Are Fairy Tales Harmful?

Professor Richard Dawkins, evolutionary biologist , atheist and all-round spoilsport has declared that telling and reading traditional fairy tales to our children is harmful. Not only harmful, but pernicious! He said, ‘ I think it’s rather pernicious to inculcate into a child a view of the world which includes supernaturalism.’

I can only imagine the barrenness of a childhood without magic, without elves and shoemakers, without magic porridge pots and kitchen maids losing a shoe at the ball. I remember the sparkle in my own children’s eyes as they heard about a young boy felling a nasty giant at the top of the beanstalk. And the satisfaction at Hansel and Gretel sticking it to the wicked witch.

He seems concerned, bless him, that children may actually believe a prince could be turned into a frog despite the fact that it’s ‘statistically improbable’. No? Really? Give our kids some credit.

Surely these stories fire the imagination in a way that his suggestion that children should be ‘taught scientific rigour from an early age’ cannot?

He’s taken a great deal of stick since making the statement and has tried a U-turn on twitter. Well, half a U-turn. He said, ‘It IS pernicious to inculcate supernaturalism in a child. Do Fairy Tales do that? Probably no.’ Wow, I’m shocked at that revelation!

Fairy Tales did no harm to my children, who both grew up into sensible well-grounded adults. As for me – I have a firm grip on reality. My unicorn said so, this morning!

Not One, Not Two, But Three!

I had some great news. Amazon has selected the first three of the Mike Travis Paranormal Investigations series to feature in their Monthly Deals. Starting today all three are on offer for the princely sum of 99p each!

And for those who have been waiting patiently for the next one The Merlin Manuscript is with the proof reader and should be out in the next two weeks.

Merlin

Paranormal Investigator Mike Travis’s day is about to get way past difficult. His friend, Jack Carter, has been kidnapped, and it all revolves around an old manuscript that was supposedly a copy of one made by Merlin himself before he was magically cast into a crystal cave by his lover and student, Nimue.
Who has Jack? And where is he? The trail leads Mike to the Inquisition, alive and well on the fringes of the Vatican, with their reaches in his own neighbourhood. They want the manuscript and what it refers to – Merlin and Excalibur. And they’ll do whatever they have to, to obtain their ends.
To save Jack, Mike has to journey back through the veil to Avalon accompanied by Benjamin Lovecraft, ex Catholic Priest and Exorcist, to claim Excalibur and find Merlin. The worlds of magic and legend collide to draw Mike into a quest that leads him to find more than a magician and a sword.
Meanwhile, something scary is happening to his infant daughter Adain. And Avalon seems to hold answers for her too.
Avalon lies mirrored through the veil behind Glastonbury, a mystical land of ancient worship and magic, lost in the mists of what was called long ago The Severn Sea, and Mike must find his way there to rescue Jack and help Adain.
Why not keep him company?

Will The Real Mike Travis Please Stand.

People ask me if Mike Travis is based on a real person. Well, I suppose he is in a way, or rather a composite of several people. Both my husband and I are ex-RAF, and so I do have a good insight into service life and the after-service life, which is handy when it comes to putting Mike in harm’s way and seeing how he deals with it all. There is possibly some of me in Beth, his wife, although I’m nowhere near as brave as she is. I don’t think I would have survived Crowsmoor!
It is interesting as an author to watch and listen to people, stopping short of blatant eavesdropping! Sometimes. And it is very difficult to resist putting someone you know directly into the story. But we all have very distinctive traits and characteristics which provide plenty of material for forthcoming characters. As they say, names and places have been changed to protect the innocent!
Mike had a whole lot of trouble recovering from serious injuries following his helicopter crash in Afghanistan, and to make it worse, something strange happened while he was clinically dead for several minutes. When he regained consciousness after extensive surgery, he discovered his problem. He could see spirits. And I don’t mean the kind that comes in a glass.
I can only imagine how such trauma would affect someone, and the terrifying possibility that you may be losing your mind. Thankfully, he gets his head around it and in true character decides to use the gift, rather than fear it. He’s big on duty and survival, which is an accurate assessment of most serving personnel.
As Mike’s investigations have progressed, and readers have come to know him and his family, I have introduced other issues that affect us in life. Some of the issues have been challenging to write, such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is a big problem for many of our servicemen and women returning from war zones.
I am currently writing the seventh book in the series, (number six, The Merlin Manuscript, is out very soon) and over that time I have come to know Mike and his family well. I know how he walks and talks, his likes and dislikes, his friends and family, and I was delighted to read a recent review from a reader who said that she was now invested in the welfare of him and his family. This kind of feedback makes an author very happy, because it means that the character is as real to the reader as he or she is to the author. I think I stop short of talking out loud to them, but can’t be too sure!
It’s true to say that Mike does often wake me up at night, especially when I’m coming towards the end of a book, and the only thing to do if I want to get any sleep, is to get up and just write. Many authors say that their characters take on a life of their own and that they insist on behaving in a way that is far from the intended plot. Mike is like that, but his friend Jack Carter is the more impulsive of the two and the more inclined to give me this kind of hassle!
So, if you’re out and about, minding your own business, and you see someone watching you carefully, and apparently listening to your conversations, it’s probably not MI5, more likely just an author that has seen a potential new character. Or they may just like your coat. It’s all in the detail.

