Author interview...

http://www.howtotellagreatstory.com/byot/byot157.html

Bragging Rights...

Glyn Pope certainly has bragging rights about his novel, The Doctor, The Plutocrat, and The Mendacious Minister.

A quote from BBC radio has been added to the back cover of his book.

RICH IN ATMOSPHERE and the colour of the time, all the characters in Glyn Pope's novel are alive. This is a true reflection of life in a certain suburb of Leicester in the English East Midlands, but the themes are universal. This could well be your neighbourhood facing the challenges of a changing world at the end of the 2nd World War. Enjoyable and challenging.
Stephen Butt, BBC Radio

Today, there is an article about "Doc" in the local newspaper, the Leicester Mercury. Follow the link. http://www.thisisleicestershire.co.uk/news/New-novel-recalls-post-war-blues/article-3233498-detail/article.html

The Doctor, The Plutocrat, and The Mendacious Minister by Glyn Pope

a bit more of the story...

Latymer turned to the gathered spectators. ‘There’s nothing to see.’

Nobody moved.

A policeman was leaning against the counter in the refreshments room. Gaunt and thin, Sergeant Simmons spent most of his duty time at the railway station. During the war the duty was particularly important, as it could have been one way for spies to enter the country. Sergeant Simmons never apprehended anyone, mainly for two reasons: one was that he didn’t know what he was looking for, and secondly, he spent most of his duty time standing where he was now, chatting to Cyril and Cyril’s wife, Dot. Simmons drank tea and ate bun after bun without putting on an ounce in weight. He left his post only when he needed to relieve himself.

‘Hey, Sarge?’ said Cyril.

Simmons stopped mid-bite. It wasn’t often he was interrupted whilst eating.

‘There seems to be quite a crowd gathering.’

‘Ooh, I wonder what’s going on there?’ Dot was a nosey woman and didn’t miss a trick.

Sergeant Simmons looked in the wrong direction.

‘Over there.’ Dot pointed with a cup she was drying.

‘Ah yes.’ Simmons spoke as if he had known all along. ‘Best take a look.’ Simmons put his shoulders back, so he looked more like a figure of authority, and strode purposefully towards the crowd.

‘Now then. Now then. What have we here?’

‘This man has injured his arm. He trapped it in a carriage door. I’m trying to take a look at it.’ Latymer told the policeman.

‘I see,’ said the policeman, full of self-importance. ‘You trapped this man’s arm in a carriage door? I shall need your name, sir. There may be further proceedings.’

The crowd murmured their disbelief at the crime committed by a doctor.

‘I’m Dr Latymer. I didn’t trap his arm. I’m trying to help him.’

Carefully scrutinising Reginald, Sergeant Simmons said to him, ‘Now I need you to answer truthfully. Did this man,’ turning to look in the direction of Latymer, ‘who looks too young to be a doctor in my opinion, shut the railway carriage door onto your arm?’

Sergeant Simmons paused for a moment to let the gravity of the situation sink in, whilst the crowd collectively held their breath. ‘I warn you that anything you may say could be used in evidence.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ exclaimed Latymer, wishing he were in a taxi on his way to his first medical practice.

‘As far as I know,’ replied Reginald, as if he were at the Old Bailey surrounded by aging varnished brown oak, and men and women in grey wigs representing centuries of law, ‘it wasn’t him.’

There was a sharp intake of breath at the doubt expressed.

‘I was in a different carriage. I came here to help him.’ Latymer corrected Reg’s information.

‘He sounds very guilty,’ said one of the expanding group of people.

‘A terrible thing for a doctor to do,’ replied another.

‘I saw him, the man who says he’s a doctor, get out of the carriage up there. Three carriages away from where the man screamed like a woman,’ said one man moving to the front of the pack.

‘I did not scream like a woman,’ Reginald protested.

‘Yes you did,’ said the ten-year-old boy as he stepped forward from the other observers.

‘Are you prepared to swear to that?’ asked the policeman.

‘This boy has been taught to tell the truth,’ said the boy’s keeper.

‘Look, Constable,’ said Latymer.

‘Sergeant,’ Simmons corrected.

‘Sergeant. I need to see what this man’s injuries are. I have somewhere else to get to.’

‘Meeting a woman, are we?’ Simmons said.

‘My practice,’ said Latymer growing annoyed.

‘What you do in your private life is of no concern to me, as long as long as His Majesty’s Law is kept intact.’ Simmons glanced at the station clock and saw it was time he was off duty, ‘Right, sir, I’ll take your word for it. I’ll disperse the crowd.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant.’

