*Online strangers and abusers - Parents wake up!*

As a mother, it never ceases to amaze me how vigilant parents are in safeguarding their precious child from ‘stranger-danger’, boogie men on the short walk home, taking sweets from others that may be laced with drugs and not accepting random offers of a ride home. The principle of never change location, never be unaccounted for, always be reachable by mobile phone or average pitched shout, are as clear to this generation as it was to mine. Other people are not your friend.

Me and my sister knew to trust nobody

Until it comes to the wonderful world of the internet.

Just because our child ‘talks’ about someone as a friend, appears to know heaps about them and repeats endless snippets of veiled hero worship, does not mean they are safe people for our precious charge to be around. Nor does it mean our child really knows them or has ever met them in person. You might just assume they have. Listen harder.

My generation believed ‘strangers’ were three headed monsters with forked tails and cloven hooves, when actually they were the vaguely known man down the street who was always trying to get you to come into his kitchen for a moment to admire his cute dog.

What is a stranger for this generation?

The answer is NOBODY. There’s no such thing as a stranger. Why? Because of the internet.

The snatching of children on their way to school was prevalent in 2000’s UK when I was struggling to raise my 4 in the Midlands. I would let my 10 year old twins walk the half a mile to school provided they stayed together, talked to nobody on the way, crossed with the lollipop lady and didn’t stop in the play park. Most times I would walk behind them with my youngest daughter, taking sneeky peeks round walls, hedges and trees to make sure they were doing as I asked. I only found out recently they knew I was there and used to giggle about me with a degree of irritation.

Four times in 2005 I was greeted by the infamous ‘note’ from the headmaster falling out of the empty lunch box after school. My blood would run cold at the open letter addressed to all parents trying desperately to help their children to independence in a terrifyingly dangerous world.

‘Parents, please be aware that the police have notified us of an attempted snatching of a school child in this area. They are currently looking for a white car, last seen at.....

We ask for your vigilance in this matter...’

We went back to walking together. They knew the rules. Trust nobody.

With the internet, our children can chat to people on the other side of the world, admire their photos and share in their exciting life. How amazing they’re the same age as our child, enjoy the same sports and hobbies and have the exact same issues with girl or boyfriends as them. What an amazing coincidence and how wonderful as a parent to experience the satisfaction of a happy child with good friends to confide in.

When my children went off to a friend’s house in the UK, I either knew the parents and where they lived, or we had a frank phone conversation. As a mother I was open to such scrutiny. Why wouldn’t I be when I expected the favour returned?

But what about internet friends? How on God’s green earth can you check them out as a parent, especially a technically challenged one who has data on her phone which she has never yet worked how to use?

“Oh, I hate computers,” I hear parents say. “I can’t even programme the DVD recorder.”

Then learn!!!

It’s like when the child closes their bedroom door and peers at the laptop screen, they enter Narnia, going wherever and with whomever they like without accountability. And the hapless parent stands smiling aimlessly AND LETS THEM.

How would those same parents feel if they knew that 14 year old Bianca from Auckland, who’s been chatting to their darling Paul for six months is actually dirty Brian from round the corner, a 64 year old convicted pedophile with a long criminal history of crimes against children? He doesn’t need to go watching play parks or driving around in his car anymore. He just buys stock photos of his wonderful pretend life and invents an online persona on social media and hey presto, the poor kids come to him. (Just to clarify, there is nothing wrong with the name Brian - it’s an example, before all the Brians in Auckland get upset.)

Next time your child slams the front door with the shout, “Off to see.................. I’ll be back later!” you need to be running after them making sure you’ve actually met this friend who’s only a bus ride across town.

You can’t put your head in the sand and expect it not to happen to your child. You should be their ‘friend’ on all social media and have access to their online passwords. It’s not cruel. It’s not an invasion of their privacy. It’s your duty as a parent to protect them. If they don’t like it, that’s fine. No computer. It was the rule in our house and faced with the equivalent of internet solitary confinement, we got those passwords. My husband works in IT and is something of a guru, so my kids were convinced he could see anything they wrote. He couldn’t but it made them more careful. Maybe I shouldn’t confess that now, but I don’t think they read my blogs.

