Suzanne Conboy-Hill: The Audio/Book that isn’t an audio-book.

I can’t always trace back to the day I met a particular writer, especially when that writer lives overseas and the furthest east I’ve ever travelled is Massachusetts, years before I took my writing seriously. But with the Internet and social media, the “when” doesn’t matter; the fact is, near or far, in state or not, we can fall into conversation with writers from all over fairly easily.

Such is the case any time I connect with Suzanne Conboy-Hill, a former psychologist, a writer (and an artist!) who lives in England. Suzanne has published essays, flash fiction, sci-fi, and more. Besides being an author, she is also the editor of a very cool anthology, Let Me Tell You A Story. You purchase the anthology in print form, but this is no ordinary book; it’s a collection of stories and poems with a unique reader in mind. I’m thrilled to host Suzanne with the inside story, and there’s a giveaway. I have two copies of her anthology ready to share. CLICK HERE to enter the giveaway by Tuesday, February 6th. 

Now, welcome Suzanne Conboy-Hill!


Let Me Tell You A Story – the audio/book that isn’t an audio-book.

Anyone who’s ever squinted at a book or a leaflet because they forgot their glasses will have had a glimpse of what it’s like to struggle with reading. Others struggle because of a global intellectual difficulty, some because they’re reading in a second language, and a good many because of dyslexia or a neurological condition. Not being able to read means you’re out of the loop and dependent on others to mediate the world for you.

Some years ago I sat with a man with intellectual disabilities who was about to be evicted from his home because he had broken the terms of his tenancy. My job as a psychologist was to understand why that was and try to help, so I started by getting him to read the contract he had signed. He read every word but so slowly and hesitantly that when I probed his understanding, it was clear he had no idea of what he’d read. He had guessed a lot, misunderstood basic words, and taken so long with each sentence that he’d lost any sense of it by the time he reached the end. From the start to the finish of each string of words, his was a hiccupping disconnect of sounding-out and misidentifications.

This goes for fiction just as much as fact – trip over words often enough and you give up, thinking the book or poem is ‘too hard’ for you. Or your reading is punctuated by dictionary searches to help make sense of it, which staggers fluency like speed bumps in the road. Personally, I have a problem with poetry – I read it as though I need to get it finished before some hidden timer goes off and it explodes. The craft and artistry is lost to me. Listening though, that’s a different matter. Hearing the weight applied to some words and the air lifting others; the cadences and the way some parts speed up, wind right down, or drop me onto a cliff edge with a two word sentence: those things become apparent when I hear a poem read.

I wanted to bring this to more people: to readers who need a nudge to find the music in the prose; to struggling readers who can’t hear rhythms over the noise of working out the individual words; to those who already read well but need help hearing words in a new language; and to people who can’t read at all due to cognitive limitations, neurological conditions, or plain old dodgy eyesight.

Luckily, the stars and planets aligned when phones became so smart they could carry apps that unlocked all sorts of worlds with the prod of a finger. Music, audio books, anything, available at a touch. When one of those apps also scanned the QR codes beginning to appear on envelopes and the sides of vans owned by enterprising businesses, the possibility of using that combination to bring the voices of authors straight from the page was not just feasible but easy.

How to demonstrate the idea took some thought. It had to be entertaining and comprise short pieces that might suit different audiences; a buffet not a four course fish dinner.

I chose writers I knew could both write and perform, and material that had already been published so I didn’t have to judge. We also used professional recording studios wherever possible. We were exacting – the audio had to match the text precisely. After all, if the idea was to support reading, we couldn’t betray the trust of struggling readers by allowing the two versions to differ.

Only one of us had ever recorded our work and you’ll hear the quality of that in Phillippa Yaa de Villiers’[1] beautiful readings of her poems. Lyn Jennings also has a profoundly microphone-ready voice. Speech and drama trained, Lyn can project through brick walls but also soften to a whisper when she needs to. The rest of us: Anne O’Brien[2], Tracy Fells[3], Nguyen Phan Que Mai[4], and I, were novices, but you will hear Irish, Vietnamese, and South African voices along with English Received Pronunciation, some of it with hints of Sussex or Yorkshire popping up like a dash of cinnamon in coffee.

This book is, I think, the first of its kind, and I hope not the last. In particular I hope people take the idea and use it to help anyone who is out of the loop. Community magazines, health leaflets, voting slips, the information inside packages you almost need a microscope to read. QR codes bring a personal reader to anyone who, for whatever reason, has trouble with written information or would just like to read along with a poet or storyteller the way they did as a child at bedtime.

There’s plenty more on the Readalongreads[5] site that might help. If you have questions please ask, and if you get a QR project up and running, I’d love to hear about it.

