Tour Stop - Little White Lies and Butterflies by Suzie Tullet - Guest Post & Excerpt

Description: 
When you're digging yourself into a hole, stop digging.

A child of the nineties, Lydia Livingston is different. The last thing she's ever wanted is to be superwoman; she knows first-hand that 'having it all' isn't everything it's cracked up to be. As far as she's concerned, when it comes to job versus family, it's a definite case of one or the other. And whilst most women her age have spent years climbing the corporate ladder, she's made a career out of bagging her perfect man. At almost thirty and still single, Lydia wonders if she'd made the right choice all those years ago. And realising the time has come to take stock, she goes against her family's wishes and banishes herself off to a distant land—all in the hope of finding a new direction.

At least that's the plan.

But Lydia Livingston isn't just different, she's misunderstood. A fact she knows all too well. So when the totally unsuitable Sam comes along, she decides to tell a little white lie, re-inventing herself as a professional chef – not exactly the best new identity to come up with for a woman who can't even cook. Of course, the last thing she expects is for him to find out the truth and start blackmailing her. Let alone find herself roped into catering for a local wedding. But with things going from bad to worse, her madder than mad family also turn up in something of a surprise visit, intent on celebrating a birthday she's no intentions of celebrating!

Release Date: August 1st 2013

ISBN13: 9781908208194

Guest Post

As a scriptwriter turned novelist, I suppose ‘Lost to Books’ is quite what I am. And as such, I often get asked about my transition from one to the other -  two very different animals in 

many ways, but at the same time quite complimentary.  

Of course, as writers in whichever field we choose, we all have our own voices, styles and experiences of the writing industry and its expectations.  But what follows is an outline of what I, as an individual, have found the key issues between scriptwriting and novel writing to be.

For a start, a script works to a strict time line and there's usually a lot to pack into those 60 or 120 minutes.  So as a scriptwriter it's important to keep the writing punchy - action taking priority over description and dialogue saying a lot without saying much at all.  However, there are exceptions. I mean, an episode of Agatha Christie's Poirot just wouldn't be the same without the long exposition at the end of each episode.  But on the whole I suppose the rule for me was 'less is more' - although I did have the added luxury of having the rest of the TV screen to play with.

After all, in a script, an actor can be doing one thing, whilst something else takes place behind his back; an action that we as an audience can see, but the protagonist can't.  Unlike in novel writing where everything has to be seen from the protagonist's point of view - so if he  or she can't see it, then neither can we.  

Also, when it comes to scriptwriting there's never any mention of the word 'feel'.  After all, what is taking place in someone's head cannot physically be conveyed on our screens.  What can be conveyed, however, is how a character reacts to these feelings, so instead of writing something along the lines of 'Johnny feels sad', in a script it would read 'a tear springs into Johnny's eye'.  Although, once again, there are exceptions to the rule - the use of a narrating voice, for example.  Although in my experience, it's always better to find a cleverer way of imparting any necessary information - having had the question drummed into me: 'If it can't be shown on screen, should it really be there at all?’

Then there are other considerations to take on board in a script, such as allowing both the director and actors their interpretation of what you write.  As well as the cost implications should you choose to include something along the lines of a helicopter crash or two...

I appreciate all this might imply that scriptwriting can be quite limiting.  Indeed, this is something I found it to be sometimes.  But as I said earlier, this field is also complimentary 

when it comes to the penning of a novel.

Thanks to all of the above, it teaches you to write visually without being excessive on the word count, or  too obvious in what it is you want to say; it gives you a grounding in putting together real characters with believable dialogue; and when these are added to creative freedom offered through novel writing, an author can, thus, create a depth not just to his or her characters, but to the story as a whole.

Naturally, I hope I've managed to achieve this aim in my own books and I await your views as to whether I've been successful x

Excerpt

Following the incident at the beach, I had been hoping to avoid any future contact with Sam the Climber, yet here he was, larger than life. Not that I was sure which had bothered me the most-the football in the face, or the slightly unnerving eye contact. Neither of which I wanted to experience ever again and I wondered if I should just get up and leave while the going was good. But my drink still hadn't arrived and the last thing I wanted to do was look rude in of front Efthimeos. I had to think of something else and quick.

Grabbing my book from my bag, I opened it up and used it to shield my face. This should do it! However, just to make sure I began sinking lower and lower into my seat, until I was horizontal to the point I was almost on the floor. Now he'll never notice me.

I wondered if I should take a peek just to check on his whereabouts. But before I got the chance, a drink landing on the table in front of me caught my eye instead. It wasn't the simple glass of coke I'd originally ordered, I further noticed, but some fancy, fandangle cocktail.

I stared at the umbrellas, the tinsel and the cherries on sticks, not even daring to look up.

Please let it be Efthimeos . Please let it be Efthimeos . I thought, finally plucking up the courage. Lifting my gaze I realised that unless my host had undergone some sort of superfast extreme makeover in the last few minutes, the game was up.

'There you go,' said Sam, indicating to the heavily adorned concoction. 'Not just my apology, but as requested, the most expensive drink on the menu.'

I put my book down and began the difficult task of hauling myself up into a more vertical alignment. 'I didn't request it,' I replied ungratefully. 'In fact, if I remember rightly, I said such a purchase wasn't necessary.'

My unwanted guest just carried on standing there, for some reason refusing to see this as his cue to leave-choosing instead to raise an eyebrow. He nodded to the drink. 'Well,' he asked. 'Aren't you going to at least try it?'

I considered his request for a moment, deciding it was a small price to pay if it meant getting rid of the man. And, duly picking up the glass and locating the straw from among all the flora and fauna, I took a long hard draw. 'Jesus, Mary and Joseph!' I spluttered, all at once choking and coughing. 'What the hell's in it? Meths?'

Sam laughed. 'A bit of everything,' he said. He plonked his beer down on the table and took a seat, uninvited. 

'Well excuse me if I don't share your amusement,' I replied, realising that was the second time that day he'd tried to kill me. 'And I don't remember asking you to join me either.'

There was something of a twinkle in his eye and thanks to his air of confidence I could see that he was one of those men used to getting his own way when it came to members of the opposite sex. However, I'd met his type before and knew there was no way he'd ever come across the likes of me. Such a sparkle might've been enough to make any other girl go weak at the knees, but unlike theirs, my kneecaps were made of sterner stuff.

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