Capital Crime 2019 - the verdict

Earlier this year, I discovered crime writing festivals are, in actual fact, a thing. This weekend, I discovered how much joy they could bring me. Enter: Capital Crime 2019.

Talk about hitting me between the eyes with line up after jaw-dropping line up. Apologies for briefly switching genres, but never in my life have I needed Hermione's time turner more than I did this weekend. I'll talk briefly about my own personal highlights, but I know from the people I spoke to that thousands of memories have been made in the course of three days.

I arrived on Thursday evening after much internal thought-wrangling and was immediately hit with the same thoughts that pummelled me on my first day of university. "Look at all those witty, clever people. You're nothing like them. Fraud! Leave!" No, thank you. I'm a Remainer in every sense of the word. After wandering around trying to look nonchalant but spectacularly failing, my knights in shining armour appeared in the form of Adam Hamdy and David Headley, who introduced me to a group of fellow authors and suddenly I didn't feel so lost.

The quality of the panels was phenomenal. My personal highlight was sitting on the front row for Truth in Pieces, a panel of bestselling authors including my all-time favourite author and inspiration for my crime writing Jane Casey who I was thrilled to be able to meet in person. Excellent tips were shared and absorbed!

As a woman, a feminist and a lesbian author, two panels I couldn't miss were: Is Crime Fiction a Problem for Feminists? and Changing Times. The former a group of astounding Killer Women including Sarah Hilary, Kate Rhodes, Julia Crouch, Colette McBeth and Amanda Jennings, and the latter discussing writing LGBTQ and ethnic minority characters within fiction, and the lack thereof. Mari Hannah almost reduced me to tears (in the best possible way) and was bloody wonderful to meet afterwards. After such a brilliant conversation, I came out feeling inspired and buzzing.

The most useful panel for me as an author at the beginning of my writing career was the Craft of Writing, with the aforementioned knights in shining armour and Vicki Mellor. I learnt a lot, and despite the scary statistics I left the room feeling fired up and ready to go for it. I will beat the statistics.

One of the things I loved most about Capital Crime was the unexpected infusion of humour. The Interrogation of Mark Billingham by former detective Graham Bartlett had me in stitches and the combined hilarity of Sarah Pinborough, Stuart Turton and Ben Aaronovitch in Fantastic Crime was pure comedy gold.

But beneath all the panels, book signings and alcohol, there was an underlying sense of togetherness, of excitement and of anticipation. I met so many people, ranging from unpublished authors to international best sellers and I can't say I've ever been in a situation where strangers are so damn nice to each other (although the appropriate amount of piss-taking was duly given and received).

I'd heard crime writers are a friendly bunch... I can happily confirm that is true beyond all doubt.

Are you a fellow Capital Criminal- sorry, Crimer? Please comment, I'd love to chat.

Roxie

@RoxieAdelleKey

Flash Fiction: All it Takes

*** EDIT *** I've won the competition! I officially have a wonderful editor for my completed manuscript

I entered this into Michele Sagan's "win an editor" competition and I'm over the moon to say I've been shortlisted! Read on for my first ever flash fiction piece: All It Takes.

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I'd only looked away for a few seconds, momentarily distracted by a sound behind me. By the time I'd turned back to her, she'd wandered off. I skirted around yet another rail of sequinned dresses and a poster promising me the perfect Christmas party outfit for less than £39, before ducking my head beneath the shimmering folds of slinky fabric. I'd strongly suspected she'd made a beeline for the glitter. But no. I was wrong. She wasn't there. I straightened up and narrowed my eyes, scanning the shop floor for any sign of her. Nothing.

"Excuse me." I pushed to the front of the queue, heart pounding, the sound of frustrated women tutting barely registering in my ears. "Have you seen a little girl? She's only two. Red hair. My daughter," I added. The heavily made up twenty-something behind the counter raised her meticulously designed eyebrows in surprise. She hadn't seen her. I felt a fresh flush of panic flooding through my body. If she wasn't in the store, then she must be... my gaze fell on the glass doors that opened automatically as the shoppers entered and exited, bringing in a fresh chill and a few stray leaves with them each time. It had only been a few minutes. She couldn't have got that far. I elbowed my way through the disgruntled shoppers, too preoccupied to apologise to the woman whose bag I'd knocked to the ground, causing the contents to skitter loudly across the floor.