If you aren’t confident online as a parent, I’m sorry but that is no excuse. Find someone who is or take one of the free computer courses often available at local colleges. Ignorance will be no defence when you’re mopping up the aftermath of an avoidable crisis.

And don’t get me started on Kindles. Yes they’re fantastic as long as you put your ‘wise head’ on before you hand it over. It’s not just the dent an enthusiastic reader can put in your credit card either. That’s the least of your problems.

When I was researching keywords to put my teen books under, I trawled around the books in the teen categories for inspiration.

“OH MY GOODNESS!” Yeah, you really don’t want to know what I found lurking under the ‘teen’ guise, especially the free books. There were sex scenes that made my hair curl and I didn’t think that was possible. Some of it was plain disgusting. Your child’s Kindle should be registered to YOUR email address, not theirs, because you need to see the purchases. Then all you have to do is go onto Amazon, find that book title and use the ‘Look inside’ facility, where you can read the first 10% of that book. If you’re not happy with what your child or teen is purchasing, you need to have that talk. But delete that book from their device and get a refund. Yes, you can request a refund and definitely tell Amazon why you aren’t happy.

Just understand, as an author, I could potentially shove up any old rubbish with a cover and a title, fulfil all the requirements of the metadata and TELL YOUR CHILD ANYTHING I WANT through the pages of my corrupt work. I don’t. But I could.

If you’re picking up some frustration here then it’s because I’ve had one conversation too many, with parents who are happy to let their child go down the rabbit hole without following them or knowing what they do in there.

Look, I took every possible precaution to protect my children from ill doers as they grew up. I got involved in what they got interested in, I sat through boring committee meetings and spent hundreds of Saturdays doing things I really didn’t want to. I thought I’d done ok until recently, when the leader of one of my children’s clubs was prosecuted. My kids were unmolested, thank God and we were all good parents and couldn’t have stopped it happening because it was too covert.

But the internet is another story. It’s an open doorway into your child’s bedroom. Are you happy with that?

If not, learn to shut the door! Because I promise you this, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” will not comfort you when it’s all too late.

Me aged 3

#internet safety

#childabuse

#firstworldproblems

*To war or not to war - that is not the question.*

One of the hardest things I ever did as a mother was put my son on that bus down to Waiouru Army base. He was only just 17, still my little boy but he’d made his decision and it was time to let him go. It wasn’t what we wanted. I argued bitterly that he should finish Year 13, get some qualifications behind him and then make different decisions about his very precious life. He’d made his choice and the bus left at 9am one very frosty Monday, leaving behind a silent, confused family, not quite sure how to feel, but showing support the best way we knew, shaking hands waving long after the bus left the Hamilton street.

I shaved his head the Sunday night before he left. I used to shave his head when he was small because it was the easiest way to control his curly mop. As the hair fell over the side of the bath and my 17 year old exhibited the same kind of trust he had when he was 6, I remembered all the times I’d added tramlines, or a mohawk - yeah, thanks for that David Beckham.

We did a 6 hour round trip to visit him twice at Waiouru. The first time the whole family went, but the second time it was just me and my husband. Obviously he changed. He wasn’t just my wee boy anymore. He was a soldier in the New Zealand Army and proud of it. The army had the power to tell us we couldn’t take him for a coffee off the base so we crouched on wet grass along with the other subdued families and ate the food we brought with us. We were on a time limit. He belonged to them now, not us. They controlled what we were allowed to give him, post to him, say to him.

I grew up in the British Air Force. My life was always linked to the great institution of war in one way or another. It was in my blood. Both grandfathers served in the British Army and my grandmother was a drill sergeant during the war. Both my parents served and it was just the way things were. One minute we could be a happy family of 4, minding our own business and living our lives and the next, my father could be  on the next bus or train to wherever. At the age of 4 I told my teacher my father had gone to Northern Ireland to be killed. At the age of 16 when he shipped out to the Falklands, I was old enough not to say it, but still thought it.

