Do visit my Amazon Page, hope to be adding books for Grown-Ups too, in the Autumn.

Wednesday, 27 May 2015

Change of Address, Writing Books, Husband, Website and Blog!

Hello again,

Hoping all is well with you. At the moment I am finding the care of my husband, updating my blog, running a house, gardening, writing my books more and more demanding. So for a while I shall just be updating my website, vital if I want to let people know about my book progress,  and shall see how it goes. It would be lovely if you could visit my website from time to time. And it would be great if you could sign up for my 'newsletter'. It is once a month, barely half a page, and with an unsubscribe button, too. And of course, my website has a contact page. I must add one that is more user friendly. Maybe see you there. Kind regards, take care, Carole.

Wednesday, 20 May 2015

Children of St. Cuthbert's R.C. School, Chester-le-Street, County Durham

20th May - Mrs. Garrity and Class 5    children making models of characters and writing accounts after readings from my book First Wolf. Do click on the link and see more of their work. It was a wonderful experience, talking to them via Skype.
 
Scan 2
 
   Monk scribes
   Model making
   St. Cuthbert at Prayer
   Setting sail for Lindisfarne


Scan 5

       Talking to the author of First Wolf via Skype

        The children as Anglo-Saxons and Vikings

Scan 4
Scan 6

                          Scribes and Viking Huscarls






Friday, 15 May 2015

Celebrate the Small Things.

http://lexacain.blogspot.com/
Good heavens, a week has gone by and it's time to review what has happened and celebrate the small things... 
...well, the summerhouse is up, and as people have said it looks like a doll's house, and I am a writer of children's books, then that is a very apt name
...my husband has purchased a larger and more comfortable mobility scooter so that he has more freedom 

...and I am looking forward to the first evening in my doll's house/office to write and invite my husband to join me for a glass of wine... the wooden candle holder is already in place... 

Hoping you have had a successful and happy week.

Friday, 8 May 2015

Celebrate the Small Things

 Celebrate the Small Things
http://lexacain.blogspot.com
Thinking of things to celebrate this week...

... the wonderful reviews of my poetry book, Kaleidoscope on Amazon.com and Amazon. co.uk 

... that I am still well enough to look after my husband


... have been co-opted onto Ludlow Civic Society as The Cake and Custard Bookshop. Hope I can contribute to the society, their current newsletter is about the Reader's House in Ludlow. A case of serendipity, I hold the Office of Reader, but sadly they never gave me the keys to the house :0)

Hoping YOU have something to celebrate, large or small! 


Wednesday, 6 May 2015

I.W.S.G. Day!


It's Alex J. Cavanaugh's time again, a time to review what has happened in the last month and share. For too long, I have written very little of my sequel, River Dark. I told myself that it was because my husband is constantly ill, that I hated sequels, that the book wasn't any good. 
So I resorted to N.L.P., listening on the iPod every night for a week or so and have programmed myself to return to work. With a re-wired brain -good old N.L.P. - I now find that every morning, the task of recommencing the sequel is no longer a chore, and that I now have a more than positive attitude to the book. However, the wonderful reviews I received from you, concerning my poetry book Kaleidoscope, also encouraged me to keep going. So thank you all. 

Friday, 1 May 2015

Kaleidoscope available free - Amazon Kindle

Kaleidoscope - Poetry by Carole Anne Carr [Kindle Edition]

Carole Anne Carr


www.amazon.co.uk/Carole-Anne-Carr/e/B0034PC204

£0.00 includes free wireless delivery via Amazon Whispernet

available from 1st to 5th May


Most Helpful Customer Reviews
By G. Appleton on 25 Jan. 2015

These poems are wonderful! I absolutely love them. They draw the reader in from the first line, and one feels not only totally engaged, but often greatly moved. Artistic sensitivity is in evidence throughout - pictures are painted with colour and texture and vivid appeal to the senses, all making for wonderful imagery and use of metaphor. To me this is a very fine collection of poems, which I find myself mysteriously drawn back to, such is the freshness and pull of the narrative.

Weaving youth to adulthood in a women's poems. 8 Jan. 2015
By Patricia Kennington - Published on Amazon.com

‘Kaleidoscope’ by Carole Anne Carr, is a story of child-woman growing into woman-child. Her shared lyrics become a vehicle to convey dreams, memories, hopes, and desires for “the more.” Through her poems, Carole invites us to relive and feel both the clarity and confusion of moving from child to adult. Her poetry encourages us to re-experience the poignant and the painful, self-realization, and the recognition of human failure. We return to past decisions, joys, failures, and the anguish of being alive and moving on.

Patricia Kennington, TSSF, Ph.D., Spiritual Director


My May Newsletter goes out today with this month's free book offer. I do hope you will sign up for this, the form is in the column on the right. It is my first attempt at such a thing. The interest shown in my first newsletter at Easter was 60%, so very hopeful. Thank you and hugs for being kind enough to get this far with reading my post xx



Tuesday, 28 April 2015

X is for Ex-Pats

from Kaleidoscope....


African Christmas in the bush near Bulawayo

The date’s the only recognisable fact for us ex-pats,
as we gather under corrugated roof on the crumbling, concrete stoep.
Pots of poinsettia droop at our feet as we sit under a wing-infested lamp, greeting each other, the compliments of the season, and attempt to make the best of it.