‘You could trust a doctor in the war,’ said one of the onlookers as she moved away.

‘You can never tell,’ said another.

‘Can you slip off your coat?’ Latymer turned to Reg.

‘You’ve asked me that once.’

‘So will you do it?’

‘It’s still a bit cold.’

‘Come on, Reg. Do what the doctor wants. He can’t look at you.’

Reginald stood up, and with his wife’s help, took off his coat, ‘Ayah,’ he complained as he did so.

‘Let’s see. Can you bend your arm?’

Reg managed to do that.

‘Good. I don’t think there’s a lot wrong.’ Latymer paused as if thinking deeply. ‘Hm, you need a doctor to look at this.’

‘You said you were a doctor. Were you telling fibs?’

Latymer ignored the question. ‘You need your own doctor. Do you have far to go?’

‘Stocking Farm. Dr McFadden’s our doctor.’ He looked at his wife as if it were something to be proud of.

‘That’s where I’m going,’ said Latymer. ‘We’ll share a taxi.’

The Doctor, The Plutocrat, and The Mendacious Minister

Latymer heard a piercing scream rise from amongst the general sound of the station. He took it to be the whistle of an engine. As he looked around his eyes set upon a man clutching his arm. Could this be his first patient, so soon after his arrival?

‘The stupid sod.’ The voice sounded shrill.

‘Now sir, watch your language, there are ladies and children present.’ His uniform gave the porter the prerogative to sanction.

‘Yes, Reg.’ The lady with the injured man spoke, attempting an air of authority.

Reg replied, ‘Are you standing here with a broken arm?’

‘No, it’s just that–’

‘Shut your gob then,’ Reg told her.

‘Reg,’ the lady pleaded, ‘stop the palaver. Don’t speak to me like that.’

The porter moved to intervene.

‘Fight a man with one arm, would you?’

‘Reginald. Calm down.’ The woman was firm with her husband.

‘What was the idiot doing,’ Reg whined, ‘slamming the door on a train full of people?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I bet he’s in the station bar,’ said Reg, ‘cosy with a whisky. That’s what I need, a whisky for the pain.’

‘I’ll get you one.’ The lady looked around and shouted, ‘Porter!’

‘Don’t give him anything.’ Latymer purposefully strode to the small gathering. Full of self-importance he said, ‘I’m a doctor.’ Every young doctor has the desire to utter the statement, I’m a doctor, and answer the emergency.

‘Thank God for that.’ Reg spoke, with a miserable groan, as if his life needed saving. ‘A doctor.’

‘He may be in shock. No alcohol.’ Latymer repeated the instruction while he looked into the man’s eyes.

‘What the doc means is he may need an operation.’ The porter made a sawing motion across his own arm. ‘His arm amputated.’

‘Oh no! Oh no! Milly, I’m going to have my arm cut off. You’d better get me that drink.’

The porter walked away and left them to it.

‘You’re all right. Pull yourself together. Let’s take you to a seat and have a proper look.’ Latymer pointed to a bench.

His wife led Reginald to the nearby seat.

At the end of the bench was a narrow space, perhaps large enough for Reg to sit. The rest of the bench was taken by a lady of large proportions with a scarf tied tightly to her head. Next to her was seated a schoolboy.

‘Move along and let the gentleman sit down. He looks a bit pale.’ The woman gave the boy a nudge.

‘Where am I going to sit?’ asked the boy.

‘You’ll have to stand. The train will be here soon,’ the lady said kindly, seeking to appease him.

‘I’ll have to stand on that, as well,’ the boy shot back.

‘Stop being cheeky. Here you are, sit down, duck.’ She gestured for Reg to take the empty place that the boy, flouncing and sighing, had gone to great pains to make.

Reginald made a show of sitting down as if he were a hero.

‘Well it can’t be because of the war,’ the boy gave a sideways nod towards Reg, ‘it’s been over three years now. Why can’t we get proper food? I was reading in The Times that they’re better fed in Germany and they lost!’ He stood petulant in his schoolboy’s uniform, speaking as if he were talking about a game of football.

‘We don’t want that kind of talk,’ said the lady minding the boy.

Latymer looked at the boy and said, ‘You’ve got a politician there. How old is he?’

‘Ten. He sees, hears, and reads everything.’

‘Is that so? Very bright,’ answered Latymer.

‘So his parents say. I’m seeing him back to school.’

What a precocious child, Latymer thought, but doctors are taught to never give away their true feelings. ‘Anyway, thank you for letting this gentleman sit down. He’s been in an accident.’

Reg nodded his head, affirming the situation.

