charles barrow's writing

I just finished reading A World of Curiosities by Louise Penny. It's Book 18 in her Three Pines/Chief Inspector Gamache series. I love Penny's Three Pines novels. I love Three Pines. If you don't know of it, it's a small fictional village in a forest in Quebec, and it's peopled with quirky characters. People who are searching, because they are lost, find their way to Three Pines, and I don't mean because they are lost in the forests. The village has a bookshop, a cafe, a bakery, and a bed and breakfast, plus characters to greet you warmly and keep you entertained. It also has a duck with a penchant for swearing. This village has everything that a tired and hungry traveller could possibly want. It also has a mortality rate that is quite alarming, much like Midsomer in the UK - if you know you know. In this story there's a psychopath living amongst the villagers, and also a serial killer is on the loose. I've read almost all of Penny's books featuring ...

Recently I've written about a reading project I have bubbling away in the background - see my 26 in 26 post back in January. The idea of it is that I'll read the 26 named titles across the year. It's going really well, so far, and I've read 11 from the list, and I've also interspersed a few random books amongst those. So it's been a good reading year. It's been so good that I've been planning another reading project that I'd like to have running in the background alongside the above mentioned 26 target, but this one will have no set titles or timescale. This new project has been prompted by  a train ticket I never bought, and  an adventure I never had, back in the 1980s. Let me explain. When I was in my mid-twenties, in the mid-80s, there was a train ticket available that gave a young back-packer/traveller/adventurer one month of unlimited 2nd class train travel across the rail networks of 21 European countries. This ticket was called the Inter-rail ...

We're half way through May, and on some days you could almost believe that it's high summer. The sun is hot, when it shines, the soil is baked dry, and there are plenty of colourful blooms in the garden to lift the spirits. Here are two of my current my favourites. A clematis, and some crazy colourful, delicate, and very fancy, aquilegia, or columbines. My spirits need lifting at the moment, because my health isn't great, and I'm struggling to remain positive about things. I believe that my state of mind has a direct effect on my physical well-being, so anything that can put a smile on my face is very welcome. Just look at the velvety richness of the reds, pinks, and purples of this clematis. How can I not feel better after spending some time in its company?  The photos are the author's own.  

I like visiting graveyards, churchyards, cemeteries, call them what you will. I find them fascinating. They are full of stories, if you pause long enough to witness them, and I find that inspiring. I've posted photos of headstones, and gravestones here before. They have often had a quirk to them, of size, shape, or style. This one is different in as much as it's been cracked wide open by the tree growing through it. The tree roots have shattered the stones. I mentioned, in a previous post, that it wasn't unknown for people to be buried clutching an acorn, so that even in death they might feed and nourish an oak tree to grow out of the heart of them.    Photo is the author's own

I went in search of Peter Pan. The statue of Peter Pan, that lives in Kensington Gardens, the large green space in London that used to be the private gardens of Kensington Palace, but are now freely accessible to all. If your image of Peter is got solely from Walt Disney's 1953 animated film Peter Pan, then you'll picture a young boy dressed in Lincoln Green - tights and jerkin, with pixie boots and a cap with a jaunty feather. I mention Lincoln Green, specifically, because Peter's outfit calls to mind that other folk lore/fictional character, depicted in many a film, Robin Hood, who dressed in that particular shade of green. You'll see the resemblance between Peter's outfit and that of Errol Flynn's Robin, in the live action 1938 film, and also the same character, as played by a fox, in Disney's own animated Robin Hood from 1973. So my mental image of Peter Pan resembled nothing so much as a pint sized version of the outlaw from Sherwood Forest. Poster imag...

This is a companion post to my last one, 52 in 25, and it details the 26 books I definitely plan to read this year. I'll spread them out across the year, and drop other books in between these as I go. I've said it before, I'm a mood reader so I have to really be in the mood for something before I pick it up, so it's good there's such a variety of genre here. I should also mention that these are all ebooks, on my Kindle, the other books I'll read this year will mostly be physical books off my shelf. These book titles below aren't listed in any particular order of preference. Also, I've already read Yellowface from this list, and I'm currently reading Pretty, Pretty Boys, and Queen James. So I'm off to a flying start. I'd like to get to the Murakami soon, and the C.J. Sansom will finish off the series of Shardlake books that I've loved. In fact I've loved everything I've read by these two authors, so I have high hopes for these two ...

I read 52 books last year, mostly fiction but a smattering of non-fic too. I also read  a few comic books, and  a handful of short stories, and I dnf'd two books. I'll spare the authors' blushes - but one was a book of essays on air travel; I have no idea why I picked this up because I have no interest in this subject, in fact I refuse to ever get on a plane, so this book was never going to work for me. The other was a memoir by a big name Hollywood star, but I found him such an insufferable braggart that I slammed the book shut long before the final credits rolled. I don't know why I just spent more time writing about the two books I didn't finish, than all the ones I did, perhaps that's just human nature. Or maybe just my nature. Ok, I'll tell you what, why don't I flag up a few of the best books I read last year, just to balance the, well, books? Orbital by Samantha Harvey. A slim, quick read. Winner of the 2024 Booker Prize. It relates 24 hours in th...

