced similar to how Charlie, their Golden Retriever, had looked as a puppy when he needed to pee.

Minutes later, they were boarded on the ride.  The wheel rotated and they were lifted; nothing below them except for air.  The fabric of their skirts rustled in the breeze against their petticoats.

Mary couldn’t hide her excitement.  Tessa put on a good front, while inside her stomach tossed more violently than it had watching the ride from the ground.  She plastered on a smile for her friend.

“You can see everything from up here.”  Mary pointed out over the fairgrounds to the surrounding fields and farms.  “Hey, there’s your place.”

“So, it is.”  Tessa did her best to steady her focus.  As she looked around, she silently coached herself not to allow the fear of heights to take hold of her.

“It’s beautiful up here.”

Tessa watched her friend—a permanent smile tattooed to Mary’s mouth—while impatiently waiting for the ride to end.  The smell of the food, which had seemed enticing on the ground, mingled with her fear and created a volatile situation in her stomach.  She needed a washroom.

The ride attendant couldn’t let them off soon enough.  Tessa knew her game plan.  She would beeline straight for the makeshift toilets, which normally she did her best to avoid, but in this case she didn’t have a choice.

“Tessa,” Mary called out to her back; Tessa kept hurrying.  Time was running out.

She was looking behind as she ran.  “I have to—”  Tessa met the ground, hard.  Pain radiated in her wrists from trying to lessen the fall, and she crumpled into a heap on the grass.

“Tessa!”

She heard her friend yelling, but she wished she would quiet herself down.  It was embarrassing enough being laid out flat in the middle of the fairgrounds.  The fewer who witnessed the incident, the better.  Tessa struggled to get up when a hand extended toward her.

“Let me help you up.”

The voice was unfamiliar, and it was male.  She dared to look up, and there he was—Barry.  Of course, she didn’t know his name at the time.

“I can make do; thank you.”  She attempted a smile but felt heat redden her cheeks.  He was handsome, and she had never seen him before.  She thought she knew all the guys in the county.  He never moved his hand but kept it extended.  His eyes were the color of the summer sky.  Her heart galloped, but she tried to rein it in.  She took his hand, and when they touched she focused on the roughness of his palm.  By the softness in his eyes, she had expected the same to hold true for his hands.

“Tessa, this is my cousin.”

She hadn’t even noticed Tom until he spoke.  She rose to her feet and brushed the grass off her skirt.  With the motion, she hoped to put the entire incident behind her.  She wanted to go, rush back to her friend and experience more of the fair, but her parents had taught her better than that.  Good deeds deserved to be acknowledged, and he had helped her up.  “Thank you.”

He reached out his hand again.  When they touched warm heat washed over her face.

“Name is Barry Hart, Miss.  Yours?”  He stopped the shaking of the hands but didn’t release hold of her.

She pulled her hand back and wiped it on her skirt.  She felt awkward and didn’t remember ever feeling this way before.  The nausea she had experienced was replaced by a fluttering in the pit of her stomach.  She felt light headed, but she had to keep her wits about her.  “Tessa.”

Her name came out, and she was surprised by how velvety it rolled off her tongue.  She didn’t mean anything by it, but it was too late to reel it in.  Mary came to a stop beside her, and extended her hand to Barry.

“Mary.”  Her face was lit as she shook the hand of the new guy in town.  Mary had never been shy when it came to boys.  She swayed her skirt, ever so slightly, and turned to Tessa.  “So, why did you run off?”

Three sets of eyes fixed on her.

“Was it the Ferris wheel?  You were coming from that direction?”  Barry interjected.  He smiled at her.

Tessa nodded.

“You don’t like heights, huh?  Neither do I.”

Well, that must mean we’re meant to be.  Didn’t he give her more credit than this?  Guys always knew the right thing to say, and the right thing to do, if it served their purposes.  Her father didn’t even need to teach her that.  “We better go, Mary.”

“Alright.”  Her friend dragged out the single word and looked at her, pleading with her eyes for them to stay just a little longer.  When Tessa didn’t respond to the silent inquiry, Mary said, “It’s early still.”  She moved close to Barry and put her arm through his.  “What time is it?”

Tom and Tessa looked at each other, picking up on Mary’s attraction to Barry, and her not-too-subtle way of letting him know.

“There’s no reason we couldn’t walk around together, now is there, Tessa?”  Tom asked.

