Sunday, August 31, 2008

The Joy of Acceptance

It is a wonderful thing when a publishing editor likes your writing and is prepared to take a chance by adding it to their titles. Stonehedge Publishing has done just that. Awakening Love by Gladys Hobson is now available as an Ebook - presently at Mobipocket, in a few days available at all Ebook sites.
Royalties from this book and its sequels (published in the USA) are promised to Badge Of Life (a USA organisation) so I am hoping it sells well for more reasons than my own self-esteem!
Yes, there is considerable joy in knowing that my book is accepted, for the book is part of me. It reflects a lot of my early struggles as a young woman in post-war Britain. But, I hasten to add, I had no sexy ruthless entrepreneur helping me in my career as a designer, nor did I have the sexy love-life of the heroine! But the factory setting is authentic as is the Nottingham scene. Washday was similar to my home, although my mother did most of the washing in the back yard. I too was naive but incredibly shy with it. In those days sex was a no-no subject and weird tales got around. Hitchcock kept his sex scenes to symbolism, such as trains entering tunnels! But I was too dim to realise that anyway. Later on, 'Duel in the Sun' with Jane Russell was almost banned. Good heavens! The woman was wearing a low-cut blouse, and not only that but, I seem to recall, she stepped into bed to warm up the feverish hero! Poor lad, I think he was dying but Jane was 'heap good medicine'! She had the right equipment before hot water bottles were present in the Wild West!

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Checkmate - beg. of Chapter Two of unpublished novel

Checkmate if the third book of the the Awakening Love trilogy (Seduction by Design is the second book,)

Chapter two

Rob found her, as June’s domestic said he would, under the overhanging trees of the natural woodland that grew by the side of the lake. He had followed a long path, threading his way over the extensive lawn and through the sweet-scented flower gardens and colourful shrubbery, until he arrived at the deciduous trees. The beech, oak, ash and chestnut were resplendent in their summer glory. The grassy slope by the water’s edge was a very private place, some distance from the house. She was sitting on a rug with a pencil in her hand and a sketchpad on her knee. But she wasn’t working: her gaze seemed unfocussed and her mind far away.
June appeared to be in another world, and he wondered if he might be there with her. How he bitterly regretted the rough sex he tried to have with her… was it four or five years ago? How time flies! If only he’d accepted it was Charlie’s child she was bearing, things would have worked out so very differently. She might still be part of his business ventures and, as everyone knows, one thing always leads to another….
Even so, although Charles had forbidden him to be alone with her, he had at least accepted her continuing to do a few sketches each season. Meeting occasionally to discuss her ideas was essential, but it wasn’t enough: her design potential was wasting away. Not only that, he wanted her body as well as her creative flair. For, in spite of all the women on offer, she was still the only one he lusted after. And he was pretty sure that deep down, she wanted him too.
And here she was, all by herself even though both she and Charles were expecting him to call that afternoon. In spite of having put on a little weight she was looking very provocative. The shape of her firm large nipples stood out from under her gypsy blouse and the sight was quite intoxicating. Her feet, and what he could see of her legs, were bare and he wondered if her long flowing skirt hid the fact that she was naked underneath. He smiled: he might make a lot of money from producing high quality lingerie but, as a mere male, he was all for women desiring bodily freedom.
‘Hello, June,’ he said softly; to speak louder would have been a violation of the peaceful scene.
She was startled by his sudden appearance. ‘Rob! I didn’t see you.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Golly, is it that late? I forgot the time. But surely you must be early? Yes, at least half an hour.’ Flustered, she began gathering her things together. ‘This is dreadful. I came here to get my thoughts together. I haven’t even changed, for goodness sake.’
‘You look all right to me.’
‘Nonsense! I look quite wild.’ She stood up. ‘I really must get back to the house and tidy myself up. These clothes are most unsuitable for a business meeting.’
‘Dressed like a nymph of the woods? What could be more suitable for an arboreal setting on a sunny day? But I guess we must have our meeting inside. …Charles not home yet?’
‘He’s at work. Very busy today.’ She began picking up her things. ‘We can have our meeting on the terrace. Much too nice to be inside on a day like this.’
‘If you’re sure it’s okay to be alone, that’s great.’ He took the blanket from her and spread it out. ‘In that case, might as well stay here. It’s quite inspirational.’
He threw his jacket and briefcase on the ground, loosened his tie and sat down on the rug, offering her a place by his side. She hesitated a moment and then gracefully lowered herself sideways to him. He could sense her nervousness. Fear about her work? Or was it excitement of what might happen between them? He was only about twenty minutes early, so why wasn’t she in the house getting ready for his arrival? Because she was in an ideal setting and dressed for what she hoped would take place? Intriguing! He felt his masculinity rising to the occasion and had to force himself to think of the business he’d come to discuss.
He opened his briefcase and took out various papers and fabric samples.
‘I noticed the two little ones with your sister in the conservatory. Where are the others?’ he asked, wanting to know how long they had before they were interrupted.
‘Rosie is teaching, of course. David and Peter are sailing; making the most of the good weather before going back to Cambridge. Jimmy is at school.’
She had her head down, looking intently at the swatches of fabric. Did she know what was on his mind? Of course she did.
‘I was hoping to see James today.’ Why would she persist in calling their son Jimmy?
She was handling a piece of finely-striped, woollen fabric; feeling its texture while looking at a sketch. ‘He’ll be home just after four. My daughter’s picking him up. He can join us for a cup of tea in the conservatory.’ She glanced at him almost shyly. ‘That is, if you can stay that long.’
‘Of course. But what about Charles?’
‘Charlie won’t mind. He won’t be home until this evening.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘Of course, he knows you’re here today.’
She smiled nervously. ‘Yes… I guess he’s prepared to trust you after all this time.’
‘But can I trust myself?’
Clearly, she was aroused by his presence: her voice had a slight quiver to it and, although she was trying to hide her feelings, her bright hazel eyes were sparkling excitedly. He watched her body respond as he gazed intently at her legs and upwards to her breasts; her nipples were actually hardening into stiff peaks beneath the fine fabric of her blouse. She couldn’t help herself. Obviously, she wanted him, needed him, badly. Charles not man enough to satisfy her? Or was she merely bored by mundane living and needed a bit of excitement in her life? Probably both.
Meeting with her during the past few years had been strictly business, and he’d always been the perfect gentleman. He couldn’t be otherwise with someone always present. She may have thought she was over his captivating ways, but he knew better. Of course, part of her — the reasoning mind — wanted him to get on with business matters and go. Even so, her adrenaline had started to flow and the darker side of her nature demanded the sexual stimulation of his presence. He had seen and felt it so many times before. Overpowering her inhibitions was the thrill of the chase.

