Writing Blogger Challenge Day 3


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Today’s prompt is:

Introduce yourself with your writing bio.

Hmmmm, well in the past I’ve just done a jokey one, for guest blogging etc. so perhaps it’s about time I went serious lol.

I decided to go for 3rd person, but, if this was in a query letter I would write it in 1st 🙂

Vikki Thompson is a writer who lives in Kent with her husband, children and pets.

A recent graduate from the Faber Academy she is a New Writers Scheme member of the Romantic Novelists Association and member of several writing groups.

In her spare time she enjoys Blogging (where she often shares pieces of short fiction), reading, journalling and attending the Swanwick writers school every year.

Oh dear, how boring is that! I don’t have any publications to talk about, no competitions I’ve won, and nothing to brag about lol.

Any tips on how I could make it more interesting? Have you got an “author bio”? I’d love to see it if you do 🙂

Bedtime For Bonzo?


I bet that title has confused you *snigger* 😉

The third (and probably my favourite) character from “Still” let me introduce you to Ronnie, but I guess he could have been a Ronald 😉 Please excuse any errors, this is taken from my note book.

Ronnie was born in February 1953 to an Irish father and English mother who were never actually married. His parents lived on a Council Estate in Lee, South East London. The youngest son of 4 boys he was a tear away (so his mother Liz said) from the moment he could walk.

Curly auburn hair when he was a toddler (which, as an adult only begins to curl when he needs a haircut) and deep blue eyes like his fathers, his ruddy complexion meant that he always looked like he’d been dashing around, but then, most of the time he had. He always had an abundance of energy that continued into adulthood.

Not doing well in school he preferred to play truant and found himself in detention frequently. His mother despaired, but he was her favourite. When he was 12 his father Patrick left the family and went back to Ireland because he couldn’t find work, leaving his mother to bring up the four boys on her own. At secondary school he met Daniel and they became best friends. Although from very different backgrounds the boys shared a love of fishing. It was the only thing he could really remember doing with his father.

At 15 he left school and got himself an apprenticeship with a local builder. He enjoyed being outside, the manual work and the banter with the other workers. But with two of his older brothers involved in petty crime it wasn’t long before he found himself with a police caution.

At 17 he met Laura, a girl who served him in a local café where he and Daniel often met. He asked her out and within weeks they become “a couple” spending a lot of time at the local pub and having a weekend away at his aunts caravan. They were inseparable for a year.

Ronnie started to get friendly with a group who knew his brothers and they introduced him to drugs. His relationship with Laura suffered, and Ronnie moved out of home and into a squat. He and Laura split up and his is mother Liz contacted his father because she was worried.

His father Patrick returned to London in 1972 and with their parents back together the whole family moved back to Ireland, his mother agreeing as she wanted to get Ronnie away from the drug culture he had become embroiled in.

Ronnies father was a struggling builder, but with the help of his sons they made a success of the business and it thrived. He often thought about Laura and Daniel, wondered what happened to them, but as the years went by he put them to the back of his mind.

With a huge zest for life he likes to play practical jokes and to be the center of attention. In his early 20’s he married an Irish girl, but they divorced after only 3 years with no children. Ronnie threw himself into work and with 7 nieces and nephews he was content to stay single and still play the field.

He still walks with the arrogant swagger he had as a teenager, but at 45 he is lonely, realising that he can no longer chat up women like he used to. One of his brothers has suggested he use a dating agency, but he is too embarrassed. Loyal, attractive for his age (although grey and balding) and with a successful business, he is still hot headed. He plays golf with his brothers.

He receives a letter from a young woman in Kent called Ruby, who thinks she may be his daughter and they speak on the telephone. The old memories of Laura and Daniel come flooding back and he immediately makes plans to travel to Kent. He is excited at the prospect of being a father, but even more so about seeing Laura. He regrets the way he treated her and wants to make amends.

So what has my character Ronnie got to do with Bedtime for Bonzo? I’m kinda thinking that Ronnie’s mum had a bit of a thing for Ronald Reagan 😉

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Goodbye Ruby Tuesday


Or rather hello Ruby Morgan 😉

I’ve always loved the name Ruby, so it was a no brainer that one of the main characters in my novel would end up with that name 😉 And as The Stones released Ruby Tuesday in 1967 it fits perfectly 🙂

Ruby was born in 1972 to single mum Laura who still lived at home with her parents above a café in Blackheath, South East London. A happy pretty child with chestnut curls and deep brown eyes she was adored by her grandfather until his death when she was two years old.