May 22nd – WORLD GOTH DAY!

 

So today is World Goth Day – rock on guys and gals. I saw the post on facebook and twitter this morning and it brought a huge smile to my early morning confused look. It also brought back some fab memories.

When I was writing Midnight Wine, I was already pretty clued up on most things vampire, legends, literature, folklore etc., but realised that I knew very little about the Goth culture, apart from overhearing Sisters of Mercy once on a bus. This was a problem as one of my main characters was a Goth. And one thing I won’t do is make assumptions. One, because they usually turn out wrong, and two, my character deserved better. (For those of you who have read Midnight Wine, I’m referring to Darius.)

So, how to go about the necessary research? Well, I guess I struck lucky there. I was having a grumble about not knowing who to go to for advice when a family member pointed me in the right direction. Hm, dark horse, I think.

I didn’t know what to expect, other than jet black hair, pale face, black eyeliner, and black clothes. There had to be more to these guys than that. And there is!

Little did I know just how far this was going to go? After a very short ‘interview’, I found myself, and my long suffering hubbie (bless him), being invited to the annual Vampyre Ball, to be held in a supposedly haunted fort in Portsmouth that year. Was I interested? Was I!

The event was being organised by The London Vampyre Group who were more than happy for two outsiders to ‘crash’ their party. I was really excited about it all, but what to wear? At the time, we were fifty somethings who had enjoyed the hell out of the 60’s and the hippie era, but when the Goths came on the scene we were tied up with babies and military careers, so we missed out on that. A quick reccie of the LVG’s website showed the members to be mostly in their twenties or early thirties, so we weren’t convinced that we weren’t going along as ‘supper’.

I’m pretty nifty with a sewing machine, even though I do say so! So costumes for the evening weren’t too much of a problem. Besides, I loved the idea of vamping it up accompanied by my own Lestat! I was threatened that if we were the only ones looking like Dracula and his Mrs. there would be a bit of domestic bother, but we needn’t have worried, the vampires were out in force. We had a fabulous time and became instant converts to Goth music and culture. (Much to the dismay of our sons who saw it as their parents behaving badly). And we met some really fabulous and interesting people.

That’s nice, I hear you say, but it didn’t end there. These fabulous and interesting people then invited us to accompany them on a two week trip to Transylvania! No discussion necessary, we were going!

Apart from vamping it up for two weeks, and visiting the various Dracula sites, we really got to know these guys. And if ever there was a case for not judging a book by its cover, the Goths win the prize! I can honestly say that I have never been in the company of a group of such intelligent and genuinely interesting people as I was during those two weeks. All of the guys knew why we were there, and didn’t give a hoot about my constant scribbling of notes under my voluminous black cloak. There were times when I felt like their granny, but that wasn’t because they thought of us that way, we were accepted and befriended instantly.

Darius was ‘born’ on that trip, not telling you who he was based on – just in case! And I cherish the memories. Thinking especially about the nights on the plum brandy!

Midnight Wine

Midnight Wine (Father Beckett Vampire thrillers)
So rock on guys, enjoy World Goth Day! I’m off to see what’s left in the wardrobe.

Launching New Blog

LAUCHING NEW BLOG 3-2-1 ….!

Hi there,

Not only is this a new blog, but it’s from a new blogger. I’m very excited about being able to keep in touch with all the lovely people that have read and liked my books, and indeed, those who have maybe just popped by out of curiosity!

I hope all my loyal readers will forgive the delay in creating the blog; I am computer illiterate in extremis! Until very (and I mean very) recently, a tablet was something you got from the doctor, the net was something on the end of a bamboo cane to go fishing for tiddlers, twitter was a pleasant sound in the garden and … well, you get the picture. So here goes, fingers crossed, salt over my shoulder, and hope that as the weeks go by, this will become a half decent blog. So it’s with a big thanks to Dave Lyons here at Raven Crest Books for all the support in getting this up and running.