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Short extract from Seduction by Design... Gladys Hobson

Seduced by a Woman in Love… a short extract from Seduction By Design, (Sequel to Awakening Love, (by Gladys Hobson) shortly to be published as an E-book by Stonehedge)

A message had been pinned on the little noticeboard by his stairs door. He took it over to the light. Evidently, June had phoned to say she would be staying in London and it would be Monday before she arrived home. After five weeks on the continent with Watson, she was giving the man a weekend in London! Didn’t she care for him at all? He decided he could do with a bit of company, and he knew where to find it.
Helen was ready for him. She had brought the fire back to life and the room felt warm and cosy. She offered him a drink. He refused alcohol and just had soda water. She poured herself a large gin and lime and swallowed it straight down. Slipping off a silky shawl that covered her bare shoulders, she lay down on the thick rug in front of the fire and propped herself up on feather cushions from the sofa. Then, stretching herself like a kitten, she motioned to Charles to join her. ‘Come right here, Charlie. Join me in the firelight glow.’
He took off his jacket, threw a cushion the other side of the fireplace and sat down, leaning on an armchair behind him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Her soft pouting lips, big baby-blue eyes, and blonde hair framing her face like an angelic halo, belied the rest of her appearance. From the neck down, she was incredibly alluring. Her heavy breathing was exposing her breasts in a most provocative manner. The slightest movement and her shimmering skirt creased further up, revealing bare shapely thighs beyond her stocking-tops. If the blend of contrived childlike innocence and femme fatale was meant to seduce him, it was certainly having its effect.
‘You look fantastic, Helen. Quite irresistible.’
Sensuously, she ran a moist tongue along her parted lips. ‘Then why resist?’ she whispered. ‘We both know why you came back.’
‘Helen, I….’
‘Don’t say anything, Charlie,’ she said, creeping towards him like a cat. ‘Let your lips do the talking.’
He kissed her open mouth, savouring what he had been missing since June had left the country with Watson. It felt good. Soon, Helen rolled back her head, encouraging him to caress her neck. He lapped up her sighs of pleasure and responded to her every move. She began stretching backwards, deliberately allowing her breasts to pop up from the boned confines of the dress. His mouth followed the dictates of her desires and his own unruly urges.
‘Unzip my dress,’ she whispered, turning on her side and lifting an arm. ‘That’s better,’ she said, standing up and letting the dress fall to the carpet in a glistening pool. Rolling her hips in a provocative manner, she stepped out of her skimpy knickers. Wearing just her black stockings, pretty blue garters and high heeled shoes, she posed in front of him. ‘Now it’s your turn, Charlie.’
But he was too fascinated to move. All evidence that she was a true blonde had been removed. She was soft and smooth as a juicy peach.
‘Come on, Charlie,’ she said, starting to unbutton his shirt. ‘I’m waiting.’
The shirt was thrown aside. He hesitated to go further. A bit of petting was one thing, but once he was undressed there would be no holding back.
‘Helen, I don’t think—’
‘Better not to,’ she cut in. ‘Are you being coy, Charlie?’ Dropping to her knees, she quickly unbuckled his belt. ‘Let’s see what you’re trying to hide.’
‘Helen, please….’
The zip ran smoothly down.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

