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The 3 Rs

Which are of course - reading, writing and relentless research (I never was much use at 'rithmetic).

I'd cracked on with my household chores all week to leave myself clear to write over the weekend. A story of my mother told me at Christmas gave me an idea for a neat short story plot set in wartime Wales, which I reckoned was going to be about 2000 words - so do-able over two days.

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So much for a productive break

Blwyddyn Newydd Hapus

In my last blog post I was looking forward to a long productive holiday back at home in Wales, with everything I planned to write laid out ahead of me... oh dear.

I've spent the time reading... my childhood favourite Enid Blyton largely, just the school stories though, which has given me an idea for a short homage.

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My debt to Enid

I read a lot of Enid Blyton when I was a child (probably at the tail end of her greatest popularity). I had a bookcase full of the 'Famous Five', 'Secret Seven' and '...of Adventure' series, but my favourites were the school stories. I especially loved Mallory Towers, where all the girls were very grown up, level headed and well turned out (even the beastliest of girls came round in the end).

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The mother of all bad boy to good girl stories

Bahuchara Mata is a Hindu goddess. She was a daughter of a charan. She and her sister were on journey with a caravan when a marauder named Bapiya attacked their caravan. It was common practice in charan men and women if overpowered by their enemies, not to surrender but to kill themselves. Being a reason for the shading the blood of charan was considered heinous sin. When Bapiya attacked caravan, Bahuchara and her sisters announced tragu and cut their breasts. Legends tells that Bapiya was cursed and became impotent. The curse was lifted only when he worshiped Bahuchara Mata by dressing and acting like woman. Wikipedia

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Accidental Resonances

Has anyone had an element of their fiction make an unexpected connection with real events?

In 'Midnight Angels' Jess paints a white rose on the tail of her aeroplane... officially it would have been red but she is from Yorkshire and a red rose would never do. When it's copied to the other aircraft it makes the squadron very easy to recognise and earns them a nickname.

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Nightingale

Nightingale

London 1949: life's a struggle for everyone, not least Richard Starling. He shuffles between his digs and a lowly job, wearing threadbare clothes waiting like everyone for a return to prosperity. Until an old friend from his army days appears to offer him a lifeline.

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