For those who don’t know me from Adam, or more accurately, Eve, I am an author of paranormal fiction, published here at Raven Crest. I have loved all things ‘spooky’ or paranormal from first being able to read big words. I was often called to account for reading Dennis Wheatley when I should have been reading Enid Blyton, apparently (and quite honestly, the latter scared me more!), so it was ‘no contest’ when it came to deciding what to write about. The Mike Travis Paranormal Investigations have a considerable and loyal readership, and I am looking forward to being able to share news and chat with all of you. If you enjoy paranormal fiction and haven’t met Mike Travis yet, why not try Beginnings, which is a collection of five short stories to introduce him. If you want a longer read, the first in the series is The Crowsmoor Curse.

The world of the paranormal is vast, so it offers rich pickings for the author, and I love nothing more than delving into the dark regions of this world, as well as its lighter side. Yes, it does have a lighter side, and some down right funny, but maybe I’ll save that for another time.

One thing is obvious; since the dawn of time, the paranormal or supernatural have played a huge part in our psyche, whether it comes out in Stone Age burial practices or local folklore, past and present. The massive interest in ghost hunting programmes on the box shows that the curiosity into this realm is alive and well. So I hope that you enjoy the Mike Travis Paranormal Investigations and the articles and posts that will be forthcoming in this blog.

Please take the time to subscribe to the blog, I’d love to hear from you and maybe get to know you. If you have had any paranormal experiences to share, that would be cool. Who knows, they may find their way into Mike Travis’s investigations? I’d love to hear from you.

Back soon.

EVE OF ALL HALLOWS

It was the Eve of All Hallows, Halloween to most people, but to the old woman it was Samhain, the Celtic Feast of the Dead and it marked the death of the old year and the birth of the new. She held the young girl child on her knee in front of the flickering flames of the Samhain fire, the only light in the dark of the moonless night. All around them spirits stirred, invited through the veil on that night.

The child looked up at the face lined with the wisdom of the ages. “Granny, tell me the story again.”

The old woman smiled and stroked the child’s hair as she planted a kiss on the top of her head.

“It is on this night that the veil between the worlds is thin and souls can cross from one realm to another. The souls of those we have loved and lost can return on this night to give us comfort and to share in our celebrations. Only on this night can we share our tables with those who have gone before us. And it was on this night that Morrigan and Dagda met and loved one another.

Morrigan was bathing in the river. She was so dark and beautiful that even her ravens were in awe of her. Her hair was shining with the colour of their wings and her eyes were dark as the night itself. She was singing softly to herself, a sad song about life and death and rebirth and Dagda stood quietly watching her, falling in love with her with every second. She was the Goddess of Death and he was the God of Life, and he took her in his arms and made her his own, so in love that he cared not that to love her was to signal his death because he knew that the true gift of Morrigan is rebirth. As the dawn came the old year died and he too went happily to his death, knowing that with the rising of the sun at Yule the God of Life would be reborn once more.”

“I love that story Granny. Morrigan is very beautiful, I think.”
“She is beautiful, my child. Beautiful and fearsome, young and old. She is the Goddess of Battle, the Washer at the Ford, the Raven Goddess, the Great Mother, the Phantom Queen. She will always come to your aid when you call her, often in the guise of a raven or crow. She will always hear the voices that cry out to her.”
“Why was she singing a sad song, Granny?”
“It was sad but at times it was joyful, just as life is sometimes sad and sometimes filled with joy.”
“It is Samhain tonight, Granny, and our ancestors can visit us. Perhaps Morrigan will come too.”
The old woman smiled and drew her cloak around the child. “Perhaps she will. We must wait and see.”

Clouds flitted across the night sky, hiding the sacred light of the moon. Suddenly, they cleared, revealing the moon in all her glory, illuminating the clearing where the old woman sat rocking the child, listening to the sounds of the night and the crackle of the fire. The child fell asleep against her sagging breasts and she sang softly to her, sometimes sad and sometimes joyful as the night revelled in her mysteries.

The dawn came quietly and the child awoke in her own bed, comforted by the knowledge that her Grandmother had crossed the veil to be with her on that Samhain night to tell her the story of Morrigan and Dagda once more, as she would on each Samhain night to come.
A raven tapped on her window pane, nodded her head briefly and flew away.

Evil – what’s it all about?

So. .. blogging. What’s it all about? Well from what I can see, it’s writing down what’s on my mind. That’s a scary thought in itself. It scares the hell out of my poor husband for a start. The phrase ‘I’ve been thinking’ creates a condition in him whereby he sits on his wallet. In fairness, over the years, that simple phrase has usually cost him more than a few quid. So … I’ve been thinking.

