Sherry Hostler's Blog: A Drop of Sherry

At the end of April, I was involved in a serious car accident, and as August is National Road Victim Month I thought I’d write about it. It was brought about to honour those who’ve been killed or injured on our roads and was designated following the death of Princess Diana on 31st August 1997.

I never, EVER thought that I’d be a victim of a car accident. I mean sure, I’ve had bumps, scrapes and narrow misses over the years, but not once did I think I’d be in an ambulance after being hit at high speed. It just goes to show that it can happen to anyone.

I used to drive like I was invincible. I’d tear off at the lights like a ‘boy racer’; I’d be about to miss a turning and risk taking it at the last second; I’d apply lipstick, I’d take a call, I’d even eat a chicken club sandwich! I’d put my trust in my own reactions but wouldn’t ever consider the guy in the other car who was maybe texting his wife while eating his own delicious sandwich.

And that’s just it. We trust ourselves and we have faith in others…maybe too much.
On the day of my accident, it was sunny, and I was pootling along a country lane. I was singing along to ‘Copa Cabana’ on the radio, and thinking about the great chicken club sandwich that I was going to have for lunch. Life was good.

The next thing I knew I was shaking my head like Road Runner after having a boulder dropped on him from a great height. My car was stationary, all the airbags having deployed, filling the car with smoke, and I was trapped from getting out of the driver’s side door. My brain was desperately trying to catch up.

I had to deal with police and ambulance crews who valiantly sorted out the mess of both me and the cars. Believe me, I would’ve enjoyed the uniforms much more if I could’ve stopped shaking and wasn’t in so much pain.

The whole experience was not one I ever want to repeat, but it could’ve been a whole lot worse. I was one of the lucky ones.

So, the moral to my story is this. Concentrate when you are driving. Pay attention to what you are doing, and what everyone else is doing. No sandwich is worth dying for.

With Valentines Day upon us, we all need to spare a thought for our single friends.

I remember what it was like to be single on Valentine’s Day when love was in the air for everyone else. Work colleagues got big bouquets of roses delivered to them and my friends’ partners took them out for dinner while my postman delivered nothing but bills to me on February 14th. I’m not going to lie; it was a bit depressing.

I wish that Single Awareness Day had been around back then, so I didn’t feel so bad. That way I could have celebrated the joy of being single instead of just moping around in my tatty dressing gown on Valentines Day, eating pizza and watching ‘Bridget Jones’…again. I was never going to meet Mr Right that way, was I?

Yes, you heard me right by the way. Single Awareness Day is a thing. It was started by a high school student named Dustin Barns in America in 2001. He decided to form a group with his friends so that instead of feeing sorry for themselves that they were single, they would instead use a day to celebrate the fact. They chose 15th February as a protest against Valentines Day and would sell chocolates at a huge discount, trying to inform as many people as possible about the day.

The tradition continued to grow in popularity over the years, eventually spreading all around the world. In fact, it became so popular that the date was finally copyrighted as Single Awareness Day.

I think it’s a great idea, and its just a shame that we need an official day to tell us that we should celebrate our single selves. Even when we do find our life partner, we should still always pay homage to our own selves. After all, we come into the world alone, and we will leave the same way, so surely having some self-love is good thing.

So, if you are single, please don’t mope around like I used to, because you can’t love anyone else until you start to love yourself, tatty dressing gown or otherwise. And while all those couples are crammed unromantically in an overpriced restaurant and taking out bank loans to buy roses on Valentines Day, when the 15th rolls around you can treat yourself to exactly the same flowers for half price. Who’s the lucky one now?

During the editing process of writing a book, you will quite often delete words, sentences, paragraphs and even whole chapters of what you’ve written in order to make the story better. I thought I’d share a chapter that got booted out of ‘Free Fall’ by my editor with you. I really liked this chapter as it gave an insight as to why Ellie felt the way she did about Alex, but of course my editor was 100% correct as it just didn’t move the story on quickly enough. So, here it is, and who knows it might turn up in another book one day….

As I entered the restaurant, I couldn’t help but feel a frisson of nervousness as my husband had been working away from home for the last week. I knew it was daft to be feel like that, but things hadn’t been great for a while now and my idea of ‘date night’ hadn’t exactly been met with much enthusiasm when I mentioned it. Still, at least he’d agreed to it, which was a positive.