‘Yes, I see that,’ the boy went on. ‘His arm isn’t broken though. At the worst it’s a slight sprain. If he moves it carefully, it’ll free itself. He’ll be right as rain in no time.’

Years of hard work training to be a doctor, Latymer despaired looking heavenwards towards the vaults of the railway station, and a ten-year-old diagnoses my first patient.

‘His mother and father say he wants to be a doctor.’

The boy confirmed the statement, pronouncing his words as if he had a plum in his mouth. ‘I do want to be a doctor.’

‘Well, there’s a lot more to it than guesswork.’ And to show that he was very serious, Latymer spoke in a voice that was a few decibels below his normal one.

‘How long have you been a doctor then?’ the boy asked.

Latymer ignored the question, but carried on with his explanation. ‘There’s seven years hard training, difficult examinations.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with most patients you see as a GP that wouldn’t cure itself,’ said the boy pompously.

Latymer knew the boy to be correct. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I read it in The Lancet – last June’s issue. I can send it to you if you give me your address.’

‘You read The Lancet ?’ Latymer gave the boy another look.

‘Like other boys read the Beano,’ the lady told them rather proudly, as if she were his mother.

‘Yes, so do I,’ said Latymer, foolishly with pride in his voice.

‘You read the Beano, Doc?’ asked Reg. ‘I can let you have my back issues.’

‘No, The Lancet.’

‘That’s why he knows more than you,’ said Reg.

‘He doesn’t know more than me. This arm could be broken.’

Day Three

Day three of being a publisher. Someone please, pinch me! After years of thinking about this and working on it, it seemed a bit unbelievable when my retail licence arrived last Saturday.

How about a sample of The Doctor, The Plutocrat, and The Mendacious Minister by Glyn Pope?

Chapter One

Peter Latymer stepped from the Great Northern carriage at Belgrave Road station. The concourse was unusually busy for late afternoon on a chilly October day. The secure glow of warmth from the fires of the train engines and the heavy smell of oil and coal, bound up with the crowd moving as if all were on a new journey. Peter stood, reflecting for a moment on his new start.

The daylight failing, there were lights shining as hadn’t been enjoyed in three years. There had been a brief glimmer of hope earlier that year when the Olympic Games were held in London. But that had been London. In the rest of the country the celebrations hadn’t made any difference. The aftermath of the war existed. It was still dark. A new age had yet to dawn.

Latymer heard a piercing scream rise from amongst the general sound of the station. He took it to be the whistle of an engine. As he looked around his eyes set upon a man clutching his arm. Could this be his first patient, so soon after his arrival?

http://www.cactusrainpublishing.com/
Oh yes, I'm milking this...I'll share more in the next post.

Cactus Rain Publishing publishes debut novel

Cactus Rain Publishing is a boutique publishing company in central Arizona, USA. Its mission is to bring the world to readers -- one book at a time -- by publishing the finest English language novels by authors from around the world. The writers write in their native language; British English, Colonial English, and American English.

Nadine Laman, owner of Cactus Rain, says, "We heavily vet our books and work closely with our authors to cultivate their voice and story into a uniquely enjoyable reading experience."

The Doctor, The Plutocrat, and The Mendacious Minister, by Glyn Pope (France) is the debut novel for Cactus Rain.

Doctor Latymer arrives on a council estate in Leicester, England, full of hope and the innocence of youth. He quickly becomes the local miracle worker. But without a grasp of the realities of life, he sets out to right injustices that he doesn't fully understand. In the process, he unravels the delicate balance between rich and poor, and the struggling post-WWII British economy still reliant on rationing and the black market.

Cactus Rain's books are perfect for readers who want novels that bring new reading experiences.

The Doctor, The Plutocrat, and The Mendacious Minister goes on sale November 1, 2010. Order your copy direct from the publisher, http://www.cactusrainpublishing.com/.

http://www.cactusrainpublishing.com/pdf/PressReleaseNov2010.pdf
.

The Brown Wrapper Is Gone!

Look! http://www.cactusrainpublishing.com/

The Doctor, The Plutocrat, and The Mendacious Minister

Glyn Pope and I've hinted for months now that his book, The Doctor, The Plutocrat, and The Mendacious Minister, will be the debut novel for Cactus Rain Publishing. It is his third novel.

Their could be some sanity questions regarding going with an unknown publisher. I think, though, Glyn is fine with his choice.

This still isn't the official-official announcement of "the deal." I'll get to that when the CRP website gets launched. More on that at a later date.

Let's talk about what it was I liked about "Doc" that made me offer Glyn a contract. I like the title, but it was a long time in coming and we had a [different] working title for about 6 months (longer for Glyn).