My son did his time and somewhere along the line he stopped being my wee boy and grew up. He wasn’t just the fun loving soccer kid, he was a killing machine who knew things before the age of 20 that I’d rather he didn’t. He’s at university now, working part-time as a barista to fund himself but sometimes I see that look in his eye and know he misses it, the camaraderie, the belonging, the common purpose.

I just watched the Q+A debate on TV about whether or not NZ should get embroiled in the war unfolding in the rest of the world. I don’t know the answer. I think it’s really easy to sit in an armchair and make huge declarations about what’s going on overseas and wax lyrical about whether we should or should not commit to a costly involvement. I don’t pretend to be any kind of political commentator. I’m just someone’s mum. And I know the private cost for a woman somewhere will not just be financial.

I don’t know the answer. I do know however that my son is still within his recall period and one day, I may be a victim of a political decision. There are many people with opinions about what should and could happen, just like there’s been for every war over the last millennia. We’ve all seen the romanticised movies, but we’ve also watched the horrific documentaries. When politicians comment, I want to hear them do it with an understanding of a mother’s perspective, not just run into something blindly, like the ‘weapons of mass destruction’ fiasco undertaken by the British a decade ago. Good men gave their lives to find weapons that never existed, embroiled in something far deeper than they ever expected.

There needs to be a goal and a resolution, an outcome that is more than just blindly following America and Europe.

There has to be good reason to take these women’s sons and throw their lives away with a nod or handshake. 

Wilfred Owen said it before his death on November 4th 1918, 7 days before armistice. But it was dramatic irony, aimed at the cigar smoking officers who sent him to die in the trenches. 'Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori.' 

#war #mothers #mothersofsoldiers

*Last One Out's a Cissy - releasing your children into the wild.*

So, despite having got out of hospital exactly a week ago after gallbladder surgery, I still made the 5 hour journey to Palmerston North, to take my last child of 4 to university there. I had to. That’s what mummies do!

She was ready to go, there’s no doubt about that. She made free with my car and my house and definitely started to win the unwinnable arguments. It was time.

The journey was painful and long. I couldn’t lay my seat down because my husband’s enormous car wasn’t quite big enough to fit in a year’s worth of crap and my daughter’s worldly belongings jammed my seat in an upright position. It also spilled over into her sister’s car, some kilometres behind us on the Desert Road as the two of them bopped and swayed to something jaunty on the stereo, which thank goodness I was spared. I could see their heads bobbing in the side mirrors.

A running race in Taupo delayed us by enough that we couldn’t quite make it to Taihape before my bladder exploded so Waiouru it was. I spent some time in the toilet at the garage mending one of my sutured wounds with a Band Aid, as you do. Mummy power and all that. But all too soon it was Palmerston North and the Massey University Campus. Daughter number 2, as she’s loving called, met us there with her boyfriend as she’s in her 3rd year at Massey and went through this a few years ago. We unloaded my husband’s car and Daughter number 1’s car, while Daughter number 3 ran around like a headless chicken, eyeing the other newbie students like a rabbit in the headlights. “I’ll never make any friends,” she repeated on a loop, as the rest of us fended off the terrified teens who lurched for human contact, abandoned by their parents only hours before.

"Say 'hi' to everyone," they were probably told, "and you'll make friends." Walls, doors, other people's parents, siblings, their car, their luggage. All with that crazed look in their eyes. They'll all be fine once they stop trying so hard.

We got home a couple of hours ago. I adore my husband and we will be celebrating our 24th wedding anniversary tomorrow. So why then does my house feel so empty and soulless? Her room is stripped bare as she’s taken everything with her. I really thought I’d be fine. My son was barely 17 when he left for the army and I cried for a full day and scrubbed his room until it shone, like a psychotic disinfectant queen. Since then I’ve had my older 3 coming and going like Zebedee on steroids, Canada, England, home, flatting, going, going, gone...

When I look back, producing 4 bouncing babies in 4 years flat was a miracle feat, even if I did chuck twins in there just to show off. There were times when I thought I wouldn't make it out the other end alive. There's a pitiful video of me sat drowned in babies on my eldest daughter's 4th birthday and I say very sorrowfully, "I think you lot will have me dead by the time I'm 30!" And there were times when I believed it and probably welcomed the idea of a permanent nap amidst all the crazy.