“Well, I…”

“Come on, let’s have some fun.”  Mary bounced, and it warranted a laugh from Barry.

“Alright.”

They ended up staying at the fair until dusk and got home just in time to meet curfew.  The two girls sat on the fence that lined the field belonging to Tessa’s parents; their legs swinging just above the middle rung.

“He was cute, eh, Tess?  Too bad he doesn’t live around here.”

“Oh, he’s just a boy.  There are plenty where he came from.”

Mary’s lips curved upward.  “You like him.”

“I never said that.”

Mary bumped Tessa’s shoulder with her own.  “You do.”

“He’s alright.  Nothing to write home about.  I don’t want anything to do with a family just yet.  I have my whole life ahead of me.”  She looked out over the darkened field at the silhouettes of the wheat and higher to see the moon and stars that shone brightly tonight, as if facets of a finely cut diamond.

“He’s going to be around all this week.  Maybe next.  You have to see him again.”

“You seem to like him pretty well.”

Mary laughed.

“What is it?”

“Did you not notice he only had eyes for you?”

Tessa felt heat in her cheeks.  She noticed Barry watching her; it was at moments she suspected he didn’t realize he was caught.  “You’re crazy.”

* * *

Carolyn’s Website is here and her books are available from Amazon • Barnes & Noble  • Kobo • Sony  •Apple

I’m really into talking books at the moment. A friend gave me a copy of Shirley Valentine read by Willy Russell (would it surprise you to hear that my friend is going through some marital difficulties?) and I suddenly realised I could catch up on years of reading by doing it in the car.

I strongly recommend you try one of Bill Bryson’s – so long as it’s read by him. I tried Notes from a Small Island read by another American, who clearly knew nothing about Britain. His pronunciation was excruciating. When he spoke about the See-vern Bridge, I winced, but when he referred to the duo,Morrycumby and Wise. I had to dump it. I’ve since listened to it read by the author himself, and it was fabulous.

It doesn’t always follow that books are best read by their authors. I listened to one by Edna O’Brien who had a rather breathy and precious style of speaking. She also used the word brutalness…and I thought, doesn’t she mean brutality? Exactly. I couldn’t find it in the dictionary, either.

Most recently, I listened to Popcorn written by Ben Elton and superbly read by John Sessions. The book was full of brutalness but very funny. Sessions’ delivery was so exceptional, I felt like I was watching a film. Hats off to Elton and Sessions.

The downside of talking books is, if you listen to them at bedtime and nod off, you lose your place. With a physical book or a kindle, at the very worst, you wake to a page you may have dribbled on, but at least you know where you’re up to. If you nod off listening to a talking book, and you’re a bit of a gambler, you can enjoy the uncertain lottery of rewinding and forwarding to your next starting point.

But in the car, beware. It’s very easy to miss a motorway exit or two. As I learnt to my cost when I once found myself heading into Wales. Over the See-vern Bridge, naturally.

Actually, I’ve been able to write for some time. I’ve even been able to earn money doing it.

The difference is, now I can write largely what I want. That’s really liberating. Although no guarantee I’ll earn money from it.

When I gave up the day job (where I worked in marketing and corporate communication) I still felt strangely wired for weeks afterwards. I’d jump at the ring of my phone and regularly check my emails — just in case a client needed something. It was really hard to accept that someone else was looking after them.

The upside, however, of my conscientious nature meant I’d soon be back in the saddle — only this time on my creative horse.

There was a flaw in my thinking.

You see, it was lovely not having work to do. And, eventually, it was bliss to know there wouldn’t be any emails or calls demanding my time. So I lifted books from my To Be Read pile and indulged myself. I watched three episodes of Downton Abbey at a time. I made biscuits and cakes, which I ate and, as a result, had to start the 5:2 diet. I met friends for lunch…though not on my fasting days…and slept better than I had in years.

But, as my dear old friend, Shirl, would say, it didn’t pay the old woman her ninepence.

So I climbed the steep learning curve of self-publishing and the result is, my first book, Millie’s Game Plan, is now out there. I do hope you enjoy it. If you do — please tell your friends, if you don’t — say nowt!

You can read an excerpt from it here.

I came across this little piece on the history of Valentine’s Day, and how it’s celebrated across Europe. Clickhere to see it.

And here you can find out how to say Happy Valentine’s Day in different European countries.

Happy Valentine’s Day – you old romantics, you!