I wasn't requesting submissions at the time Glyn queried his book. (Honestly, people need to work on their query letters. Even I'm getting more picky about that - just a tip for aspiring writers.)

What I liked about Doc: Glyn was certainly enthusiast about Doc. He pitched the project with all his heart. That got my interest right away.

Another thing in reading the ms was that he really put the reader back in time to post WWII, England. The story was 100% believable. It fit with what I knew of history, meaning it wasn't heavy laden with historical facts for history geeks; it was readable for a general audience.

The characters were well developed and there was a good balance of secondary characters for the main characters to stage with. He balanced age and youth, wealthy and regular (normal) people. There was greed, innocence, and the vicar was funny. Basically the characters mirrored real life quite naturally; nothing was forced. There was a good amount of dialogue, which is a commercial element too.

Certainly there was a need for rewrites and I'm sure I must have seemed demanding at times, but Glyn always got to work and did them without complaining or arguing. Let's face it, arguing with one's publisher is a fast way to get dropped.

There were formatting issues which I probably won't have time to deal with in future acquisitions.

Overall, Glyn's attitude and his writing carried the day and here we are 9 months later sending the galley to the printer.

I've turned down far more mss than I've accepted. Two broke my heart because I thought the themes had great commercial potential, however the writers thought they knew everything and that a first or second draft was ready for print. Um, NO!

There's a bit of a glimpse inside Cactus Rain acquisition mindset and a really quick peek at Doc. Congratulations, Glyn...we're almost there!

more covers...

One thing about it, my first drafts of cover concepts sure inspired others. Here is one sent to me (below). I like the seeming simplicity of the background, it doesn't rival the people. Keep in mind that these artists have not read the book, so they are working off of my concepts.

In the book, the people are the story. There is little discription of the estate. I'm sure I'm not the only American with a somewhat lacking understanding of British estates or council estates as I'm learning to call them. That might even be where we borrowed the idea of HOAs - Home Owner's Associations that govern the basic conduct of the area (housing development).

So back to art... this is balanced. If I could, I'd remove the larger tree on the left because I'm thinking less about art and more about getting the copy on the back cover to pop out to the shopper. On this one, I'd probably transluse the spine and back cover background. Lots of nice space on the front for the title, but not sure about where the author name goes.

There is a bit of unwritten rule about author names. If you look at the big name writers, their name is almost always larger or as large as the tile. With lesser known writers, the pitch is to have a catchy title and use it to sell the book more than the author's branding.

I like the people placement on this one because the story is the doctor (the guy in the middle). Gotta have doc's feet in the scene though. That drives me nuts to have him standing on his lower legs.


This one takes Glyn's background photo and fixes many of the elements that drove everyone crazy with my concept drafts. The focus in the title and the photo needs to be on the doctor. He is very much the main character. Nice artistic touch to reverse the light/dark on the spine from the light/dark in the background. I don't think I would have thought of doing that. That makes the spine text tricky and it certainly needs to have the author name on the spine and a copule other fixes. Ignore the fence post, we aren't going to leave that, but drafts are concept pieces, the details get worked out later.

This one takes the background and moves it to a residential setting. Either works for the storyline. I rather not have a pink tint, but that is easily fixed. Mostly the same issues exist in this one as the others, but as I said, this is a concept stage of development.

No way is this book that fat, but nice pitch for the concept.

The main point of posting this exercise is to make writers aware that while it is easy to upload to one of many online DIY sites, just plopping a cover on a template isn't all that great of an idea.

Anyone who wants to play with concepts for this cover, be my guest. Send them to me in an email, preferably as a pdf file.

The Evolution continues

Your comments from yesterday were helpful. I played around a bit (mostly with fonts - I have hundreds of them, most I've acquired slowly over the past 10 years).

We aren't finished yet. At any time could scrap the whole thing and start over.

The differences in this one from yesterday (scroll down to the previous post) is the front cover and spine font. Plus the gentleman on the left has been lightend to mirror the man on the right, thus leaving the Doc in the center, darkest.

On this one, I took the background and played with it. The original file was rather small, so there is only a certain amount of enlarging before it gets grainy (pixelated). I totally forgot to deal with the distracting fence post, but that is easily fixed. I lost contrast on the synopsis text and no, can't do the text in more than one color. I removed the boxes from behind the guys. Actually, I simply moved those layers below the background so they are out of sight. The background is full, no translusing. Yes, I think I did make up that word.

I could make each word in the title a single layer and change font sizes with the articles a smaller size. Might do later. No time tonight.