But my youngest feels so final. She drove me to work so I could check emails on my phone and we swapped at her school. I’ve stupidly left the alarm on my phone to remind me to collect her from the bus in Ngaruawahia at 3.20pm on weekdays. Now I can’t delete it because I’ll still look at the clock and probably cry anyway. I thought it was funny all through the summer holidays when it pinged and we both laughed. Not so jolly now, is it?

She vacuumed for me on Friday. Yeah, I paid her but hey, she knew I wasn’t up to it. There are stripes on the rug in the family room where she went forward and back with the vacuum. I don’t want to be the one to walk across them and spoil her pattern. She spent 3 weeks away leading on a horse camp over the summer. “I can do this. It’ll be fun to eat cornflakes naked in the dining room just because I can,” I valiantly told my husband. I know I won’t. I’ll be looking for my daughter to stroll in, set fire to her gluten free bread in the toaster and make free with my husband’s coveted jar of Nutella that he keeps hidden behind the boring tins of beans and sweetcorn, thinking that’s the last place she’d look. He's spent the last 9 years in NZ thinking it evaporates in the heat. Now he's gonna know.

The paddock looks empty of some horse waiting to be broken in by her, or taught some manners. Her tack shed is even swept clean with my broom that she left out in the rain. The sky looks grey tonight, like the Waikato is grieving.

Last one out is a cissy. But I find after all, the cissy is me. 

#parenting #parents #familytime 

*The Special Snowflake type of writer*

It’s hard to accept as a writer that the product of my imagination is not near perfect. It comes as a bitter blow when I actually bother to stop and listen to what my critics say.

When I first published, I was of that special breed which author Amber Dalcourt would term, ‘a special snowflake.’ I still love that expression and only wish my unique perfection was still embodied within that blissful state of oh-I’m-too-damn-wonderful-for-this-world. The first person who dared to criticise my small and flailing brainchild was spawn of the antichrist and online-shunned in all forms of social media. If only life could have stayed that simple.

Now if you’re in the game of spilling your guts onto paper or laptop for the heck of it, then scribble or type away. If all you ever expect is five star reviews and fan mail, then enjoy the adulation of family and friends and when you run out of those, let your book slide quietly to the bottom of the Amazon pond, to be given away as tombola prizes and the $5 Secret Santa every December. You go for it. And all the very best of luck to you.

I stayed within my cone of wonderfulness for a short time, until joining Book Review Depot not long after my first novel went live on Amazon. They were a game bunch, reviewing honestly and sharing criticism in genuine banter and positivity. Then came the first private message. ‘Your covers aren’t that great, love. Maybe pay someone.’

Gulp. Time stopped and I stared at the lovely photograph of my reluctant daughter standing at the fence in our paddock, surrounded by a bottle green Publisher margin my husband slapped on and a curly font you had to turn sideways to read. What was wrong with it? My chin wobbled and the bottom lip shot out.

You can stop laughing now...

I think I sulked for a day and then looked at the cover again. Yeah, fair do’s. It was a bit crap. I started experimenting and probably made it worse for a while. I remember the cover of The New Du Rose Matriarch even made me cringe for a bit there. Thank goodness I didn’t know anything about hashtags or SEO. Believe me, I couldn’t cope if I did a Google search of my author name and that popped up. It was the stuff of nightmares.

Then we got into plague words. Yep, I used them all. Then grammar, then adverbs, then overuse of the word -suddenly...ok, ok, I’m ashamed! I got PhotoShop. I started buying stock images. I listened to people. I asked their advice and yeah, I did sometimes cringe when they told me stuff I didn’t want to hear.

I’ve spent the last year writing at the same time as editing all my previous works. Being very obsessive compulsive, what gets changed in one, happens in every single one. With twelve novels to my name, I’m concerned about what will happen when I have fifty out but I’ll worry when I get there. Having got to the end of them all, someone mentioned an online writing tool. I put a single chapter of my work in progress through it and the alarm bells went off at the overuse of ‘had’ and ‘that’ so back I went again on the editing rampage.