Following on from my September post, wherein I discussed reading a Victorian novel, so as to participate in BookTube's Victober event, I wanted to post this update and confirm that I chose to read Doctor Thorne (1858) by Anthony Trollope in October. Doctor Thorne is Book three in The  Chronicles of Barsetshire,  a series of six novels, by Trollope, set in and around the fictional town of Barchester, in the fictional county of Barsetshire. I should mention here that you will also find this series of books referred to as The  Barsetshire Chronicles, and also The Barchester Chronicles, but they are all one (or six) and the same thing. The novels do not focus on the same characters in each novel, but characters from previous books can wander into, and out of, other of the stories, since they all live in the same vicinity. I like this aspect of the books.  Doctor Thorne isn't the first novel I have read in this series. I also read the first book, The Warden (1855) so year...

Looking for a bit of writing inspiration? A writing prompt to kick-start some ideas? Here are two photographs that I took that will hopefully help. The first is a glimpse through an open doorway and down a summer garden path. The second is an open gate into an autumnal walled garden, the greenery belies the fact it was taken in November. I'm always intrigued by an open doorway leading from one environment into another; indoors to out, from the open street into an enclosed garden. A glimpse of a garden will especially spark my imagination. Shades of A Secret Garden, Tom's Midnight Garden, and even hints of Narnia. A pathway, leading off into the distance, draws the eye towards an unseen destination, where is it heading to? What awaits me at the other end of that path? Is it something I want and need, will be delighted by? Or will it turn my world on its head, so that I rue the day? To lead someone down the garden path is to hoodwink, trick and fool them. But to wander down a win...

Autumn seems to have arrived very suddenly, seemingly all at once in the last few days. The wind and the heavy rains are dragging leaves off the trees and heaping them into soggy piles on the pathways, making a trip to the local shops a slippery and treacherous affair. And a lot of fungi, enjoying the damp and still relatively warm air, are sprouting in the verges around tree stumps, and giving off the earthy scent of decay. Indoors, I'm dusting off fat church candles, to help light the dark corners of the room at night, and shaking out the thick sofa throws I'll use for extra warmth and to draft-proof myself on the sofa in the evenings. I've already made my first pot of minestrone soup of the season, and will be swapping out my summer salads for bowls of macaroni cheese, and veg chilli in the coming days.  At the end of the week, at 2am on Sunday, the clocks will go back one hour, and the nights will draw in alarmingly quickly, and daylight will be all but done by 5.30pm. ...

I've talked about 'Victober 'on here before, though to my surprise I find it was back in 2022. It's a BookTube event that takes place during the month of October, when readers are encouraged to read a book published by a UK author in the Victorian era - during the reign of Queen Victoria 1837-1901. The last time I took part in this challenge, or at least the last time I wrote about it on my blog was in October 2022. That year I read Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, and The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. This year I will be choosing one of the books from the stack pictured below. Sorry the photo is a little murky and the book titles a little hard to read, but the books pictured (from bottom to top) are: Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope, David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, Ivanhoe by Walter Scott, and The Sign of Four by Arthur Conan Doyle. Last time I took part in this challenge I didn't follow the letter of the rules and I may not ...

In the latest instalment of my 'Visit Famous Writers' Homes - in the hopes that some magic writing dust will fall onto my shoulders', I took a trip to Shakespeare's Birth Place.   After my summer outings to Virginia Woolf's home, Monk's House, and Vita Sackville-West's stately pile at Sissinghurst, I finally ticked Stratford Upon Avon, birth place and life long home to William Shakespeare, off my bucket list. I mean, if you want to sweet-talk the writing muse then you really have to visit the stomping ground of the OG and Godfather of writing, don't you? I thought Stratford Upon Avon was a complete delight. From the narrow cobbled streets, flanked with Tudor buildings, to the large open grassy areas full of broadleaved trees, beside the slow running River Avon, there is something of interest around every corner. The huge theatre that is home to the Royal Shakespeare Company. Bronze statues of Lady Macbeth, King Hal, and Hamlet. Buskers quoting The Bard...

This plant caught my eye. It's growing in the barest scrape of dirt in the road by the kerb, and I marvel at its tenacity to survive and flourish against all the odds. But I kind of resent it too. I lavish care and attention on some of the plants in my border. They get a good grade multi-purpose compost, a seaweed feed, and regular weeding, and yet they don't look anywhere near as healthy, nor floriferous as this neglected weed. But this weed did spark some thoughts. I'm going to wrestle to draw a parallel now, between the fact of this weed thriving in the gutter, and one of my writing projects. I can lavish much care and attention on a story idea. I can visit with it everyday for months, make notes, do research, write a draft, revise said draft, and even so, it will ultimately wither and perish. But then again, I can make a few scant notes on another story idea, throw the notebook into a drawer and forget about it for many months, sometimes even years, and then I'll su...