When Angels Lie — gay sex and true love

Writing for the joy of it can take many forms. I experienced considerable pleasure writing When Angels Lie. I used a few of my own spiritual experiences plus emotional experiences of rejection (At one time, I was working in the church doing many jobs usually associated with clergy at a time of dispute over a woman's role in church ministry) I had to get into the shoes of this lovely young man (a hard-line Evangelical) who fell in love with another priest (a well-thought of liberal) , and sense the trauma of his situation. The following is a quotation from Andrew O'Hara's review of the book:
"Although the two priests determine to keep their personal affair confidential, they learn that suspicions are quick to arise in this small community. Confused by the rebuffs of the parish’s most eligible bachelor, local women begin to grow increasingly suspicious of his often repeated vow of bachelorhood. Worse, the enmity of the church warden, the jealousy of a woman spurned and the sexual escapades of two teenage lovers in the chapel are twisted into a scandal that threatens to expose not only the relationship of the priests but destroy their many accomplishments in the church."
You can read more of O'Hara's review and see all the links to where either version (UK or USA) can be purchased by clicking on Wrinkly Writers.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Poem… I Stood By The Gate

I stood by the gate,
And my mind wandered
Beyond the sheep so quietly grazing,
In fields rich green,
To mountains wrapped in mist and cloud
That hugged them like a corpse's shroud,
And there I felt tranquility
That travels through eternity
And draws us to another place
Beyond that of the human race,
Where all is quiet, all serene
And mortals felt but never seen:
A place of spirit not of flesh
And only can be reached through death
Of all that hinders
This clairvoyant view of Paradise…

Gladys Hobson (Aug 2008)

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and here for my wordpress blog
And you can read, or hear me read, some of my short stories by clicking here.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

The Joys of Teaching

I retired from teaching some years ago but it seems not a lot has changed since then, except more red tape is involved.
I was trained in primary school education and my forte was the teaching of reading and writing — especially creative writing. In this some children excelled. Before writing stories it was normal to start with an activity to get their imaginations stirred. One in particular was hilarious! We were in the hall doing a bit of imaginative drama. It started with movement to percussion: shadow movements, lunge - retreat — pretend sword fighting without touching etc., until they had a store of movements to carry out a dramatic scene without hurting each other. I had them practice in small groups and then perform to the rest. One slid off the stage like melting jelly. The headmaster heard the whoops and yells, and dropped by to see if all was well! I think he was actually impressed that they were so active but well controlled. Apart from movement and music, we would use other mediums too Some great stories were written and a number of the youngsters (8-9 years) went on to write stories that filled an exercise book - some of them pirate stories. And the desire to write continued. I would arrive early and let the eager beavers into the classroom to get half an hour of story writing done before the bell.
Later I changed to Secondary Comprehensive education, teaching art and needlework. Older children are more difficult to motivate but we did get some good art done that brightened up the annexe - at least, a letter of thanks from the head, as well as the pride of the youngsters, made the hard work worthwhile.

The Joys Of Teaching

They come in the night, and daytime too —
Dreams and nightmares of many a hue.
We shake them off with laughter jolly
But most of the time we’re off our trolley!
In confident voice we teach what we know
And try to hide what we don’t want to show.

We stand at the front and spout the lesson
And hope to be able to last the session.
Some kids are angels and want to learn;
There are also those who are ready to spurn —
All that is taught, but still is our hope
That none of the kids will end up a dope.

We sit in our chair and read out the names
Of all our pupils ready for games —
Not the sort you play with bat and ball
But who’s to win, and who’s to fall
In the battle of wits they play with their teacher —
Jim’s taunting of Miss is a favourite feature.

At least terms are short and holidays long,
And sometimes surprises come rolling along.
Young Jimmy is offered a place at Oxford
And Marlene is nursing in USA Botsford.
Some are employed, most are at college,
And not one is inside — eating his porridge!

This poem is included in Northern Lights, stories and poems from the North of England ISBN 978-0-9548885-5-8 Visit Magpies Nest Publishing for free extracts from this book and others.
Visit my other sites to read short stories, reviews and articles: Wrinkly Writers and My Space/Gladys Writes (you can hear me read stories on this one too)

Friday, August 1, 2008

The Magic Door

The Magic Door of the Internet

Years ago I read a book about a magic door that led to a different time in history. Nothing unique in that storyline. But the idea of a means to enter a different world, howbeit in the present time, is now a reality. It happens to me every day I click on to the Internet.
I meet very interesting people all over the world. Sometimes I read the blogs of others and leave a comment. Sometimes they enter my space and leave a comment. Occasionally e-mails are exchanged. All the time I am learning about people and life beyond my normal travelling distance. Age, gender and distance are irrelevant. This is a world where thoughts, opinions, ideas and stories are exchanged.
This week I have crossed paths with a young man in India who writes stories and poetry. What a wonderful writer — at least I think so. He brings to life the world in which he lives. Although he dwells in an entirely different world of which I have no personal experience, I feel a great deal of empathy with his ideas and thoughts about life. His name is Joyful Thiek.
Visit this young philosopher at
And make sure you read the story ‘One Cold January Night’.
It is quite chilling and most beautifully written. It is also true, and incredibly poignant. You can sense the powerlessness of the situation, his anger and frustration in the telling of the story, and with him want to change the world in which we live.