When I wondered why my third teen book wasn’t doing so well when all the others were jumping out of the gate at an incredible rate, I asked an author friend. Demelza Carlton’s novels are international bestsellers and her pedigree is sound. So when she suggested my title of ‘Blaming the Child’, probably wasn’t relating well to teens who firstly, don’t like to be thought of as children and secondly hate the idea of blame, I had to give it some serious thought. The irony was that my husband, who doesn’t usually comment, said the same thing just a matter of hours before. So I wheeled in my teenage daughter. She postured and thought for a moment. “Yeah,” she concluded, “I wouldn’t go for that.”

At first it was painful. That darn book is listed in every single one of the other eleven. That’s a lot of changes over quite a few sales platforms. I slept on the idea overnight. When I woke, I brainstormed a bit. I chatted to other people and tossed a few suggestions around. I asked my teenager again and started changing the cover. “Na,” she said. “That’s not right. I like this better.”

It’s taken me all day to make and upload the changes. It involves so many areas I’ve had to fiddle with. But it occurred to me as I finished that instead of feeling depressed, I should feel proud. The special snowflake has melted. I’m not quite sure what that makes me; a transparent drip maybe? But it sure blesses my work, accepting the input of other people.

Not everyone is out to get me, I had to learn that early on. When more than one person tells me something, then the old adage applies; they can’t all be wrong. There are always trolls around, dishing out one star reviews like confetti, it’s an inevitable occurrence, like nits in schoolchildren. But when a few people point out something irritating or distracting in a review or forum, for goodness sake get rid of the cause. Don’t leave it to fester there and collect more negativity. Deal with it!

So after much fluffing and primping, my re-released teen book, the third in the Troubled Series.

‘A Trail of Lies.’ Buy it and enjoy!

#amwriting #amediting #writetips

Where are you going - in such a hurry?

My daughter asked an interesting question recently, as we travelled to school along a main highway. She drove along safely, obeying all the road rules and someone cut us up for the third time in a half hour journey.

“Where are all these people going in such a hurry?” she asked in frustration.

“School, work, appointments...stuff they have to do.”

It was one of those interesting aha moments for me. 

The proportion of people who actually like their employed work is abysmally small and that’s a sad fact of life; thirteen years end to end of hating every minute.

And let’s face it, nobody really wants to be driving their squawking, arguing kids to school as they slap the snot out of each other on the back seat. They wouldn’t do it in a taxi, on the bus...or in front of their friends.

Who really wants to rush to a painful dentist appointment, or part with lots of money at the doctors?

NOBODY!

It’s true. If the place you were going was that urgent and you wanted to be there so much that it was worth dying for, you’d leave earlier, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t be rushing and you definitely wouldn’t be late. It’s amazing how we can get to somewhere we really want be, full of enthusiasm and with minutes to spare. The cafe, the friend’s place, the match, the pub, the party; we all make it there on time...and alive.

So next time you cut someone up at the intersection, or tail gate someone doing the correct speed limit - think about where you’re actually going. Imagine the police officer shifting awkwardly from foot to foot and informing your distraught parent, partner or child, “They died today...so excited to get to work...desperate to get to the dentist...risking their life to...”

You fill in the blanks.

Get real!

Slow down, or at least die for something worthwhile if you have to. And if you really have to, make sure you don't take some other poor soul with you.

#roadsafety #DangerDriving #lifelessons

Du Rose Sons by K T Bowes

When I set out to write the first three Hana novels, it took seven years. Whilst proving popular, especially now that the first in that initial trilogy is permafree, those darn books have been pulled down and edited more than I care to think back on. Hey, I’m a perfectionist. Try living with me.

Du Rose Sons is the seventh in the Hana Du Rose Mysteries and a culmination of everything I’ve learned in the last ten years about writing, publishing, editing and enlisting proper help. I’m excited - really excited.

I finished it yesterday.

Writing is an all-consuming pastime that operates to the exclusion of everything else. My husband wanted to go to the beach the other day. I eyed him somewhat nervously from the dining table - where my laptop and I had moved to have breakfast.