When she is a little over one her mother marries her stepfather and all 3 move into a flat a stones throw from her grandparents. She is registered with her mother’s maiden name as her own surname.

Ruby doesn’t remember much of her early childhood, apart from the arguments between her mother and stepfather Daniel. Her stepfather virtually ignored her unless she was naughty, then he would take off his belt. Her mother came between them and always saved Ruby from receiving a beating.

A bubbly talkative child she was made to spend her time in her bedroom when Daniel was about. She had an imaginary friend at home and although popular at school, she was never allowed friends round for dinner. She becomes a rebellious teenager, staying out all hours and getting drunk.

She spends lots of time with her grandmother, preferring to go there after school than to her own home. As a small child she didn’t really notice that she hadn’t got a father like the other children at school and when she asked her grandmother she was told, “Ask your mother”. When she was 14 her mother had a nervous break down and ended up in hospital. Ruby goes to live with her grandmother and refuses to go back home when her mother is well again. She realised that her mother was in no fit state to be asked about her father.

When she is 18 her grandmother dies and she managed to persuade her mother to leave her stepfather. The two move in together but her stepfather convinces her mother to go back to him. Ruby refuses to go back to her stepfather’s house and her relationship with her mother deteriorates. They have a huge argument and Ruby walks away from her mother, travelling to Kent where she makes a new life for herself. With the money her grandmother left her she is able to rent a flat and gets a job at a local restaurant as a waitress. Whilst working one evening she meets Sam Townsend and they start dating.

As an adult Ruby has turned into a beautiful young woman with a clear English Rose complexion. Full of energy and always smiling, deep down she is insecure and finds it hard to accept love. She gave Sam a hard time for the first year of their relationship. But now, once shes accepted Sam does actually love her, what she wants more than anything, is to get a nice little house and have a family. Determined that her child will have a loving upbringing.

When they are engaged and organising the wedding Sam can’t understand why Ruby wants to go away and get married abroad on their own. She tells him about her mother and stepfather but Sam thinks she should get in touch with her mother. Ruby can’t stand the thought of going through the hurt and disappointment again. She realises that she has no one to give her away at the altar, but knows, to contact her father, whoever he may be, will mean having to speak to her mother. Who, she is convinced, doesn’t care about her.

Out of the blue she receives a large Jiffy bag. Inside is a letter from her mother and a notebook. She reads through the notebook, which tells her all about her father. After much soul searching and with Sam’s support she contacts her mother and visits her in hospital.

She decides to find her father and after much searching finally tracks him down. He denies knowing of her existence but is thrilled. They arrange to meet and get on well. Her father would like to arrange a meeting with her mother, but her mother refuses.

Ruby plots to bring her parents together.

Next time I’ll tell you about Ronnie 🙂

Tomorrows post will be a bit later than usual, as I’m off to Faber. Tell you all about it tomorrow evening 🙂

Sunshine


I’ve been awarded the Sunshine Award by C. B. Wentworth so thank you so much honey 🙂

It’s lovely to be nominated for these awards, such an honour 🙂

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My only problem is that for some reason my pictures come out scrambled *stamps foot and pouts* and I don’t know why 😦

Anyway, I’m not going to go down the traditional route with this, what I will do is write about sunshine 🙂

Wednesdays prompt was “write the horizon at dusk” and as i sat here, trying to come up with some sort of story it sparked a memory…..soooo, as it also involves sunshine, i’ll copy here what i wrote 🙂

As a child i spent all my summers at my grandparents caravan on the Kent coast. My cousins and I would spend our days running through grass, searching for crabs on the beach when the tide went out and enjoying the sunshine.

We’d make secret hide outs in the bushes, play hide and seek among the sand dunes and have glorious adventures accompanied by the British weather. (Ha ha ha…for those of you in the UK you’ll know exactly what i mean about British summers…..rain! lol)

But the part of the day that i loved the most was dusk. The sun dying on the horizon, the seagulls making their way home (where do seagulls go at night?) and the children being called in by their parents.

We would go in to steaming hot mugs of tea and biscuits, for dunking 🙂  Sometimes, we’d sit on the steps outside, clutching our mugs, watching the sun dissappear. The dampness the evening always seemed to bring would start clinging to our clothes. Then my grandmother would tell us to come in and the door would be shut. If you left the door open it was as though dusk would creep into the caravan and slip into your bed. No one wanted a damp sleeping bag.

