The Magnificent Seventh is coming soon.
About this book
Writing this, my seventh novel, was a sometimes disturbing exercise in that it pulled memories to the fore which I had buried deep. However, this is not an autobiography and any similarities to persons alive or dead are unintentional. There were times when I felt like crying at what I had expressed in this book and at others I found myself chuckling at some humorous little additions despite the fact that I had written them. Like Jo, I am a solitary person, one who enjoys long walks with my dogs and the beauty of the natural world, the change of seasons and the tableaux which nature paints without the use of a pallet or brush. How often have you walked alone and felt that the weather, the light, the sky, the sea, or a river is reﬂecting your mood? And did you walk on, sharing your thoughts, anguish or indeed happiness with them, grateful for the empathy shown to you? If so, I hope you will feel Jo’s emotions as I did on writing these passages.
‘The sunrise is non-existent. I trudge through the murky morning which seems to ﬁght the onset of daylight. As dawn approaches, darkness becomes greyness, a tiny hint of orange on the horizon is gobbled up by charcoal clouds like hungry ogres. Grey banks of rain-ﬁlled mist are coiling and swirling as though linking arms to keep the sun’s rays out, and succeeding. Thunder claps its applause, again and then again. A fork of lightning provides the standing ovation. ‘I continue my walk, I’m already soaked and have very little to hurry back to. Strangely, I wasn’t aware of when I realised the wetness on my cheeks was not solely rain drops, I wasn’t even aware that I was crying. The rain dilutes my tears and I welcome the feeling of empathy, the sky weeps with and for me.’