The font is Bernard MT Condensed in case you want to goggle it. Hmmm, let me see if I can make a screen shot of that enlarged for you. BRB

(The red line running through the middle is the spine area, so this isn't what it would look like at all.)

Okay - now that I've looked at it 'big,' I'm not loving it.
Right, well comment and let's see where we go from here.

Book Cover Evolution

Glyn wanted to run this by everyone for comments. You saw the cover synopsis the other day. Here is the book cover that goes with it.

Glyn sent a photo of the snow last winter, then the three men (and some others). So this is what we have at the beginning.

I thought the men needed an anchor, something so they weren't just pasted on top of the background, and also so they didn't get lost in it. So I put them on black boxes.

It was still too monochromic so I translused the background by 50% and changed the boxes to burgandy color. Looks more real with the spine text and the ISBN box, doesn't it?

Here is the synopsis as it stand now:

Doctor Peter Latymer, full of innocence and hope, arrives at his new position on a council estate in Leicester. He quickly becomes the local miracle worker. Without a grasp of the complexities of life, he sets out to right injustices that he doesn't fully understand and unravels the delicate balance between nobility and poor, and the struggling economy still reliant on rationing and the black market in post WWII England.

And Glyn's Bio:

GLYN POPE lived on a large council estate in Leicester, England. He studied theology at Nene University. Glyn and his wife and daughter moved to France where he pursues a full time writing career.

This isn't close to finished, but there is your sneek peek.

Or there is this...please watch.

Comments?

Party with GLYN POPE!

We are well into week two of the biggest ever blog party by authors, world wide. Kick your shoes off and dance into our hearts, everyone is welcome - open invitation to win autographed books!

Ivy (Croatia) was the winner yesterday for Susan's autographed book. Congratulations! You prove that playing wins books!

Glyn Pope is a British writer who lives in France. Glyn and I have known each other two, maybe three weeks. We both subscribe to an industry news service out of the UK that covers the world wide publishing industry. I rarely post comments, but there was an article that was the most ridiculous industry prediction, full of fear inducing statements and plain old hogwash - I had to comment. Glyn also commented. I tracked down his blog, read it, followed. He noticed, emailed me, and there the conversation about writing and publishing began.

Glyn is studious and asks good questions, then he ponders the answers and comes to an insightful ruling. I find that to be a fascinating characteristic since I tend to discard doing things simply because "it is what everyone else is doing." I like logic and reason, two things mass behavior often lack, so I'm looking forward to many fresh conversations with Glyn.

Learning to Wave was Glyn's debut novel. Set in the Midlands, UK, and France, spanning thirty years, Rick goes from being a whizz kid at university to his fall from grace.

To The End of Love is an historical novel of two families that span three generations, from 1890's Russia to contemporary France. Both families are connected by the their grandparents' unrequited love. The characters play their scripts of love and survival in their day-to-day lives upon the historical backdrop Glyn paints.

Obviously I haven't finished reading Glyn's novel...something about a party, but let me share with you the opening lines from To The End of Love:

For a long time after Christine had died Richard rarely slept. When he did sleep his dreams were vivid. He decided it must be the local bread that was made from real ingredients brought in from the country rather than chemicals that a factory bread maker might turn out. Someone told him once that was how LSD was discovered from the flour of the country bread giving the inhabitants wild visions. One night he dreamt the plot of a novel.

From there, Glyn leads the reader steadily into the lives of his characters. The renowned French artist Anne Lamali, allowed Glyn to use her paintings for his book covers. To The End Of Love shows Glyn's daughter and her boyfriend. Learning To Wave is of his wife who Anne has painted many times.



Now, together, let's get to know each other a little better, it is a party ~ time to meet and greet old friends and new.

Party Game: Answer these questions in the comment section below to win To The End Of Love, signed by Glyn Pope and Anne Lamali, whose painting is on his cover art.

1. 'To The End Of Love' takes its title from which Leonard Cohen song?
2. Where can you buy 'To The End Of Love' and 'Learning To Wave'?
You may need to look at his blog to help you, http://glynpope.blogspot.com/



**If you need help navigating blogger, here are some basic instructions: http://nadinelaman.blogspot.com/2009/08/just-few-basics.html

The comment section is below this line. Click on the word "comments." That's where you can leave a note. eMail me if you have trouble with this...NadineLaman(at)aol.com

NOTE: This is new to me, so I'm passing it on in the event not everyone else knew this either. The comment section filled and began a page TWO. Look at the top of the first posted comment or below the last comment at the right corner. Click the word, "newer". Isn't that wild? Who knew it would do that???