“Table for two in the name of Thompson,” I told the young man who had rushed over to greet me at the door. “I’m afraid I’m a bit early.”

“No problem at all. This way madam.”

My guide moved off at speed and I walked as quickly as I could in my heels behind him, taking care not to lose my footing on the shiny wooden floor.

I was led underneath an internal archway to a nook just off the main restaurant area. It was perfect for a romantic dinner. Softly lit with well-placed lamps sharing their golden glow generously amongst five oak topped tables all languishing in the warmth of a lit fire which crackled invitingly.

“Is this table ok madam?”

I was gestured towards a table for two which rested against the near wall, the furthest away from an older couple who were sat holding hands across the top of their own table. A smile touched my lips as they looked up at me briefly, returning my smile before once again focussing on each other. It gave me high hopes that Alex and I could be doing the same thing ourselves shortly.

“It’s great, thank you.”

I chose the seat which would give me a view of both the fireplace and the chrome topped bar on the other side of the archway. It meant I’d be able to see Alex when he arrived, and I laid my coat across it’s back before sitting down.

“Can I get you anything while you wait?”

I looked at my watch. I had at least twenty minutes to kill. “I’ll have a glass of Prosecco please, and could I see the wine list?”

“Of course.”

I stretched out my legs under the table, longing to slip off my uncomfortable shoes and warm my stockinged toes with the heat of the fire. As I shifted my position my faux leather skirt rasped a little against the hide of the chair I was sat in, and embarrassed at the sound, I shifted in my seat again as if to prove the noise had been nothing more untoward. I was never going to be one of life’s naturally elegant women.

Fighting off a rising blush, I placed my mobile phone on top of the crisp white napkin, which was folded artfully in front of me, so that it was ready to be used as a distraction until Alex arrived. I hadn’t wanted to be this early, but unusually the cab I’d booked had arrived on time, so I hadn’t had to make the usual calls chasing them up at ten-minute intervals only to be told each time that they were just round the corner.

Never mind. There were worse places to wait on a bitterly cold Friday evening in February than the Arrowhead Hotel Bar & Restaurant. It was where Alex had taken me for our first date, and while this evening wasn’t about celebrating anything, I just wanted the setting to trigger good memories for the both of us.

I noticed that they’d renovated since the last time we’d been here, which to be fair, was a while ago. The walls were now a muted dusky pink where I sat, and they rested comfortably alongside the dark wooden beams that ran across the ceiling.

From the bar area I heard a cork pop, and I watched as a bartender stood behind the olive-green panelling of the bar pouring bubbles into a slender glass. It was whisked away as soon as the base touched the top of the brushed chrome bar by a young woman dressed smartly in a black skirt and white blouse and I charted her progress towards me, feeling a slight twinge of jealousy at her comfortable looking shoes.

She placed the glass in front of me, next to the small vase, which was filled with early Daffodil blooms, and handed me the wine list, saying she’d be back shortly to take my order.

“Thank you.” I smiled up at her, before opening the smart folder and running my finger down the list of wines. Alex was a red wine drinker, and as much as I’d tried, I’d never really liked it that much. It was too heavy for me and always gave me a headache. About the only one I could tolerate was Pinot Noir and I was relieved to see it listed. I’d order a bottle of that.

I lifted my glass to my lips, feeling the bubbles of Prosecco fizz and pop against the tip of my nose. This had been a good idea, the pair of us, away from home in a neutral environment with no distractions. It’d be good to talk, to look each other in the eye, and hold hands over the table maybe. I reached out my fingers to stroke the petals of the daffodils, just checking to see if they were natural or a very realistic fake. They were real. It was a good sign.

The waitress returned and took my order for wine, returning only moments later with two long stemmed glasses and a bottle. “Would you like to try it?” She proffered the neck of the Pinot Noir forwards.

“Oh…no, it’s fine thanks. If you could just leave the bottle, please.” I wouldn’t be able to tell if it was any good or not anyway.

She placed the bottle on the table as requested and I stared at it for a moment, mesmerised by the tiny reflection of the fire mirrored in the dark coloured glass. Breaking my stare, I took another sip of Prosecco and unlocked my phone, noticing that it was now ten to seven. Alex wasn’t late, but I had hoped he’d try to be early.