Last week, in the company of dear friends, I was lucky enough to visit two beautiful English gardens, blooming in the June sunshine. Luckier still these gardens were attached to two different, very slightly 'stately', homes, once owned by two wonderful women writers. The first was Monk's House, in Sussex. A 17th century retreat, once owned by Virginia Woolf and her husband Leonard. The few rooms in the house that we were allowed to walk through were gloomy, and atmospheric, and fascinating. But the room of real interest was Virginia's writing room. It was in a large summer house, set apart from the main house, further down the garden, amongst fruit trees and cottage garden borders. Unfortunately visitors weren't allowed to enter the room, but could gaze into it through large windows set in three sides of the building. The room was full of items that had once belonged to Virginia, and were arranged around the room, and on the desk, as if the room was still in use and...

I've been watching the blackbirds in my garden; male, female and baby. All three rush around the lawn, searching for worms. The juvenile is learning the ropes from its parents. Soon the parents will stop feeding it, and it'll have to fly off and find its own territory. I sometimes see the male blackbird, on a high branch in the plane tree in the street outside, or sitting on top of the freshly trimmed hedge that divides street from garden. I do hear him singing some evenings, a loud, melodious, full throated song, designed to carry through the thick woodlands, wherein these birds used to live. Thick woodlands are no longer as common as they were, so my blackbird lives in a hedged around garden, and sings a song that is now a little extra for his surroundings. It's said to be good luck if a blackbird nests near your house. And in Celtic mythology a blackbird is believed to be one of the three oldest animals in creation, the first bird. The other two creatures are the stag an...

I'll always stop to read a blue plaque on the wall of a house, to satisfy my idle curiosity about who may have been born, lived, briefly visited (yes I'm talking about you Charles Dickens), or died in the property. Very often I find I haven't even heard of the luminary being honoured, so it's as well the plaque always tells me what said honouree did for a living, or why they're being recognised. However, I recently came upon this beautiful slate plaque on the stone gatepost of a very large house in Oxford, and whilst the written information on offer is minimal, this is more than compensated for by the simple visual cue, which is stellar. Photo is the author's own.

Emergence I steel myself to step outside. A final glance through the window reveals crystal blue skies, an early sun gilding black branches, glittering frost in pockets of shadow on the borders; riming emerald crocus spears. “Bury them deep. Bulbs are a promise of brighter days. Like treasure.” These were almost his final words to me, as we laboured last autumn. “Golds, amethysts, pearls. Riches for when you’ll need them most. Afterwards.” I’d been wrapped in a smothering duvet of despair. Since. With neither the will nor strength to cast it off. My heart a bitter winter graveyard of grief.  Yet today breaks, somehow, differently. Those resolute crocuses will have pushed their way through earth like iron, just as he’d promised. A reminder that hard winters do fall away, springtime does return, offering renewal. I crack open my door. Birdsong drifts in and calls me out into a newly defined world. Photo is the authors own  

I grew a terracotta pot full of ranunculus once, many years ago. It was a glorious sight and bought joy to my heart. The cultivated ranunculus, or ranunculus asiaticus, or Persian Buttercup, is indeed related to the common buttercup, but is a much larger plant, has a tight whorl of petals, and comes in a variety of colours - pink, orange, yellow, white, or red, as opposed to the primarily yellow, open face of the smaller, wild buttercup that sprouts every year on the lawns outside. My favourite colour of ranunculus is orange. It is the vibrant, vivid orange of the marigold, the California poppy, the Solero ice lolly. I've attached a photo of some orange California poppies that I grew last year, to give you an idea of the colour I'm talking about here. That first pot of ranunculus I grew was wildly successful. I think because I grew it back then in complete ignorance of just how fussy a plant a ranunculus is. The soil, the moisture and the temperature levels have all got to be ...

Not a good month for me, on a personal level. In fact, the last eight months have brought loss and grief and anxiety on a large scale. This month brought more terrible news, and still more lurks on the near horizon. January is always a long, dark month to be gotten through, but this one is the darkest in memory. So I have been particularly grateful when I have happened upon something that has brought a little light and positivity into my life, and has taken me out of my day-to-day. Books (IQ84 Murakami), films (Wonka), nature (planting Spring bulbs), and wildlife (taking part in the Big Garden Birdwatch) have all helped to get me through. And a big help, from an unexpected quarter was the night sky. The freezing, cloudless nights through early to mid-January, afforded me a wonderful view of the Wolf Moon as it transformed from a fingernail fragment to a full moon over the course of weeks, and what made it even more special was the dazzlingly bright planet Venus hanging in the sky behin...

"Trashy Tales of Terror : cheesy horror fiction featuring creepy kids, killer animals, mutants and monsters, etc." The above caught my eye when I was perusing the submission guidelines for an anthology called Trash Tales, to be published next summer, but with a submission deadline of midnight on December 31st. Happy New Year. There is also a 5,000  word limit for entries. There were any number of other suggested categories to submit stories in, from Sci-Fi to romance to cosy crime, in fact, as the guidelines state on the website (see link at the end), "Your story can be in any category or genre you like, as long as it's what we might all consider of a trashy nature!" I learned of this opportunity whilst watching a #booktube channel, on Youtube. Alex Unabridged was the channel - you can link to their site here  youtube.com/@alex_unabridged  Alex will be producing/editing the anthology along with Olly from CriminOlly - you can find his #booktube channel here  yout...