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

PS. A review would be fab!

Website: http://www.conboy-hill.co.uk/
Twitter: @strayficshion
Blog: http://conboyhillfiction.com/


[1] Phillippa was commissioned to write and deliver the Commonwealth Poem in 2014 before Queen Elizabeth II. She is currently a PhD candidate at Lancaster university, UK.
[2] Anne won the Bath Short Story award in 2016 and is also a PhD candidate at Lancaster university, UK.
[3] Tracy graduated in Creative Writing with Distinction from the university of Chichester in 2016. She was the Canada and Europe Finalist for the Commonwealth Short Fiction prize in 2017.
[4] Que Mai delivered the official International Women’s Day poem in 2014. She too is a PhD candidate at Lancaster university, UK.
[5] https://readalongreads.com/about/; https://readalongreads.com/readalongreads-2/; https://readalongreads.com/the-science-part/; https://readalongreads.com/who-is/

WHERE TO FIND THE BOOK

CLICK HERE to enter the giveaway for a chance to win one of two copies. Also, Let Me Tell You a Story is available from both Amazon (UK and US) and direct from Lulu.

ABOUT SUZANNE CONBOY-HILL

One-time artist, long-time NHS clinician, now-time word wrangler. Academic alphabet: BA(Hons), PhD, MPhil, MSc, MA. The first four in various kinds of psychology 1978-1998 and the last in creative writing 2014. Nurturing provided by Goldsmiths’ College (university of London), University College London, Institute of Psychiatry/Maudsley Hospital, Leicester university, and university of Lancaster. 

Forthcoming titles from Suzanne include Fat Mo, a novella telling the story of a young woman groomed and entrapped by the charismatic man for whom she works, and Writing as P Spencer-Beck, Not Being First fish and other diary dramas, also available via Amazon and Lulu. (A sample image from the illustrated edition, due in 2018, shown right.)

#AmReading, #AmEditing: THEN and NOW, the next anthology by the Writers at Harwood Place

Stories from THEN, essays on NOW, poetry in between.

“I entered this house a new baby, coming home from the hospital in 1922. I wonder how many people have planted trees and built rock gardens in the yard and told stories in this layered house since then? I would walk right down to the bakery on Vliet Street (was it Meurers?) and bring back cupcakes for all of us to enjoy. Or walk up to Washington Boulevard and take the bus downtown to Wisconsin Avenue. Somehow there must be a way to bridge the magic fog between then and now.”

~ from “The Layered House” by Mary Lewis
in THEN and NOW: stories and poems by the writers at Harwood Place


Come to the Reader’s Showcase:
Saturday, January 27, 2018, 2pm
Harwood Place Retirement Living Center
8220 West Harwood Avenue, Wauwatosa, WI.

Cover Reveal & Excerpts: Broad Knowledge,
a new anthology from Upper Rubber Boot Books

Whether you’re a writer or a reader, you know the power of a good book cover.

Authors will spend hours agonizing over the slant of the title’s font or two images almost exactly the same, all in an effort to choose the cover that best sells a story. Readers, in turn, skim the shelves, stopping at the first one that catches their eye.

So, the key? Design a book cover that will, according to Seth Godin, “tee up the reader so the book has maximum impact.” Especially from across the store, or in the mix of twenty others in a row.

The cover of a new anthology on the horizon, Broad Knowledge (Upper Rubber Boot Books), does exactly that: catches the eye, raises the eyebrows, and pretty much demands you fan the pages. I’m partnering with Upper Rubber Boot Books today in hosting the cover reveal for Broad Knowledge. And, you also get the feel of standing in the bookstore with a sneak peek at two excerpts from the 35 collected stories.

Now, for the cover.

(I wish I was tech-savvy enough so I could say, Click and Watch the image turn.

Instead, I make you scroll…)

…. (!)

About the book: Edited by Joanne Merriam, Broad Knowledge: 35 Women Up To No Good is a feminist anthology featuring “35 stories of ‘bad’ women, and ‘good’ women who just haven’t been caught yet.” Thirty-five tales of strange, dark, a hint of horror. But the best part? This isn’t just a collection of stories about women, it’s a collection of stories by women–all taking a bold stance in literature.

Read the excerpts below, then check out the Table of Contents for the entire list of stories and authors. You can also follow publication news of Broad Knowledge at Upper Rubber Boot Books’ website or on Twitter (@upperrubberboot).


