- What gave you the idea for your Snowflakes story?
The
idea came to me during one of the sessions of a long-term course I did at New
Writing South. It was a free-writing session that was a technical exercise in
developing a moving story that included no overt emotional clues, hence I used
winter metaphors rather extensively. As the story grew, however, interior
thought became a very important element (either that, or I lost my nerve to
strip bare such an emotional event!) Snowflake was a natural part of the
story
- How would you describe your normal style of writing?
While
I still have a teenage daughter in the house, my main genre is teenage fiction
and I am in the final phase of writing my first novel aimed at 12-15 year-olds.
My normal writing style combines sensual and emotional prose on thoughtful
subjects, but with a little humour or irony here and
there.
- Have you published other material?
At
Christmas 2013 I had a short story published in the Gazette and Herald newspaper
series, along the Sussex coast. In my day job I am a technical and scientific
writer, often writing medical education articles and teaching
materials.
- Do you have a writing routine?
My
ideal is a minimum of half an hour on weekday evenings, after dinner, but I love
a longer spell at any time of day at weekends when the house is
quiet.
- Do you have a favourite place for writing?
On my
sofa, feet up and cozy warm.
- Tell something quirky about you.
My
ambition is to mix tracks on stage, as a proper DJ! I love pop and rock
concerts, DJ sets, music festivals and silent discos. And yes, I have an idea
for a story based on this!
Extract from Official Secrets
From the garden room, they watched in silence as the
slate grey of night became the silver grey of a flat winter morning. They
watched in silence as the last seed from the sycamore pirouetted perfectly,
until a northerly gust from behind the potting shed funnelled it towards the
house and it slid down the glass. It landed on the window frame, in front of
the three scented candles that sat dormant, waiting for dusk. He picked up one
of the candles. Yes, there would probably be enough wax in it for tonight. With
the other hand he rubbed her upper arm, gently. Her cardigan was draped over
her shoulders like a dust sheet over a carving chair, and she stooped, sighing,
over the windowsill.
“Sit on the bed, love. Sit down for a minute.” She turned
towards him, and nodded a little.
“Yes. Help me over.” He pummelled the pillows, creating a
wall of softness at the back of the day bed, and she sank onto the duvet.
Outside, the sky had a milky look about it. Then, the sun
passed over the guttering and filled the garden room with shafts of cool
morning light.
“God’s turned the lamp on again.” The words wheezed out, and
as she laughed the pillows moved with her. “I hoped it would be a nice day
today, and it is.”
She took his hand,
to stop him from adjusting the blanket. She traced the contoured veins and
trailed her fingertips along the silver hairs above his wrist.
“Your fingers are cold.” He cupped her hand and blew gently
across her nails, which had taken on a purplish tone.
She relaxed into the pillows, exhaling another long,
crackled breath. Her eyelids dipped, flickered and closed. For a moment he held
his breath with her – his mouth open and slack like hers – but he remained
silent as he placed her hand back on top of the blanket. After a moment, she
breathed again. His heart jolted. She had not left him. Not yet.
About the author:
Linda Edmondson lives in Littlehampton, West Sussex,
with her family of assorted and much loved two- and four-legged creatures.
Linda is a member of New Writing South and enjoys crafting short stories as a
happy distraction from finishing her first novel (aimed at teenagers), or from
doing her ‘proper job’ (writing and editing educational materials for health
care professionals).
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