Yes, it's arrived, fresh from Amazon - a copy of my latest novel, The Raging Spirit, published by Robert Hale - ISBN 978-0-7090-9228. I'm quite pleased by the cover and my husband, who has been to St Kilda, says that the illustration is recognisable, so well done to artist David Young.
I was surprised not to see my usual photo staring out at me on the back cover, but found it instead on the inside back flap. What I did find on the back cover was something a lot better than my mug-shot. Accolades no less! Here's what I found:
"Gadsby's fluent style of writing and propensity for drama bring the characters to life" Accent Journal.
"Spiced with the fresh air of originality and realism" Myshelf.com
. "The book's ring of authenticity" Shields Gazette
.
Good reviews are what every writer craves for and I've had some really encouraging ones since I've been published, which is about ten years now, after a lifetime of rejection slips. So, how do I feel about the above comments? Well, if I had a bottle of champagne I'd certainly break it open and celebrate like the silly, sentimental fool I am.
HERE IS A SHORT EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK:
The boat was still tossing about aimlessly in the storm. Captain and crew, what was left of them for two more men had been lost overboard, were lying exhausted, their strength completely spent.
But all was not lost. Peter fought his way to the prow of the boat and started yelling excitedly.
‘I can see land!’ he cried. ‘And lights.’
Captain Riley raised his head and crossed himself several times before saying in a hoarse voice, ‘The Lord God be praised, we’re saved.’
‘Not yet we’re not, man!’ Professor Macaulay shouted, pointing to where a pale moon shone down through more threatening clouds as the eye of the storm moved westwards and the sea between the fishing boat and the bay of Hirta once more became turbulent.
‘We’ve got to get closer,’ Dr Jolly said. As he spoke the timbers of the old vessel creaked and moaned, there was a great snapping sound and the mast shattered and came down on top of them, sails and all.
It was a miracle that no one else was killed. One man was knocked unconscious as the boom swung out of control. Another suffered a broken arm. But the fact that they were so close to being safe sent a rush of adrenaline through what remained of the tired crew and they fought valiantly to steer the boat closer to the island.
‘Look!’ There was a touch of hysteria now in Peter’s normally calm voice. ‘They’re coming to get us!’
‘I don’t believe it!’ Dr Jolly peered through the lashing rain. ‘They must be mad!’
‘Or very brave,’ said Meredith at his side.
A boat had been put into the water and they could just make out men at the oars and another at the helm. It was a Herculean task to row in such a boiling cauldron, but the men were making superhuman efforts. Slowly and painfully, the boat fought against the wishes of the sea and made progress, miraculously reducing the distance between the two vessels.
‘They must think they can do it,’ the captain said, ‘or they wouldn’t attempt it. They can’t afford to lose the boat, since they only have the one.’
Little by little the two boats approached one another over an interminable period of time. Eventually, the captain announced that he dared not drift any further or they would run aground and be battered against the rocks.
‘I’m dropping anchor,’ he shouted, signalling to the crew. ‘From here on we’ll just have to trust in providence. If the good Lord sees fit to save our souls…’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, it’s for Him to decide.’
As if a Heavenly hand had poured oil on the troubled waters around them, the sea suddenly became still. The boat from the island was only fifty yards away and Meredith could make out plainly the men hauling on the oars as if their very lives depended upon it.
‘Ahoy there!’ Captain Riley hailed them. A man on the boat gave a wave and a shout back, though it was in a strange language that bore no resemblance to English.
Within minutes the two boats were side by side, their timbers rubbing and grating together with the undulations of the sea. It was a large, sturdy boat that they had sent from the island, manned by eight oarsmen. Even so, it was immediately obvious that it would not take all the human life that was aboard the Saucy Mary .
However, the captain lowered the rope ladder and beckoned to the party of naturalists.
‘Passengers first,’ he said, wiping the rainwater from the end of his nose. ‘I’ll stay with me boat, and the crew.’
‘Take my place, Captain,’ said Dr Jolly. ‘You’re a brave man and you got us through the storm.’
‘Father, no!’ Meredith pulled at his arm, the fear of losing him showing in her eyes.
‘Little lady,’ the captain said, his voice gathering force, ‘I will not be separated from the Saucy Mary and my crew are too spent to shimmy down that ladder.’
‘For God’s sake stop wasting time!’ Professor Macaulay pushed past them and slung his leg over the side, not prepared to wait a moment longer.
Johnny followed, scrambling and scrabbling like a scared rabbit, but Peter hesitated.