I’ve been thinking all night, but this time, I’ve been thinking about evil. What defines it? Is it present from birth, or is it acquired? Nature or nurture? Do life events influence it or is it right there in a person’s DNA? And how fine a line is it between madness and evil? Some people do not have a psychological disorder to explain away their behaviour. Are some of the people, who society may call mentally ill, just plain evil? And further, does evil continue to exist after physical death?
I don’t have any answers, if I did, I’d be writing this from a yacht in the Bahamas. Neither do psychologists, ancient or modern, hence the yacht in the Bahamas being the prize for the right answer.
Why debate the whole thing with myself in the middle of the night anyway, you may ask. Seven years as a hospital chaplain in a forensic psychiatric unit would be part of the answer. And the fact that as a writer, evil often features large in my books, whether it be physical or spiritual evil. So I guess it’s fair to wonder about its nature.
It’s a debate that will continue to rage among mental health care professionals for a long time to come because human beings are all unique. We are born unique, and our life experiences are unique, so how can there be a blueprint for evil? How the question is approached is why one becomes a psychiatrist and another, a priest. It’s the same question however it’s approached and it really doesn’t have an answer. But it’s a question that provides inspiration for writers the world over, provoking thought, fear and sleepless nights.

So … blogging …

My new book trailer!!

Huge thanks to Aneesh and his team for producing this trailer. They are:

  • Jeff Pruce as Mike Travis
  • Rok Gjoni as Charlie Paynter

Special thanks to:

  • Michael Hoang
  • Kaberi Chatterjee
  • Aniruddha Chatterjee

Directed by: Aneesh Chatterjee

Discover for yourself the latest mystery from Bodmin Moor.

Bodmin moor mystery

Buy the Crowsmoor Curse on Amazon NOW!!

 

NEW Crowsmoor Curse website

I am pleased to announce that I have added my new website crowsmoorcurse.com.

If you haven’t read The Crowsmoor Curse yet, then what are you waiting for? Head right over to crowsmoorcurse.com and catch the latest action.

My follow up novel to The Crowsmoor Curse will be ready for publication later this year. Entitled Long Shadows, it continues the adventures of paranormal investigator Mike Travis. Expect more spooky happenings as Mike battles against evils of the past – you’ll be looking over your shoulder for weeks to come!

So what are you waiting for? Get over to crowsmoorcurse.com now!

I, WOLF

What I am about to tell you is the truth. It isn’t my story, but that of someone I met a month ago; he entrusted me with it and so here it is. This is how he told me his story…

 “So you want to know how this is possible, how this can happen. I can’t answer you because I do not know. All I know is that it does happen. It will happen tonight as it happens for the three nights of every full moon. Tonight I will become … something unholy. I will become Beast. I will become Wolf. And you will keep me company.”

“Why me?” I asked him.

“Why not?”

“Do you think I’m afraid?”

“No. I think you are different.”

“How different?”

“Because you understand. You accept that these things are ‘out there’. That is what you say is it not?” That such things as I are ‘out there’? In your dark moments, when you write your stories of horror, when your words fall onto virgin paper, taking away its innocence, deflowering the whiteness with tales that chill the soul, that is what you believe. It is what drives you. It is what you want from me, is it not? A story to tell. A story to sell. Well, here is my story. A true story. You will be my scribe. You will write it as I tell it and I have no doubt that you will be acknowledged as the author, and only you and I will know the truth.”

“The truth?”

“Don’t toy with me scribe. You know what I am. You know it to the core of your being. Must I say it? Or shall I simply show you? Ah, you go pale at the thought. Then I am right and you do know. Perhaps it is too high a price for a story.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but this has been done. And the sequel. And the movie.”

“Then you will do it again. Only this time Nosferatu has no place in it. This time, it is I, Wolf.”

“Publishers won’t go for it. There’s a possible law suit in there somewhere.”

“Ha! Then to quote the Duke of Wellington, ‘Publish and be damned!”

“Damnation wasn’t my intention,” I replied.

“I am tired of this. Either you write my story or damnation will seem like a pleasant alternative.”

“So now you threaten me. Or is it rather that in some way, I threaten you? Because I’m not afraid.”

“But you are afraid. I can sense it. I can smell it. And unless you are very stupid, and I doubt that, I will be disappointed. Will I be disappointed, Scribe?”

“No. Will I be food for your appetite?”

“Enough of this playing with words. My time is short. Soon I will lose my grip on sanity. Already I can feel the pull of the moon. Already I can feel the subtle changes that will soon rage through my body until ‘I’ am no longer. Until there is only Wolf.”