The smell of the food from the kitchens was making me hungry, and my stomach gurgled a little to let me know how displeased it was that there was nothing in it. I took another sip of Prosecco to keep it quiet and started scrolling through social media to keep my mind off it.

Nothing much was happening, but then I didn’t really involve myself with it much. An old school friend was on holiday, sharing pictures of cocktails with a backdrop of a white sandy beach. Next was an advert for a soundwave song print, which was a nice idea. If Alex and I got back on track perhaps it’d make a nice present to get him using the song we’d had for the first dance at our wedding. It’d be a lovely anniversary gift. There were a couple of funny memes, one of which I even made the effort to like with an emoji.

There were no recent updates from Alex, which was no surprise as he was even worse than me on social media, and the last update from my best friend Helen was a photo of her and Christine surrounded by boxes in their new home in Birmingham. I’d already put a heart against that image weeks ago, even though I’d been gutted that my best friend of nearly fifteen years had abandoned me to live miles away with the love of her life. I sighed, feeling lonely and swiped my phone to turn off Facebook, checking the time before putting it facedown once more on the table.

Alex was now five minutes late.

I sighed and finished my Prosecco, watching with longing as the waitress appeared again with two loaded plates of food for the couple sat behind me. A waft of garlic filled my nose as she passed, and my stomach gurgled in protest again. Maybe I should ask for some breadsticks. Maybe I should just ring Alex to see how much longer he was going to be. I’d give it another few minutes first though as he was probably stuck in traffic. It was Friday evening after all.

I poured myself a glass of the red wine and swirled it around, sniffing it before bringing the glass to my lips. It wasn’t that bad actually. A bit floral, but light enough to avoid those dark tannins.

As I placed the glass back on the table the young man who’d escorted me in appeared round the corner of the archway, and I sat up straight in anticipation of seeing my husband’s tall frame follow him round the corner. It was disappointing to see a woman in a black and white striped trouser suit follow him, along with her dinner date. Where the hell was Alex?

I knew this dinner was a last-minute suggestion, but still…If he was going to be late, why wouldn’t he at least let me know? I was trying my hardest to make things better, while everything seemed like too much effort for him. It felt like he never wanted to be near me anymore. Not since the accident.

Where ARE you? I gave in and messaged him, before resuming my mindless scrolling on my phone while waiting for his response. It came halfway through a You Tube video about how to do French plaits.

Ellie, I’m so sorry. Ive only just got to Euston station after being stuck on the underground for an hour and now all the trains have been cancelled. I’m not going to make it.

My heart dropped as I stared across at the empty seat opposite me, knowing that it was going to remain that way.

OMG, replied. Is everything ok?

I’m fine. Don’t know what’s happened to the trains though.

But do you know when they’ll be running again? Maybe I could drive up to get you? As I typed the words, I knew they were stupid. I’d already had too much to drink as it was, but I’d been so looking forward to seeing him.

I don’t think the trains are going to start running anytime soon, and it’s way too far for you to come.

I swallowed and switched screens on my phone to look for any train line announcements, but I couldn’t find anything.

Is there a replacement bus service perhaps?

I don’t think so, besides it’ll take forever.

I knew the next sentence was coming before he even typed the words, bringing to life all the doubts that had been lurking around in the shadows of my mind recently.

Look, I’ll just get a cheap hotel room up here for the night.

I wondered what her name was.

Sherry x

So many people ask me if my characters are based on real people that I know, and I can honestly say that they aren’t. I do take little characteristics from different people however, and I mix them up with the characteristics of others, so there are ‘elements’ of people that I know in my characters, but that is definitely it.

I find that it helps to fill out a profile about my characters sometimes, which can then be referred to as a handy guide when you can’t remember what colour eyes your protagonist has. My profile questions range from age and eye colour all the way to their favourite quote and what food they don’t like eating. You soon find yourself getting to know your characters pretty well.

The next thing I do is a Google search. When I’m writing a character I can kind of see them in my mind’s eye, but what really helps (even though its a bit time consuming) is for me put in the description of the person I’m visualising into Google Images and see what comes up. I then trawl through those images until one of them leaps out at me. Sometimes its a famous person and sometimes it’s someone from a stock image, but I can generally find my characters lurking around somewhere in the internet.

