Limited Liability

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Limited-Liability-Jenny-Parker-Book-ebook/dp/B00N3LBTNA/

Some of you have been eagerly awaiting the third Jenny Parker novel. Well, your wait is over. The ebook is available now and the paperback will follow shortly.

It's actually the sixth novel I've completed, though the first three are unlikely to see light of day. It's been about a year since I finished the first draft and entered the interesting phase of revising Limited Liability and having it edited. 

I've begun to enjoy the process, particularly being told what works and what doesn't, what needs writing and what needs leaving out. I've somehow got over the precious attitude I used to have. The one that compels me to protect every word as if it were sacrosanct and defend every paragraph as if my life depended on it.

As with Due Diligence and Proceeds of Crime  the final version of Limited Liability is very different from the first draft. It's better. It's got more punch, more immediacy, more interesting things happening. And it's much more coherent.

I love it when things go well and LL has turned out brilliantly, though I say so myself.

By the time I'd done with LL, I'd begun to think that Jenny Parker was finished with me and that came as something of a relief. I embarked on a different project, a novel called Funky Junk which I am co-writing with my friend Daragh. Now I've nearly completed this (and it's going really well, I'll tell you all about it soon) Jenny has popped up again and embarked on another series of breathtaking escapades. I don't know where she gets the energy, I'm happy to be taken along on the ride.

So, Critical Analysis is in preparation and you can expect a fourth Jenny Parker novel in about a year.

What's in a Name?

Character names are a bugbear for me. When a character pops up in my mind I usually get to see (roughly) what they look like and can even hear their voice when they speak. Unfortunately, they never tell me their name. It's me that has to decide on that.
Rather than interrupt the flow of my writing, I tend to give this little thought. Jim is a favourite name of mine. Most male characters start up being Jim or John or Tim or Toby. This, however has to be sorted out otherwise the reader can become very confused. Then they get irritated, then they throw my book in the bin.

Of course, in real life we meet lots of people with the same name. That doesn't work in fiction. Even names beginning with the same letter should be avoided in order to reduce the possibility of confusing the reader. On the page, words with similar lengths starting with the same letter often get confused. It's because of our brains always looking for shorthand ways of doing things. There's lots of examples, here's one:

Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno’t mtaetr in waht oerdr the ltteres in a wrod are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is taht the frsit and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae.. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it whotuit a pboerlm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

That's why I can have lots of friends called Peter and never get them confused but can't have similar character names in my novels or the reader will.

So, if I've got a Jim, I have to avoid John and James and Jacob and Jack and Joshua.

This is a pain in the backside for me. And I could do without any more pain in that region, believe me.

I like short names. Like Jenny and Kat. Like Toby and Alex. Like Mac and Mick. Oh dear. Mac and Mick. They're both in Limited Liability! I suppose there has to be an exception to every rule.

Don't let this put you off buying Limited Liability when it comes out next month.  I don't think you'll mistake one of these guys for the other. Let me know if you do get confused, though, and I'll have a word with my editor.

photo credit: *Nom & Malc via photopin cc

An Offer You Can't Refuse

Here is an extract from the beginning of Due Diligence, the first Jenny Parker novel. When you've read it, let me know what you think Jenny should have done differently.

As I sit on the edge of the giant bed alone at last in the functional tidiness of my Travel Lodge room, the feeling of vague unease I had after first examining Associated Composites’ accounts has grown into a realisation that there is something very wrong. Every attempt I make to get to the bottom of things is met with ill-disguised fudging and at this rate of progress I could be here for a long time. I really do need to get home tomorrow; I’m concerned about what’s happening there.

Tim tells me all is well, Toby has been a good boy; he has eaten all his tea and he went to bed at the right time and is sleeping now. Even over the phone I register my husband’s insincerity, he might as well be Sullivan or O’Rourke, but I have to comfort myself with belief. 

I imagine a world where I no longer have to deal with Tim and for an instant I feel a lightness – which evaporates quickly as all the thoughts crowd back in about Toby needing a father and how I couldn’t manage financially without Tim.

A firm rapping on my door jolts me back to the here and now. There’s only one person who knows my whereabouts and that’s Paul. Our arrangement is to meet for dinner at eight, it’s only seven fifteen and I’m sitting in my underwear looking forward to a relaxing shower. A tide of anger tempts me to shout, ‘Fuck off and leave me alone,’ but instead an inane, ‘Who is it?’ actually emerges.

A soft voice with a disarming accent replies. ‘It is I, Giuseppe Casagrande. My apologies for disturbing you, Signora Parker.’

My heart beats faster in shock, I peer through the tiny peephole and a distorted version of Casagrande is indeed on my doorstep.

‘Wait, one moment.’ I cast around for something to wear, quickly dress and open the door. He walks in majestically and sits down on the chair by the desk. He is alone, dressed in a dark blue suit now, looking even more expensively elegant. I realise that I felt compelled to admit him; refusing him entry was something I didn’t consider. Now he is here I feel my discomfort increasing and wonder if I should have sent him away. After all, I am a vulnerable woman alone in a hotel room.

‘Thank you for seeing me.’ He waves to encompass the room. ‘And in such unconventional surroundings. I fear you might find me not entirely professional.’ 

He smiles to reveal perfectly white, perfectly even teeth. I wonder whether they’re his own. I also wonder what he would possibly want with me. His manner seems more assured now and less disturbing than I experienced at the office. There is a cool charm, the air of a man operating in his own element, performing work that he is good at and comfortable with. The thought that this might be rape or murder is easily dismissed. His suit is far too expensive for him to be engaging in anything messy.