Really? Now?

I’d just got to a key scene and it was tumbling out of my head onto the keyboard, my fingers tripping over my brain. But here’s the dilemma - the poor man works a sixty hour week to keep me in pyjamas and coffee and he gave me the puppy dog eyes. I’ve based my lead male character, Logan Du Rose on him and I knew he’d wear his cowboy boots so...ok then.

But the laptop comes with me.

I typed some of the way to Waihi while my poor husband hummed to Lorde on the radio. Then on a whim, because we could, we did a road trip up to Whangamata - because we'd never been.

I’ll only be a second. I’ve just got to write this bit. Move this, change that, kill her...oh no, I think she needs to die later.

Like some kind of paper hit man, I typed and typed...and typed.

I put my laptop away, smiled at my husband and lay back in my seat. Oh no! Another scene sprang into my inner vision where my characters live. Na, that’s not gonna work. I need to add that there and then that will blend into that...

I unpacked the laptop and fired it up again.

See, that’s the trouble with the latter stages of a novel. It’s like the back of a complicated tapestry with all those little ends sticking out. Every darn one has to be sewn in and tied off, otherwise one day you’ll be staring at the cute little stitched doggie and his eye will pop off.

So, I finished yesterday.

Already my next novel is crowding into the back of my brain and it isn’t a Hana novel. ‘Pick me,’ it’s shouting, ‘pick me.’

Today is editing day, so the smug satisfaction will be wiped off my face as editing day turns into editing week. Then it will go to my trusted beta reader, who will tell me honestly if it’s crap, what’s crap and exactly what I need to change to make it not-crap. Then it will come back to be edited again and go out to other people who edit again...and again...and again...

So now I’ve depressed myself. End of January, for those of you waiting for Hana’s latest exploits. Man, are you in for a shock. The woman’s certainly found her mojo and she’s making her husband’s life hell. He’s being a complete...well anyway. I’ve had to live with them for the past six months, bickering, arguing and...no, I won’t upset you with the ‘D’ word. That would be unkind.

The cover will change. Someone will say they don’t like some small part of it and it will be changed and changed and then probably changed back. 

But hey, Hana fans, the important thing is...she’s coming!

#mystery #romance #newrelease #KTBowes

#SeriousWriters Interview with Daniel Parsons

It gives me great pleasure to profile a fellow alumni of the University College of Wales. I have a forgiving nature despite the fact that Cardiff kidnapped our Aberystwyth Student Union leader back in the late 1980's. I think the battle between the colleges rages on still but we all stick together anyway. So welcome to K T Bowes' Library Corner...and no hard feelings.

.  1. Hi, Dan! Could you start by introducing yourself and telling us a bit about your work?

Hey, Kate. Thank you for having me on your blog. Daniel Parsons is not a pen name. I may live to regret that in the future, but I couldn’t settle on an alias. I’m twenty-one, live in the South Wales valleys, UK, and have written stories for fun since I was about nine. So I guess becoming a writer was inevitable. I did an English Literature degree at Cardiff University and published a Christmas novella called The Winter Freak Show while in my last year. I loved the experience so much I immediately began planning a full-size fantasy novel for Kindle. That developed into my new release, Blott, and brings my story up to date.

    2. What inspired you to pursue a career in writing?

As I’ve mentioned, I’ve always loved it. My uncle has been a children’s author since I was small, so I guess he was a role model for me. And I found that a lot of my favourite teachers at school were artsy types. Gravitating towards them meant that their passions for fiction rubbed off on me. One of the earliest points at which I felt the thrill of having someone show an interest in my work was when I was eleven. Two English teachers were discussing their pupils’ short stories when I saw one gesture to my work.  That was when I overheard her whisper, ‘this one has potential.’ That comment must have made a lasting impression on me because I still remember it a decade later.

