22nd May 2025
In our latest post, Dr David Blackmore, author of the successful Wellington’s Dragoon series, discusses the inspiration that he got for his writing by being a member of his local writing group…
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| David Blackmore signing contracts (and enjoying a beer) with Richard Hinchliffe of Brindle Books Ltd. |
My Writing Group
by David J Blackmore
I’m lucky. I moved to this small, East Yorkshire town eight years ago and very early on a neighbour asked me if I liked books and writing. Naturally, I said yes and I was soon the latest member of a small writing group. A few words of explanation; it wasn’t all about the act of writing, we also discussed the books we had been reading, the use of words, prose and poetry and the problems we all faced as writers. This last aspect has been, for me, very important. Writing is a lonely occupation, it’s just you and your pen and paper, or screen and keyboard. It is comforting to discover that the problems you experience, writer’s block or whatever, are common and that your challenges are not unique. Sometimes solutions are offered, sometimes it is simply the benefit of a trouble shared. The great thing is that the group is supportive, friendly, and constructive in its advice.
One of my group has become one of two test readers of my books, and pulls no punches in the nicest and most constructive manner, which is just what you want. If you write you will reach that stage when you can no longer see the wood for the trees, or the plot for the words. That is when the help comes in useful. My readers have saved me from more than a few blunders and spotted the inevitable typos, a few of which still escape me, them and the publisher.
One other thing the group does has developed slowly. We started giving ourselves occasional writing challenges. This has become a regular feature and every gathering ends with the setting of our homework. This will be something that has come out of the evening’s conversation and is very liberally interpreted. One such challenge was to write the first page of a book, on the basis that it has to grab the readers interest. My offering was the first appearance of Michael Roberts of the Sixteenth Light Dragoons. The group liked it and wanted to know what happened next, which is just what you are aiming for. So, I wrote a short story. The reception that got was what encouraged me to undertake the Wellington’s Dragoon Series. The first page makes an appearance in altered form in The Road To Madrid, but here it is, in its original form, written some six years ago:
Lieutenant Michael Roberts, of His Majesty’s 16th Light Dragoons, lay in the shade of a stunted olive tree, eyes closed, listening to the crickets, the murmur of quiet conversation from the two dragoons with the picketed horses, and the occasional clink of harness. The tree was almost at the top of a ridge, from which could be seen miles of rolling plains, shimmering in the heat of a Spanish summer.
‘Dust, sir’. The words came from Sergeant Taylor, where he lay at the top of the slope, watching the landscape for any signs of movement.
With a groan, Roberts rolled over and wriggled up next to his sergeant and squinted in the direction indicated. Several miles away a small cloud of dust rose from where the road they were watching left a small village. He extended his telescope, covering the lens from the sun to avoid any tell-tale reflection, and focussed on the slowly moving cloud.
‘Cavalry’, he said, ‘about half a dozen’. Suddenly he saw tiny specks of reflected sunlight flashing above the riders. ‘Damn it, they’re bloody lancers’.
He rolled on to his back and looked down at where the two dragoons were already bridling up the horses and tightening girths and surcingles. ‘Evans, ride back to Captain Rowlandson and tell him there are lancers coming down the road, about half a dozen, three miles off. We’ll watch for a bit longer and then fall back on the picquet. And try not to raise too much dust, I’d rather we weren’t seen’.
As Evans mounted and headed off at a trot, keeping to grass where he could, Roberts turned back to watch the distant enemy. They were French lancers, they had to be, coming from that direction, where French Army was known to be. The French were moving cautiously down the road that passed through a shallow defile to the left of where Roberts and his men were concealed. Feeling their way forward, looking for the British Army, and no doubt keeping a very close eye on the ridge, an obvious vantage point.
Suddenly a much larger cloud of dust issued from the road in front of the village. ‘God damn it, it’s a whole bloody squadron!’ He swung his telescope and focused on the rolling plain beyond the village, shimmering and cut across with silver and blue mirages. ‘It looks like a whole brigade behind them. Right, mount up, keep below the skyline. Another five minutes and we will be off.’
You can follow David’s own Wordpress blog by clicking HERE
David’s Amazon author page can be found HERE
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| COMING SOON - David Blackmore on research and his re-enactment experiences |