EXCERPTS

From “Mary In the Looking Glass” by Laura E. Price

Clara doesn’t remember not knowing about the lady in the mirror. Mary with the bloody eyes. Mary with the long, sharp fingernails. Mary with the pointed teeth. She died in an accident. Her husband killed her. She killed her baby. She’ll tell you your sins, she’ll scratch you, she’ll haunt your house, she’ll kill you if you call her. Why does anyone call her? I’m not scared, I’m sooo drunk, I’ll do it.

I’ll do it. Clara always did it.

Because sometimes the Mary who came was young and bleeding from a cut on her head. Or her eyes were all blood, her hands reaching out to rip and tear. Once she held her head in her own hands. Clara’s breath always caught at the sight of her, even when all she saw was her own face reflected over Mary’s, deep down in the mirror. She was beautiful, bloody and rageful and sad and so, so tempting for it.

The first time Clara touched her, Mary shuddered hard and looked at her from empty, bloody sockets. The other girls crouched, whimpering in the corner of the dormitory bathroom, screams still in the air, as Clara touched Mary’s arm, then gently, carefully, so slowly, put a hand to her face.

Her flesh was cool. The blood was sticky and stayed on Clara’s hand after Mary fled back into the mirror; Clara hated that the girls made her wash it off. None of them talked to her after that, but she didn’t care because now and then, at night, as she walked down the hall, she could see Mary’s translucent face watching her from the window glass.

She left flowers at the windows. Daffodils and Queen Anne’s lace. She left candy near the mirrors; she left poems on pastel paper; soft, rose-scented sachets. And during a school break, her roommate away on a trip and the dorm practically empty, Clara saw Mary in the mirror above her dresser, watching. Smiling. Eyes in sockets but blood on her cheeks nonetheless.

Clara pulled everything off the dresser top and whispered, over and over, I believe in Mary Whales. Mary came closer and closer; Clara’s breath sped up, her belly warmed, and when Mary broke through her mirror and climbed over the dresser, she could barely think for wanting to put her hands and mouth on that cool, sticky skin.

Mary tasted of blood, but just at first, then she tasted of sweat and a little of dirt. She moved uncertainly, but Clara was bold and soon Mary was, too. At the end of the week, everything was back on the dresser, and Clara’s skin was covered in thin red scratches.

From “The Ladies in the Moon” by Xin Niu Zhang

“You know,” Paul begins at length, after I politely refuse a blunt, “before we were born, folks were freaked out about the Earth dying. Overpopulation. Global warming. Planet getting scorched.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I exhale, wishing I had another drink instead of the stench of weed. “But then! The Initiative. Growth. Space colonies. Hallelujah.”

“Hallelujah,” he repeats, wry. “Except not. You know what I think? I think this shithole of a planet is still dying, and all of us with it.”

“Not the biggest news to me, Paul.”

“Well, maybe someone can save it.” He shrugs, ignoring my laugh. “One thing I know, though—I sure as hell am not sticking around to see if this place survives.”

That shocks me out of my bout of cynicism. I meet his gaze, disbelieving. “You’re getting away? To one of the colonies?”

“Boss got his name on the list,” Paul says, maddeningly calm. “Moon. Sector 8. Procured some spots for his family. Me. Roy and the boys.” He directs a smoke ring politely away from my face. “We’re up and ditching this whole city in just two days. Going straight to the Capital HQ, preparing for the summer expedition. None of the other Solars know. Not even Steve and his pop.”

Translation: they’re abandoning us to scramble in their absence. Rival gangs would overtake our turf in days. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You’ve always been a good kid, Fletch.” He smiles wearily at me. “You keep your head down, do good work. Boss thinks you got merit. Could be a great soldier someday. Maybe engineer. Like one of the original smart guys who got us to Mars.”

Merit. All I did today was hassle a stupid kid and collect a paycheck. I don’t see a lot of skill in that, but I sure as hell am not going to correct him.

Paul seems to read my mind. “You don’t understand it, Fletcher, but you got potential. You have a cool head, steady hands. That matters. So… boss thinks he can get you in.”

My heart stops.

I was expecting him to pass me the torch of leading the Solars, a consolation prize. Not this. A ticket off the scorched, dying, cigarette-smoking planet. Cretins like us, Anna had said. Raj, I thought. That boy’s eyes full of stupid hope.

Distantly, I hear Paul saying, “But you gotta decide now. Boss has one spot. You don’t want it, someone else is gonna get it. I told you when we’re leaving.”

I let loose a long, shaky breath. Wait for my heartbeat to come back. “What?” My lips twitch. “The boss won’t reserve the vacancy for me? Thought I was his favorite.”

“You’re his favorite.” Paul grins. “But the moon waits for no one.”


The second in the Women Up To No Good series, Broad Knowledge is forthcoming in spring 2018.