‘Go on, laddie,’ the captain said. ‘And be ready to catch the young lady here and give a helping hand to her father.’
‘Captain…’ The doctor started to argue, but was soon silenced by a quick and decisive wave of the captain’s hand.
‘No captain worth his salt ever deserts his vessel, Doctor. Go, and God bless ye all.’
Meredith clung frantically to the rough rope of the ladder as she put one tentative foot after the other. She knew she was at risk of falling into the waves every time there was a swell that could so easily loosen her grip. However, she found strength and courage from somewhere and soon she was being manhandled into the waiting boat.
‘Over here, laddie!’ one of the oarsmen shouted in English. Hands pulled her back and shoved her unceremoniously onto a wooden plank that served as a seat.
Happily, she thought, they had not noticed that she was a woman and she was glad, for she didn’t want preferential treatment, or the embarrassment of being found dressed in man’s clothing.
Her father was the last to board. With them all safely installed, the boat turned and headed back to the island. They were within hailing distance when the storm returned with renewed vigour. As fast as the men pulled on the oars, the waves dragged them back out to sea. Then there was a shout from the shore and men were forming a human chain from the island, roped together as they plunged into the sea and tried to reach them.
‘They’ll never make it,’ Meredith heard her father say.
Within seconds a heavy rope snaked out over the boat. The first throw slid back into the water, but the second was caught by Peter and Johnny. They hauled it in until the helmsman grabbed it and made it fast. Then, as they were being pulled in to the bay, but a sudden squall caught them off guard. The boat tipped turning over in the heaving waves, emptying out its passengers among the jagged rocks.
Meredith had no time to scream. The icy water was over her head before she knew it and she, like the others, was floundering, legs and arms kicking, fighting to get to the surface and breathe. It looked as though all was lost, but hands gripped her and pushed her up onto the jagged rocks. All around her was chaos. Her eyes stung with the salt, her lungs were bursting as she fought to get a foothold.
A shout from above made her look up as she found a crevice to hang onto. Through a blur she could see a tall, dark silhouette. He was climbing down towards her, reaching out for her hand, but she dared not move.
‘Let go, dammit!’
She almost fell back into the water. How could Professor Macaulay have got to land so quickly? And yet, there was a slight difference in the tone of the voice, and the bulk of the man was less.
She felt his grip on her wrist and finally gave herself into his keeping, praying that he was strong enough to haul her up the few feet over the jagged rocks to safety. She need not have worried. Even with her clothes weighed down with seawater he lifted her as if she were no heavier than a sack of feathers. He then slung her over his broad shoulders and carried her the few yards to the village street, where he deposited her unceremoniously on the stony ground.
She had only a fleeting glimpse of his face in the torchlight before he was off to lend a hand to the rest of the party. It came as quite a shock to see his features, dark and rugged with eyes as black as the night that surrounded them. But it wasn’t the professor. Just someone younger who resembled him.
As the men plunged again and again into the cold Atlantic waters, the women came forward with blankets and hot drinks. Impossible to see what was going on at the water’s edge, Meredith could only sit and shiver, her teeth rattling in her head with the cold and the shock of the situation. She didn’t dare wonder what had become of her poor father and the others.
‘How many were you, lad?’ The same deep voice sounded in her ear and a heavy hand shook her shoulder.
Meredith pulled off her father’s cap, which had somehow stayed put on her head and her hair fell about her shoulders.
‘There were six of us,’ she said in a trembling voice and saw astonishment register on his face.
‘The saints deliver us,’ said a female voice from the crowd, ‘’Tis a wee bit of a lassie you’ve got there, Logan!’
Astonished murmurings went through the onlookers. Meredith struggled to rise, but quickly discovered that her legs wouldn’t support her. She found herself being lifted again as the man called Logan swept her up in his arms.
Yes, it's arrived, fresh from Amazon - a copy of my latest novel, The Raging Spirit, published by Robert Hale - ISBN 978-0-7090-9228. I'm quite pleased by the cover and my husband, who has been to St Kilda, says that the illustration is recognisable, so well done to artist David Young.
Having had a weekend of intense writing - two children's stories and a chapter of my ongoing novel - I feel in a bit of a playful, arty clarty mood this morning. I've just discovered that I can make a montage of my paintings. Well, the computer can if I press the right buttons. It's been a learning curve and I lost the lot first time round, then everything froze on the screen until I pressed the space bar! And Voila! as they say in my part of the world. Here is the famous montage showing only a small selection of my work and there's a shot of my studio in the centre.