Sometimes i’d sit at the front, at the large window and watch the final glimpses of daylight in the distance. I remember wondering what would happen if the sun didnt rise the next morning. But it always did, and then, we would be running through the grass again. The early morning dew seeping through our flipflops, the grass tickling out toes, as we made our way back to the beach.

Nothing ever changed in the night, but we wished so hard that it would. The night always seemed so magical, as if anything could happen while we were tucked up asleep.

Happy days 🙂 I’m afraid i havent got a photo of the caravan, but i have got a photo of the beach.

Yesterdays prompt about eating it raw turned into a strange story. It started with a wife moaning at her husband for eating raw cake mix and turned into an argument about her brother who had just been released from prison LMAO 😉 Todays prompt is in the back seat so im sure i can come up with something for that 🙂

The “Place” Experiment Part 1


Do you remember my idea about The Place Experiment? No? Ok, read this post first if you don’t 😉

It was a horrible yucky, cold, wet, absolutely miserable week in Kent. To the point where Sunday was my first opportunity to start the experiment (Saturday was nice but hubby was at home all day lol).

So the first place under scrutiny is…..

Location: My back garden
Time: 7.30 am
Date: Sunday 11th March

It always amazes me, how quiet Sunday mornings are. Even the birds seem to know that everyone is still asleep at this ungodly hour. There’s a chill in the air, a freshness that you only get with spring. My garden is a mess. Perhaps this wasn’t the best location to start with. I’m finding it hard to find any words other than sad ones when I look around. The weeds, the overgrown bushes, there are no flowers. My Rowan tree has tiny little buds on it’s branches, indicating, hopefully, that it’s survived the winter. I often feel a bit like my garden, worn out and neglected (lol), just waiting for that something to come along and brighten everything up. I’m waffling aren’t I? Because I have nothing to say, nothing to dream about, and nothing to write. Most of the time I’m full of ideas, they bubble away under the surface, just waiting for an opportunity, a chance to escape. But sitting here now I feel strangely numb…..or is that just content? Is this finally a place I find relaxing? I usually find that hard, my head constantly swims but not at this moment. How odd? To be feeling so blank. Is that actually a good thing? Is this where I should come in future to calm my mind? Should I take up gardening as a serious hobby? Ok, Georgie (my dog) is looking at me strangely, wondering why I’m sitting in the garden (she’s not use to it). In future, I’m going to make more of an effort to use the outdoor space around me…..roll on the summer!

Hmmmmm, so was that a success? Did i actually discover something? It definitely didn’t inspire me to write differently or better….I just found it surprisingly relaxing lol, perhaps too relaxing.

Here’s my view 🙂

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What a mess!!!! 😦 But something was achieved….I have a man coming at some stage this week to tidy it all up *grins* I’ve decided, I need to use it more 🙂

This begs the question where is your favourite place to relax and chill?

I found yesterday’s prompt completely uninspiring, or was that more to do with the looming dental appointment lol 😦 I sat staring at it for ages (there’s always one I struggle with every couple of weeks). I finally gave up and read a book instead lol. I will catch up today when I do attending a ceremony which should be fun 😉

I did however manage to finish a short story that I’m doing as homework for my writing class, the one prompted by a horoscope…..so it wasn’t all bad 😉

Memories Of Childhood


Yesterday’s prompt, the courtyard, brought back memories of Hever Castle in Kent. A place I visited many times when I was a child, and then as an adult with my own children. My grandmother made costumes for my mum (who was a dancer) and the one I always wanted to wear was the Ann Boleyn dress. All that red velvet, lace and satin. It was a beautiful dress and had taken my grandmother hours to sew….but I digress 😉

Soooo, Hever Castle, I couldn’t get it out of my head, the courtyard as you go through the entrance, my childhood fascination for Ann Boleyn (although I have to say all my illusions were shattered when I watched The Other Boleyn Girl)….. I guess it was inevitable that my courtyard story would be set there 🙂

I ended up writing a story about an artist who goes to sketch the courtyard. A man who looks familiar is watching her and it’s only when she gets home that she see’s she has sketched him and that actually, it appears to be Henry.

I’m so sorry I’m not posting my stories, but if I want to use them for subs to magazines I can’t put them up on the net 😦

We went to see A Round Heeled Woman last night…..absolutely brilliant!!!! With a set stage set they used the ‘room’ for every single scene….. Very clever and Sharon Gless was amazing. Even my hubby thoroughly enjoyed it 🙂 Disappointed that there wasn’t a script available as it would have been nice to see how the use of the stage set was written in the script.

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Today’s prompt is walls the colour of tears

Should be interesting 😉