Sweating, we idly watch a small scaly lizard, pop-eyed, panting,
crawl from a crack in the wall, flick a sticky tongue, and scuttle in the dust.  
Someone treads on it, trapping it, breaking off the tail.
No one comments.  Ice clinks in glasses, and bored, we turn to see
a mountain of polished flesh in snowy caftan, his oiled face
beaming with pride, the pudding held aloft by one strong hand.

Half-heartedly we applaud, and through the brandy haze,
the shrivelled artificial holly, think of home. 




Monday, 27 April 2015

W is for Writers' Weekend

....from my poetry book Kaleidoscope 

Writers’ Weekend - forgot to say this actually happened, exactly as described! At a writing course on the North East coast of England....

Cross country driving through grey sleet,
skies overcast, wet roads a black deserted ribbon,
fame spurred me on, what if I should meet
someone who’d recognise my skills that had been hidden?

There on the hill, behind high rusting gates,
thin wintery hedges, crunching gravel
sinister ivy walls, a frozen lake,
poor welcome after miles I’d had to travel.

I rang the bell, listening to the echoing silence
spreading across the cold wet hills
and waited on the step, stamped in the snow,
much more of this and I’d be very ill.

Silence... if no one came I’d freeze to death
and slithering along the icy paths through cheerless gloom
I peered through  unwashed windows, cold and wet,
a single electric bar glowed in a darkened room.

My hostess, tiring of the empty sweep of lawn,
discovered me and led me through a  hall where Mr. Pugh
among his poison vats would be at home,
‘Had I been here before, did I admire the view?’

‘A ghost appears where you are standing,
your room is on the topmost floor
there’s no disturbance on that landing,
three people have arrived, there’ll not be more.’

‘It is the time of year, the snow is falling,
sorry about the dreadful lack of heat.
Fuel costs go up, it really is appalling,
but there’s a coal fire in one room, do take a seat.’

Huddled by the fire we shut the door
the fuel in the bucket’s growing less.
Oliver like, I dared to ask for more
but, sad to say with just as much success.


Retiring for the night to white-washed cell
colder than sheep pen open to the stars,
I dressed in all I had pell-mell,
three jumpers, woolly socks, and scarves.

A sudden thought, the other rooms were empty,
switch on the light to keep the ghosts away.
Collect the quilts; there surely would be plenty.
The longest night turned slowly into day.

Our breath formed clouds at breakfast as we ate,
we rubbed our arms and clapped our hands together,
watching the food congealing on the plate,
and smiled politely at each other.

After two days, I felt that we could face
anything the army could put us through or worse.
Manoeuvres would be easy; we’d swim the frozen lake,
hardened by the rigours of the course.

What we learned I really can’t remember...


Sunday, 26 April 2015

V is for Village

...from Little Boy Good-for-Nothing and the Shongololo - my original African folktale for the very young, illustrated by me and six year old children from a local school


Chapter One - Where is the Rain-Cloud?
In a small thatched hut, in a far away village in Africa, there lived Little Boy Dakarai and his Grandmother.
Grandmother was worried. There had been no rain for days and days. She looked for the Rain-Cloud across the far Chizarira Hills. But all Grandmother could see was the hot scarlet sun digging his fingers in the dry, sandy soil.
‘If the rain does not hiss and burst on the Mealy-Meal-Pods in the vegetable patch, we shall go hungry,’ Grandmother said. ‘Dakarai,’ she said to Little Boy. ‘Go down to the vegetable patch and see if the Mealy-Meal-Pods are ready to eat.’
So Dakarai trotted along the sandy path to the vegetable patch. On the way he met some bigger boys carrying their hunting spears.

‘Hello, Dakarai,’ they said. ‘We’re going hunting, but you can’t come. You’re too small.  You must look after the vegetable patch. Little Boy Good-For-Nothing! Little Boy Good-For-Nothing!’ they shouted. They laughed at him and ran away.
‘I am not Good-For-Nothing,’ Dakarai said fiercely. ‘I sweep the floor and wash the food bowls for Grandmother.’
But he wished he could go hunting too.
      When he reached the vegetable patch, he heard a gruff voice.
‘‘One…two…three….four….that’s right….five…six….bother!’
It was his friend the Shongololo, the millipede with seed bright eyes. He was busy trying to count his feet, but he could never remember what number came after six.
He was so busy counting that he didn’t see Chapungu the eagle, high up in the sky, hunting for his dinner. Chapungu swooped down and snapped up the Shongololo in his beak.
‘Put me down!’ shouted the Shongololo.
‘Let go, let go!’ shouted brave Little Boy Dakarai. He clapped his hands and ran towards
the eagle with the cruel beak.
Chapungu dropped the Shongololo and flew away. The Shongololo fell onto his back in the soft sand, wriggling his feet in the air. Then he turned himself the right way up. ‘You saved my life, Dakarai, so I shall help you. Ugh! The Mealy-Meal-Pods are too tough to eat. Go to the Rain-Keeper, who lives beyond the Chizarira Hills,’ he said.
‘What must I do when I get there?’ asked Little Boy Dakarai.
‘You must ask the Rain-Keeper to bring the Rain-Cloud. Look for the Rain-Keeper’s hut beside the Zambezi River. Oh, and watch out for the Crocodiles!’ Then the Shongololo scuttled under a stone.