‘I am asking for your help, your assistance, Signora Parker. The people I represent require the takeover to proceed smoothly. It is very important to them. It is not something that they can allow to fail and it is very close, practically complete: a done deal as you say.’

I begin to mentally phrase my queries – what people? Why do they want it so much? Why me? How can I possibly be of any help? – but Casagrande’s tight manner and precise economy of words convince me that this is no question and answer session. He is here to speak, I am supposed to listen and, I feel a pang of worry at this, agree to do whatever he wants. He places a thick document case on the desk. It’s black leather and blends in comfortably with the general opulence of his attire.

‘Here, this is for you, an indication of our serious nature and good intentions. I am sure you will find its contents convincing. All you need do is make sure that your firm delivers a positive report on Composites, something that says that a thorough check has been made and that all is as it should be. Something that will smooth the process of the transaction.’

He pushes the leather case towards me and stands up. A sudden realisation of what the case might contain grabs my stomach. Of course it could be some of the extra documentation that Paul has requested but I have my doubts. Then excitement grips me and I can hardly stop myself from zipping it open and checking out my suspicions. In the presence of Casagrande this seems inappropriate, almost insulting, and I resist. As he turns for the door I manage to voice my uncertainty.

‘Wait. I don’t know how I can help you. It’s not up to me; it will have to be a partner that signs off the due diligence on your business. I’m only an accountant, I don’t think I can help.’

There is a stern look on his face as he turns towards me.

‘Signora Parker, let me explain. Where I come from there are two kinds of people. In the north, if you do not do what is asked of you then a member of your family is taken and pieces of them are sent to you until you do what you are asked. In the south, if you don’t do what you are asked, then you are killed. You need to be aware that the people I represent are from the south.’

With that he opens the heavy door and leaves me standing in numb incomprehension until the fearful implications begin to sink in. I no longer have any desire to open the case. It can only bring certainty to the situation I am in. I lie down on the bed and close my eyes hoping to wake up to find the world the place it was before Casagrande showed up.

photo credit: yewenyi via photopin cc

Corruption

The events of the past few days haven't really told me anything I didn't already know but they've certainly reminded me of a few things.

I'll begin at Manchester Airport, backing very slowly out of a parking space at Terminal 1. The guy opposite backs out at the same time, we meet in the middle, bumper to bumper, with a small thud. We both get out, examine our cars. Mine is undamaged, I've been slapped harder on my backside and laughed. My car is made of strong plastic, at least that bit is. Americans use bumpers to check when they're parked, the British consider it bad etiquette to touch someone else's car with their own but, hey, the manufacturers don't differentiate.

I say 'My car is fine, how about yours?'

Unsurprisingly, he searches in vain for some dint, dent, depression, scratch, blemish on the arse of his BMW 1 series and replies 'No damage on mine.'

I say 'We've been lucky, then' wave goodbye and narrowly avoid him doing the same thing again.

A woman from my insurance company rings and tells me I've damaged someone's car, they've made a claim and they intend to settle it. My premium will be affected, but not until renewal.

I ask how can this be possible and relate the events above to her. She says that its normal procedure, they pay up if there's no independant witnesses. I am appalled and say so.

The insurance company call me again a few days later. The claim has escalated. The guy is claiming whiplash injury. When I pick myself up from the floor I enquire how can this possibly be?

The whole thing is explained to me by a man who deals with hundreds of claims at a time. My friend tells me that the dealership would have advised the claimant to have a new bumper, at least. They would have given him a car while his was being 'fixed' on condition that he contacts the no win no fee lawyers they recommend. The lawyers advise him to claim for whiplash. This way he gets a new bumper, a free hire car and a few thousand pounds. The car dealer gets the money for fitting a new bit and they also get a fat referral fee from the lawyers. The lawyers get a nice big earner out of the case.

I begged the insurance man to fight the case. The words lying toerag and scumbag lawyers were used but not, I hasten to add, by me. He told me it cost £30,000 to bring a case like this to court and with little prospect of success. These days, the courts rely on court fees from local solicitors like these and if a judge decides to dismiss cases he can be quickly moved on. As it's a big bad insurance company against a poor injured victim, very few do.

The lying toerag, and please remember it wasn't me that called him that, had not sought medical attention, nor had he taken time off work. I asked how then could he possibly stand up in court and expect to be believed. Medical evidence is the answer. The lawyers have a medical specialist who issues a certificate saying the man is injured. This doctor earns huge sums issuing certificates for these lawyers and can be relied on to deliver.

So, in a nutshell, everyone's a winner. Apart from the insurance industry of course. But aren't they big fat cats, awash with money? Yes they are. And it doesn't bother them all that much, they pay up and move on, adding the cost to the premiums they charge.

In other words, the lying toerag and his posse of corrupt professionals are robbing you and I. That's where the money comes from. We have to pay.

The car dealers get richer, the lawyers get even richer, the courts get paid for, the doctor gets very wealthy indeed. I almost forgive lying toerag in the face of all that competition.

The next time you pay your insurance, they are all robbing you.

What am I going to do about it?

First, I'll never buy a BMW but that's not hard.

Second, I'll never use those ambulance chasing scumbag lawyers, neither will I support them in any way. If, for example, they want to rent my empty office space, I'll politely decline.

Thirdly, I'll remain true to myself and not be influenced to lie and cheat even if someone makes it worth my while. I know it will be hard but if I'm going to change the world I have to start with myself.