    3. When it comes to writing a book, do you plan the whole plot in advance or dive right in and hope the story develops?

It’s a mixture of both methods to be honest. I plan a little bit, but only the big plot points – betrayals, twists, character deaths – because I like to leave subtle clues throughout the story that hint to what might happen later. But I don’t plot too extensively as I find that, if a plan is too detailed, it tends to quash my enthusiasm when it comes to the writing. I like to have the freedom to include new ideas and go off on tangents if I need to, but I also like to know the general direction in which the story is heading. So it’s a balance between producing a good, clever story and keeping the process fun. Because what’s the point of doing your dream job if you’re not having any fun along the way?

   4. What kind of research do you do before writing? Do you travel, interview people, or just use Google?

It depends what I’m working on. As I write a lot of fantasy and science fiction, I don’t need to do as much research as, say, an author of medical thrillers. Although, I have to look up some things. Google Maps and Street View help me to research how locations look but the internet can’t tell me how things feel. For that, I travel a bit. My favourite form of research usually comes as a thrill-seeking activity. I remember doing the world’s highest commercial bungee jump in Macau, partly because I love that sort of thing, but also because I wanted to feel the sensation of free-fall. It turned out that the real thing was totally different to what I imagined and I had to rewrite an entire section of a story where a character jumped out of an exploding helicopter. Best research I ever did.

   5. What is your writing schedule like? Do you try to hit a certain word count every day?

When I’m in writing mode I aim to get down 1500 words every day until the first draft of a book is complete. That doesn’t mean that I actually write every day – sometimes life gets in the way – but I manage it most days and the momentum stops me losing enthusiasm for the story and scrapping it before it’s finished.

   6. Did writing your first book expose a lot of gaps in your knowledge?

Well my first successful attempt at a novel took four years. I started at fifteen and finished at nineteen, so my grammar and writing style changed continuously throughout that period. The story was never published but it taught me exactly what was required for my later books. In my opinion, the rules people teach you only provide you with a basic writing ability. You learn more by encountering problems in your own work and then learning how to overcome them by seeing what other people did in the same situation. Experience is the best teacher.

   7. Increasingly, writers are collaborating on novels to gain readers. Is this something you would consider?

I used to think that the idea of co-writing a story would be horrible. Two writers with two different styles and different ideas about where the story should go sounds like a recipe for disaster. But, on reflection, working on a project with someone else could be fun as long as the general plot is agreed upon before any actual writing starts. Having someone to share your enthusiasm for a project would make the whole experience a lot more fun.  Plus, if it gets you a few extra readers, I don’t see a downside. I just wouldn’t want to end up with a clunky book that is a compromise between two opposing idea that neither writer is happy to call their work.

    8. Does marketing play a part in your work? If so, what do you do to promote yourself?

I enjoy my work regardless of sales figures, but I wouldn’t be able to do it without a degree of commercial success. Because of that, I’ve had to become a sort of writer-entrepreneur, particularly online. I usually spend a minimum of two hours per day on Twitter, growing my account and talking to other writers, readers, publishers, agents, booksellers, and bloggers. On top of that, I pay for professional advertising whenever I offer a book giveaway. Luckily, I enjoy the business side of my work almost as much as the actual writing process.

     9. What is your best tip for new writers?

Simple writing is more impressive to a reader than pages of dense language. This seems to be something that a lot of people tend to get wrong when they start out, particularly when writing fantasy or science fiction. I know I did. Writers tend to have a vast vocabulary and they like to show it off. The odd decorative word can really make a sentence pop if it’s used in the right way, but packing phrases full of adjectives can make the reading experience challenging and, often, boring. Less is more, especially if your intention is to write a page-turner.

   10.  Do you have any big news or new projects you want to share with us?

My Christmas fantasy ebook, The Winter Freak Show, is free on Amazon until the 18^th December. This is the second time I’ve offered a free giveaway for this book, but it seems to be quite popular with readers at this time of year. It got into the top 300 in the US free Kindle chart for the first time the other day, which I’m ecstatic about.

My newest title, Blott, was just released. It’s my first full-length novel I’ve published so I’m thrilled just to see it on Amazon. If people like it, I’m planning to expand it into an epic series called The Canvas Chronicles.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/dkparsonswriter

My Blog: http://danielparsonsbooks.com/?page=blog

My Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Daniel-Parsons/e/B00HOLSWIU/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1418653740&sr=8-2

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