Those who were around in the '80s will remember quite a few things, both good and bad. Rock music. Good. Leg warmers. Bad. Shoulder pads. Very bad. Big storms. Ouch!
But first, let's hear it from Pam...
A timely thought about anachronisms
Next book, I thought. I’ll be smart. I’ll set the story in living memory, but with a retro hint. Then I won’t have to look anything up.
We’re so used to contemporary living, I struggled with the details of work before the digital age. Ironically, I’d been so busy and in the thick of it, I simply couldn’t remember. As it’s in living memory, I couldn’t just make anything up. I knew better than to assume and hope for the best.
Thanks very much, Pam. This is something every writer will wrestle with at some stage. I certainly do with each of my novels, even my contemporary 21st century manuscript...
Just another day in the newsroom? Hardly.
October 1987. Clare Forester is an overworked and under-appreciated features subeditor on a provincial paper in Somerset. She spends her time cheerfully ranting about her teenage daughter, the reclusive lodger, her spiteful mother, the Thatcher government, new technology, grubby journalists, petty union officials, her charming ex - and just about anything else that crosses her path.
If things aren’t turbulent enough, on the night of Thursday, October 15th, the Great Storm sweeps across Britain, cutting a swathe of destruction across the country.
Things turn chaotic. Pushed to breaking point, Clare finally snaps and loses her temper with gale-force fury - with disastrous results.
As she contemplates the chaos that her life has become, Clare soon comes to a bitter conclusion.
Never trust the past. It lies.
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