The setting of the book is almost a character in itself. While Hemsfield is a fictional place, in my head it was a mash up of Hemel Hempstead (which I know well) and Hatfield (where I went to university).

If you are interested in seeing how I visualised some of the other characters and settings within ‘Hypnotic’ you can check out my Pinterest board ‘Hypnotic’ at @TheSherryHostler

Sherry x

Like many, I nurtured an interest in gardening over lockdown, and enjoyed it so much that this year I doubled my range of veg and even enquired about getting an allotment.

Currently all my plants are in pots safely tucked out of reach of my dog, who thinks he’s being helpful by digging and eating everything in his path. The pots contain a wide variety of plants and there would’ve been even more if my husband hadn’t stopped me from bringing a huge banana plant home. I guess you must draw the line somewhere.

I’ve nurtured my plants since early Spring, and it’s been joyful watching them grow from seed before finally planting them outside after the last frost. It’s nerve wracking letting them go, like waving your kids off to school and hoping they aren’t bullied.

Unfortunately, this is where my gardening expertise comes to a grinding halt, and while my potatoes, onions and carrots have made a valiant effort the rest of my plants leave a lot to be desired.

Last year my tomato plants were in shade and grew to 6 feet tall only producing about five tomatoes between them. This year they’ve been in the sun and seem to have the hump with that too. I’ve now ripped up the salsa recipe I wanted to try.

My pepper plants flowered but produced nothing. Seriously…nothing. I’m currently watering five pepper plants every day just to keep them alive. They are not appreciative in the slightest.

I almost blew a gasket when my first tiny broccoli appeared. Seriously, it was like Christmas! However, it now seems to have reached its full potential at 7cm across so I can safely say it won’t be winning any awards.

The courgette plants have been a blaze of colour with their bright yellow flowers opening like the sun. All very nice, but only one of them is following through with one very small fruit. Empty promises.

Finally, we come to the beetroot and the lettuce and well, I’d prefer not to talk about them. It’s almost as though they are holding a grudge against me for something I did to them in a past life.

So, I guess I’m starting to wonder whether an allotment is the way forward for me. Perhaps I’ve spread myself too thin and should maybe just focus on just one plant next year. I do like bananas.

Writers are generally either ‘plotters’ or ‘pantsers’ when it comes to writing a novel. This means they either plot out every part of the book before writing it, or they just fly by the seat of their pants. Before now, I’d always been a pantser. I had a vague idea of where I would be going, but I’d just follow the directions that my internal Satnav threw out at me. I always got there in one piece.

When I was writing ‘Hypotic’ it was the first time that I’d had to actually plot a story. Mainly because it was so bloody complicated. I had to get every little element worked out in order that it didn’t all fall apart halfway through.

I had the bare bones of it in my head and for a good few months I tried plotting out my story but it got more and more complicated as I went on. This meant I had to keep stepping away before it sent me screaming around the bend.

In the beginning I had my protagonist in mind, but the villain of the piece was completely different. I knew that my victim was going to die from day one, but initially the person that carried out the murder and the reason behind why they did so were very different, and everything I thought up just didn’t hit the mark.

This batting back and forth went on for a looooooong time until one day I actually had a Eureka! moment. I literally wrote these words in my notepad: ‘OMG!!!! What if So and So is the murderer and not Thingamebob’. That was it. Everything finally became clear and I could then plan out the storyline, leading to a satisfactory ending. Phew.

However I still had one struggle as to how I would tell the story from the hypnotisee’s (not even sure that’s a word) point of view. And it was obvious really…I couldn’t. It would have been been some dialogue counting down to a trance, and then several blank pages until they woke back up again. Hmm.

That was when the wine spoke to me (blessed be the wine) and suggested what a great idea it would be to write in a dual perspective. It really was an excellent idea other than the fact that writing a novel in dual perspective probably isn’t the easiest option for your first book.

Hey ho. Not one to shy away from a challenge, I set off with some serious planning, skipping between two people’s heads, neither of whom did what I wanted them to half time! I had to work in a three act structure, the inciting incident, rising action, a mid-point crisis, and a resolution which in itself needed a climax and a denouement. I bet you’ve just read that and said to yourself ‘er, what?’ Yep, me too. Turns out writing a book aint easy. There are rules…
Sherry Hostler

One of the most common questions you get asked as a writer is “Where do you get your ideas?” The answer is technically a very simple one: Everywhere.