I burst through the doors and paused, eyes darting left, then right. Which way would she have gone? Across the road and to the left I could see a small and colourful toy shop, with a large bear grinning from behind the window... any small child's dream. I wagered my chances that she would have headed in that direction and my feet started to weave around the bustling, bag-laden shoppers before my head had registered where I needed to go. I was operating on autopilot.

I was a few tentative steps into the toy shop when I spotted a flash of red hair and the starfish shape of a pudgy hand reaching for a large plush giraffe. I let out the sharp burst of breath I didn't realise I'd been holding in. "There you are." I swooped down on her, scooping her up and pulling her warm body close to my own. She gazed back at me with quizzical green eyes, her slightly sticky fingers still buried deep in the toy's fur.
I left the shop with her bundled in my arms, heading straight back towards my car. We'd had enough excitement for one day.

A blood curdling scream rang out behind me, and her little head snapped up from its resting place on my shoulder, staring at the commotion that was happening behind us. I gripped her small frame closer to me and quickened my pace. "Don't worry, petal. Let's get home and out of the cold."

Her eyes were troubled. "Mumma?"
I smiled and gently smoothed a scarlet lock of hair away from her face. "Mumma's taking you home, sweetheart."
She kept looking back at the scene behind us, where a frantic woman continued to scream. Something terrible must have happened to her. Perhaps her child had been stolen from her.

Perhaps her child was the one I was holding in my arms.

I broke into a run and I didn't look back.

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I hope you enjoyed reading it, and welcome any feedback in the comments section below.

Roxie

@RoxieAdelleKey

I’m coming out… as a writer

I’m just going to put it out there... I’m writing a book. There, I said it. Why does it feel like an embarrassing secret? When I was ten, and writing books about my cats as superheroes (contact me for copies), I wasn’t embarrassed, although I perhaps should have been. I loved my stories. When I was in my early teens, a fantastic English teacher of mine told me I should be a writer. Although I glowed inside, externally I scoffed. A writer? That’s not a career. That’s a hobby.

After university, I put down my metaphorical pen and didn’t write a word for a good five years, resolutely committing myself to A Normal Job. Sure, I started a novel every now and then, only for it to fizzle out circa seven thousand words, and buried inside the depths of a folder called “Archive”. I didn’t tell a soul each time I started a new story; that way I didn’t have to admit when I had inevitably given up. Of course, if someone asked me what my hopes and ambitions were, I would say with a dreamy look on my face how I longed to be a published author. But was I working towards my goal? The simple answer is no. There was too much to do… I had a full time job, a house to keep clean, friends and family to see. When could I possibly find the time?

Fast forward to my 30^th year on this fine (ish) planet. I had spent the previous two years planning the wedding of all weddings for me and my fiancée Laura. Of course I had no time to write, thank you very much. Do you know how much time it takes to plan a wedding? But when we got back from our honeymoon, I suddenly had all this time on my hands. No confetti punching, no sign painting… just one severe case of post-wedding blues. I spotted my opportunity, and I picked up that laptop once more… and I just started. I hired a cleaner. I stopped seeing my friends. I was a pretty terrible wife for a while. I shouted from the rooftops of Facebook that I was writing a novel. I joined the #WritingCommunity on Twitter. I told anyone who would listen about my book. And do you know what? People are genuinely interested. They actually want to read my book. This astounded me. So I kept going. I shared chapters with anyone who was vaguely interested along the way. And I finished the damn thing.

So it turns out, telling other people that I was writing a book was the best thing I could have done. I stopped hiding it like a dirty little secret. I set finally my characters free, I revealed my ideas and I put it out into the world.

If you’re writing, don’t hide it. I’d put money on the fact that there are tonnes of people out there who want to read your words. 

Roxie

@RoxieAdelleKey