A Prank?

Paul Whybrow

Prolific romantic fiction writer exposed as a plagiarist

  • Paul Whybrow
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Ha! I'm almost a Fen tiger myself, btw. East Anglian by birth, anyway, though I've spent most of my life elsewhere. Big skies and melancholia, that's what I recall.
 
The Fens and the North Norfolk coast (my part) can indeed be melancholic, especially from this time of year onwards. Suffolk less so. Always thought Suffolk was a softer county, in a nice way. Folk would retire to my neck of the woods from the industrial Midlands, expecting paradise, and only find despair. Quite a few suicides each year from incomers.
 
AgentPete said:
The Fens and the North Norfolk coast (my part) can indeed be melancholic, especially from this time of year onwards. Suffolk less so. Always thought Suffolk was a softer county, in a nice way. Folk would retire to my neck of the woods from the industrial Midlands, expecting paradise, and only find despair. Quite a few suicides each year from incomers.
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Here's what I wrote about that part of the world in 'The Inheritance', published in Hypnos magazine recently:

"...Yes, the Fens; deathly dull flatlands that go on forever. Stand here, by Jack’s house, and look East: there’s nothing higher than the sea’s swell between here and Holland. In the old days, this place would have been packed full of the Dutch, showing us how to steal good earth back from the marauding waters. Today you’d be lucky to see another human being. Maybe a couple of pikeys setting dogs on hares; or a half-daft farmer. And you’d have to be half-daft, or worse, to live out here. There is nothing. Just nothing but grass and stunted trees and the cold, cold wind. It blows straight in from the Arctic, they say, stopping only to chill and whip the North Sea into green and white. And it doesn’t stop. I can hear it now, not strong, nor wild; just insistent and incessant. It nags at me, making doors creak and curtains tremble; it comes down the chimney and croons at me from the blackened fireplace..."

But the narrator's views are not necessarily my own...there's a lot about East Anglia that I like.
 
@Marc Joan "There is nothing. Just nothing but grass and stunted trees and the cold, cold wind. It blows straight in from the Arctic, they say, stopping only to chill and whip the North Sea into green and white. And it doesn’t stop. I can hear it now, not strong, nor wild; just insistent and incessant. It nags at me, making doors creak and curtains tremble; it comes down the chimney and croons at me from the blackened fireplace..." This makes me want to live there! It sounds wonderful, like the perfect place to tell ghost stories! And that is a beautiful bit of writing right there.

As for the phone call... you know, I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't a prank. I don't have the confidence (arrogance?) to make a call like that, but there are plenty who would without thinking it through. I'm not as organized as Nicole, I think I'm just pretty damn anxious about making a bad impression. I guess until you've started making friends with other writers and going through the query process and seeing just how many people are writing or have written you don't really realize that you need more than having just written a book. Uh, I mean, of course you need a book! But, just having a book isn't enough. If that makes sense? I mean, it has to be a damn good book! I'm going to throw the towel in on trying to explain what I mean here. :confused::D
 
Marc Joan said:
Here's what I wrote about that part of the world in 'The Inheritance', published in Hypnos magazine recently:

"...Yes, the Fens; deathly dull flatlands that go on forever. Stand here, by Jack’s house, and look East: there’s nothing higher than the sea’s swell between here and Holland. In the old days, this place would have been packed full of the Dutch, showing us how to steal good earth back from the marauding waters. Today you’d be lucky to see another human being. Maybe a couple of pikeys setting dogs on hares; or a half-daft farmer. And you’d have to be half-daft, or worse, to live out here. There is nothing. Just nothing but grass and stunted trees and the cold, cold wind. It blows straight in from the Arctic, they say, stopping only to chill and whip the North Sea into green and white. And it doesn’t stop. I can hear it now, not strong, nor wild; just insistent and incessant. It nags at me, making doors creak and curtains tremble; it comes down the chimney and croons at me from the blackened fireplace..."

But the narrator's views are not necessarily my own...there's a lot about East Anglia that I like.
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That was a good story, of yours. Is that where we're talking about? I see, now...
 
Thanks, Marc. It's on Tuesday, funeral is a fair way to go, in Bodmin. It's written, just doing a few read aloud runs. My poor friend...he was a warrior and the hospital was a shocker. Wanted to sneak his leg off without his consent, leaning on his poor wife because she had power of attorney. Fortunately, she didn't have the document with her, and my friend went peacefully under sedation after great suffering, and not nearly enough support over many months, from the medical professionals. Would I back supervised euthanasia support for people in their own home. You bet I would, murderer's and opportunist's field day, or not. But smiles are what is wanted - he was a lot of fun...and that's what we're aiming for.

@Fens (Cambs) this cheerful novel: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Waterland-Graham-Swift/dp/0330518216Norfolk

PS Every single person smiled, much to my relief and there were a few laughs. Even my poor widowed friend...and the very stylish lady funeral director in her top hat and veil, and the pall bearers, smirking, and a baby at the back crowed, which also cried when adults did, 4 months old, tuned to mood. My friend was a larger than life person, wonderful and sometimes a bit awful, which everyone well knew, and I dished a bit of dirt, oh yes. Well, you can when you love someone.
 
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AgentPete said:
The Fens and the North Norfolk coast (my part) can indeed be melancholic, especially from this time of year onwards. Suffolk less so. Always thought Suffolk was a softer county, in a nice way. Folk would retire to my neck of the woods from the industrial Midlands, expecting paradise, and only find despair. Quite a few suicides each year from incomers.
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The East Anglia Tourist Board really missed out the day you decided on a different career path...!
 
What IS it with you lot. Food, lots of food, fast food. and drink (to paraphrase The Rutles).

Now there is a film worth watching: The Rutles. A fine example of English whimsical humour and a loving pastiche of the Beatles.
 
Jimithyh said:
What IS it with you lot. Food, lots of food, fast food. and drink (to paraphrase The Rutles).

Now there is a film worth watching: The Rutles. A fine example of English whimsical humour and a loving pastiche of the Beatles.
Click to expand...

I have a good excuse. I gave myself a blog challenge this year--365 Days of Food--with "food" defined very loosely as anything related to its production and consumption. So food and writing are going hand-in-hand for me this year. And it's not all fast food and cake, either. How about some black truffle risotto with roasted squash and a salad? :)
truffle risottosm.jpg
 
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Paul Whybrow

Prolific romantic fiction writer exposed as a plagiarist

  • Paul Whybrow
  • Replies: 27
G

Hello

  • God's dad
  • Replies: 16
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