Wednesday, 16 October 2013

@RavenMcAllan and her Girl on the Bus

Hi all, well here I am again 'darn sarf' and loving it.  You see my mum was a down and out cockney. Born within the sound of Bow Bells and all that. Then she lived near the Elephant And Castle. (For those who didn't know its really London)and I'm proud it's in my heritage.
When I get together with Cherie I start remembering how my mum spoke and by the end of our visit I'm talking southern again.
 I have to giggle because more and more I'm setting my Stories in Scotland where I now live, and I have to get the Scottish slang correct. My son's mates are a great help, and so far haven't told me anything wrong. (Well as far as I know) As I told one of them, I knew you when you fell over the doorstep and sang out of time in the lane…

My latest story, The Girl on the Bus is set in Glasgow. My poor cover artist, Sour Cherry Designs, was asked for a bus with Glasgow on. She came up trumps. I love this cover. The story is partly set in Dommissima, the BDSM club featured in Master, It never fails to amaze me how people say Glasgow is dull, dreary, dreich, and grey. Oh no it isn't. (Well yes bits are, but you tell me a city that isn't in parts) I haven't based Dommissima on any specific building, but I know where it is, and but I know exactly where in which streets things happen.


Julia ran out on Rob five years ago, so she cannot be the face he sees on the bus. However, when she ends up being the one taking notes at his meeting, he knows he will move heaven and earth to make her his once more.
Will she agree, or will she run again?

Here's a wee (see Scottish slang pops up even here) teaser for you…this is the start…

Tay Mackinnon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, unconsciously mimicking the beat of a popular TV motor racing program blasting out from the I Player. He loved hot hard and heavy music, interspersed with softer gentler tunes. He was, he admitted, hard to pigeonhole and was unrepentantly pleased about the fact.
Now stuck behind the double decker bus that disgorged its passengers from the middle of the road rather than in the bus stop—where a white van man was receiving the trough edge of the bus drivers tongue, he refused to lose his temper. He had more than enough time, the music was great, and the sun was shining.
The roof of his top of the range sports car was down, and he ignored the fumes and noises of the city. He was as happy with that as the scents and sounds of the Scottish countryside where he lived whenever possible. Tay was comfortable in his skin and his life and refused to get upright because some ignoramus couldn't be bothered to read the road signs. An approaching traffic warden would sort him out.
 The bus began to move off slowly and Tay let the clutch out and began to follow it.  It turned a corner and Tay went to continue straight on until a profile on the upper deck made him change his mind and swap lanes. The horn that blared out was well deserved, but for once Tay couldn't give a monkeys.
That profile … oh that profile. It couldn't be, surely he was kidding himself? One night five years ago, and how on earth would he know for sure? But the hair, fine and like silver silk shot with diamonds that glittered and sparkled in the light. It was her hair, her profile … wasn't it?
Get a grip man. That was the other side of the country
However Tay was as certain as he could be. He'd been looking unconsciously for all that time. So often he'd almost walked up to someone and said "Silver?" only to stop at the last moment before some unknown woman would think he was screwy or a stalker. Once he'd almost lost his balls, when a guy had objected to Tay saying the word to a woman Tay hadn't even realized was with the guy. He'd made his apologies and retreated, letting the smug bastard brag about how big and tough he was and no one messed with him ever. Not a Dom, just a half pissed Glasgow Ned. Tay was sorry, but no way could he give much credulence to a guy with a tattoo of Hello kitty on his neck. In full color at that. Even so, Tay was a lot more chary of approaching anyone now. A writhing, crying, so called macho man wouldn't go down well. He could imagine the headlines… No don't imagine them, just carry on and see if yet again your memory is playing games. And don't bloody crash. He slammed his brakes on as the bus stopped, and wrenched his mind back to the present.

Nosy links…

Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.
A lover of reading, she appreciates the history inside a book, and the chance to peek into the lives of those from years ago. Raven admits that she enjoys the research for her books almost as much as the writing; so much so, that sometimes she realizes she's strayed way past the information she needs to know, and not a paragraph has been added to her WIP.
Her lovely long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and be on stand-by with a glass of wine.

You can find out more about Raven here…        (my page)            (author page)

1 comment:

  1. Thsnks for inviting me over Cherie, and for the pie and liquor!