“Will there be nothing left of you at all? Will there be no spark of humanity left? How can you be sure? Perhaps wanting to tell your story means that somewhere inside this thing you become there is still the flickering of a human soul?”

“Perhaps. You can be the judge. Are you ready? Or shall we carry on this way until it is too late?”

“Can I ask questions, or shall I just listen?”

“As long as your questions are relevant and they do not provoke me.”

“I will try and remember that, though as we speak I can see something happening to your eyes, every now and then they glint of burnished amber.”

“It is the first sign. It begins and so must we. My name isPierre. I was born just outsideToulouseforty five years ago. I do not remember much of my childhood. Suffice it to say, it was unremarkable. It was as a teenager that things happened that would shape my life forever. And I apologise for the dreadful pun, it was unintended. There is nothing funny about what happened to me then, or since then.”

“I was a raw and innocent youth, desperately seeking my first encounter with love, or sex, whichever came first. I would like to believe it was love that drew me to her, but if I am honest, it was sex. She knew I was looking at her, I couldn’t help it. She was beautiful.

She knew I was an innocent and it seemed to amuse her to be the one to change that, and I … I simply wanted her. I didn’t know then that I would regret the price I was to pay. She took me to her apartment on the outskirts of the city and gave me wine. We stood on her balcony looking at the fullest moon that I had ever seen. I could see it reflected in her eyes. Amber orbs that permitted me nothing yet denied me nothing.

She loved me with an animal intensity that drove my will and my reason from me. Remember I had never before been with a woman, I had no reason to fear her then. Afterwards, when I was calmer and we lay still in each others embrace with the moonlight bathing her perfect body I realised with my returning sanity that it wasn’t over.

She looked at me with her amber eyes, and without warning she began to change. Her silky hair seemed coarse and heavy, and before my eyes began sprouting all over her body, her arms, her face.”

“Why didn’t you run?” Why stay?” I asked, breathless.

“Why don’t you run? Like you, I had to know. I needed to see. I watched as her fine aquiline nose pushed outwards above her jaw becoming the snout of a beast. I watched as her mouth revealed to me the slavering jaws of a wolf. I listened to her screams as her muscles contracted violently in spasm, changing her shape until she could no longer stand.”

“And still you stayed there? Were you insane?”

“Insane. Yes. I believe it was insanity. I was mad with fear as moments before I had been mad with lust. They seemed one and the same at the time. And I didn’t believe she would harm me.”

I was emboldened to ask him, “Was that the arrogance of youth or its ignorance?”

His face was stern and there was a fire in his eyes. “You tread a fine line, Scribe. Have some respect for me, or I may forget that I want you to live, to tell my story.”

I was chastened but had to continue my questions. “I’m sorry, but why did you think that she wouldn’t harm you? I know that I would have been out of there long before then.”

“Would you? We shall wait and see. She looked at me with her wolf eyes, unable to communicate in any other way. I felt a responsibility for her somehow, she wanted something from me.”

“Dinner, perhaps?”

“I am here telling you my story am I not? She had no intention of killing me, and she could have done so in an instant. No, she wanted compassion and understanding. And she wanted a companion. You see the passion of the wolf is enough; one doesn’t need to be savaged by them. I tried to tell her that I did understand but my words would not come out and in that moment I failed her. Will you fail me, Scribe? Many have done so.”

“I’m not the first then that you have told your story to?”

“Now who walks between arrogance and ignorance, hmm? Of course you are not the first. I have entrusted my story to better writers than you, but their fear outweighed their eloquence. So I have chosen one whose writing skills are mediocre but whose acceptance is unconditional.”

“Your hair is changing, growing longer and more coarse.”

“Yes, see how it grows on my hands and arms, and beneath these clothes it covers my body too. Now look, do you see my face changing?”

“Then the legend is true and the were-beast is fact. You are a were-wolf. You can no longer speak through your mouth but I see your need in your eyes. You were right, I can’t leave. I have to see, but please remember, if you can, that I am to be the instrument. I can’t tell your story if I’m chopped liver. Do you need to feed? Shall I come with you? Why are you looking at me that way? I don’t believe you mean to harm me, but why do your eyes burn like that?”

“I don’t know if you can still understand me, if there is still a part of you that remains human inside the body of the wolf, I want you to now that I do understand. Now, I understand.”

… I met Pierre exactly one month ago today. I have to go now his story is written, the moon is rising and I feel a burning deep inside and the night is calling me. The moon is calling me. I am hungry.

Read LYCAN on Amazon now!