Sometimes I wake up with what I think is a brilliant idea in my head from a dream that Ive had. Generally though I’m in such a rush in the morning that I never write them down so when I try and dredge them up from my memory hours later, there is nothing but a wisp of an idea left. God knows how many best seller’s Ive let drift away while I’m eating my breakfast.

I’ll get ideas when I’m out walking my dog too, just pottering along, wittering away to myself and to him. These thoughts generally involve being chased through woods by monsters or finding dead bodies in hedgerows. As yet, neither has happened, although I did find a hidden grave once. I suppose there’s some truth in the old adage that its always the dog walkers who find the bodies eh?

My ideas come from conversations, from the news, from an interesting person that I’ve observed sitting in a restaurant. They come along when my husband says something daft (often) or when Ive had a couple of glass of wine (also often). They come from from the seasons, from feelings, from…life.

The inspiration for “Hypnotic” came when I was watching one of Derren Brown’s spectacular TV experiments. I’m a bit of a fan of Derren Brown. Not a weird night vision goggle wearing, stalker type of fan. More of a follow on social media type. He would be pleased to know this, although the first option gives much more oomph for a story (walks off to find a notepad to scribble idea down).

Anyhow, remember that experiment he did where he basically hypnotised a volunteer to shoot Stephen Fry? That one. It was called ‘The Assassin’. I’d watched it for about the millionth time and I just couldn’t get a buzzy little wasp of an idea out of my head that started forming around it. Man alive, that wasp was annoying and it kept buzzing around inside my head until I eventually went out and bought a rather gorgeous notepad and wrote it down.

Of course it started life as something completely different to what it is now. The basics were always there, but I couldn’t figure out how to tell the pesky thing when one of the characters spent most of their time in a bloody trance.

More on that next time…

I nearly didn’t have a Book Launch, but I’m so glad that I did.

There were a couple of reasons why I was umming and ahhing about it. Firstly, my book had been released the month before so I felt almost like I was locking the door after the horse had bolted, and secondly, as I’m an Indie author there was a small part of me that felt like I wasn’t worthy and that no-one would really be bothered.

Ever the pessimist, I expected hardly anyone to turn up and that those who did would be bored. I thought it would rain and we’d be crammed into a tiny room; that I’d fall over my words saying my thank you’s and that it would all be a big fat waste of time. Maybe an on-line event would be a better idea?

My annoying optimist of a husband told me I was being an idiot and that I should definitely celebrate. Also, if I was going to do it, I may as well do it properly with ACTUAL cake and Prosecco instead of imaginary on-line stuff.

So I googled ‘what to do for a book launch’, booked my wonderful local pub, and invited my close friends and family along with all the people who had helped me on my writing journey.

I got some of those massive helium balloons which spelled out the word ‘book’, signage with the image of my novel printed onto it, lots of cake which was decorated with the actual pages from my book, and free Prosecco for all the guests on arrival.

On the day, despite being in full anxiety mode I forced myself to put on a dress that I’d never worn before as it had ‘never been the right moment’, and shoes that were so high they almost gave me a nose bleed.

The first few friends that arrived early were greeted by me shouting ‘Don’t talk to me!!!’ as I ran around trying to get things ready. I was so nervous.

Eventually though I calmed down, (after a glass of Prosecco) and before I knew it the pub was literally full to bursting with so many lovely friends and family that we had to spread out into the courtyard. And not only was it not raining, but the sun was shining!

I was able to say all my thank you’s without falling over my words and I also did a reading from my next book. I think I was able to speak to every single person who had come along to wish me well, and instead of feeling crushed by worry that everything wasn’t going to go right, I just went with the flow and enjoyed myself.

It was one of the best days ever, surrounded by great people who wished me well, and it felt amazing to celebrate my novel properly. I had a blast.

So, what Ive taken away from the day is this:

We shouldn’t doubt ourselves. The people that care about you want to celebrate your achievements.

We should all be sure to make the most of these things, because life is hard and we need to grab hold of the good bits with both hands.

We should wear the posh outfit and the shoes that we can’t walk in, because they are bloody fabulous (but just make sure that you have your flip flops in your bag).

Sherry x