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Apart from writing one of my great passions is lawn bowls. I suppose it was inevitable that eventually I would combine the two and write a fictional novel about the game I love. The result was 'Jack's High'.

'Jack's High' was first conceived as a six part comedy drama centred around the hapless exploits of a Welsh Valleys' fictional lawn bowls club called Penypont. The BBC liked what they read but were not convinced that lawn bowls was a compelling enough vehicle for comedy and asked me to write about something else. I declined.

Some of you reading this will probably think me mad. The truth is I have always believed in staying true to what you believe in and I believed in the characters I had created. They were real to me and I was not prepared to abandon them.

How real are your characters to you? 

Seth Solmes recently posted on a Google+ forum:

  "Is it possible to be afraid of your own characters?"  

Seth is writing a novel about a particularly dark serial killer. It seems to me Seth is on the right track because his character has come alive to such a degree he actually gives Seth the shivers! More about this later.

To some extent the BBC was right. Bowls is not viewed as a 'sexy' sport even though it is played globally by large numbers of people like myself. Humour on the other hand is universal but how could I convince the general public at large that a novel about bowls could be both sexy and funny? Step forward Vernon Algernon Lewis.

Vernon is one of the characters from 'Jack's High' . His uniquely insensitive and  uncompromising attitude to life can frequently be described as outrageous. He is one of those people the ' politically correct brigade' would love to clap in irons. The point is Vernon can speak and behave in a way that would get 'real' people ostracised or worse!

It seemed a 'no brainer' to appoint the unsuspecting Vernon to the position of marketing director. One of the most effective marketing ploys is to give something away for free although we authors possibly flog this tactic to death when we keep giving away books that we have slaved over for months if not years.

The presumed logic is that somehow this will result in more sales. Instead why not provide teaser material that increases interest and a desire to find out more by actually buying your book? 'Jack's High' is a 346 page novel set around a bowls club. It is highly unlikely anyone is going to rush out to buy it unless they can be persuaded it actually may be quite fun. Which brings me back to Seth's very dark serial killer.

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The call to action  on Vernon's blog has already begun to attract subscribers who are more likely to turn into fans prepared to purchase 'Jack's High' because they have begun to 'bond' with Vernon.

CLICK HERE to visit Vernon's Landing Page and see what you think?

Isn't it time  you got your characters working for you?

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"Good heavens, something's wriggling out of the shadow like a gray snake," he said, in an appropriately dramatic tone of voice. "Now it's another one, and another. They look like tentacles to me. There, I can see the thing's body. It's large as a bear and it glistens like wet leather. But that face. It...it's indescribable. I can hardly force myself to keep looking at it. The eyes are black and gleam like a serpent. The mouth is V-shaped with saliva dripping from its rimless lips that seem to quiver and pulsate....The thing is raising up. The crowd falls back. They've seen enough. This is the most extraordinary experience. I can't find words. I'm pulling this microphone with me as I talk. I'll have to stop the description until I've taken a new position. Hold on, will you please, I'll be back in a minute."

There was little traffic on the auto link. Occasionally they would speed past huge land transporters ferrying goods from zone to zone. Once, the monstrous bulk of an interstate freighter moved deferentially to one side in acknowledgement of the distinctive markings displayed on the sleek black limo. Only essential personnel owned petrol powered vehicles. Most drove solar powered transporters that were by law restricted to zonal sectors only. The advances in cellular construction which had made possible the development of the vast 'zonal domes' also concentrated the suns energy providing all necessary power. The domes also protected the inhabitants from harmful effects of solar radiation that so easily penetrated the impoverished atmosphere.


At least traffic jams were a thing of the past. Chief Inspector Dale had read of this late twenty first century phenomenon with amused fascination. He afforded himself a wry smile. The problem appeared insoluble to scientists and politicians alike as the multiplying mass of humanity threatened to exhaust rapidly decreasing global resources. Pollution, the suppurating wounds of industrialised society, festered openly. A disease many believed incurable. Overshadowing these horrors hung the threat of the nuclear holocaust.

Oblivion.

When the end came no one even recognised its coming. The collapse of the Western monetary system proved disastrous. Economies disintegrated. Inflation soared. Nations plunged into a world wide depression deeper than an ocean trench. Swept away by the tidal wave of events governments lay stranded and helpless like beached whales. Anarchy prevailed. Continents became one vast battle ground. Wars raged within and between nations. Nuclear weapons of unimaginable destructive power were unleashed and a second Dark Age enshrouded mankind. Famine, the camp follower of war, carried her children, disease and misery, at her breast. The human race teetered on the brink of destruction.

Out of chaos arose a saviour.
But salvation carried a price. Theirs had been Jonathon.

The car sped through the nightmare landscape. Beyond the elevated auto pass security patrols wailed as they passed along the restricted area that marked the boundary of the Outworld. The occasional staccato roar of a helipatrol thundered a primal challenge across the reddening sky as it swept over the wasteland in scything arcs. A vivid sunset seeped through the heavens bloodying the scarred earth. Against the skyline the wreckage of a lost world cast its grotesque silhouette like the exposed bones of an ancient beast time has long since devoured. Camp fires flickered amidst the sepulchres of dead cities. Still the car sped on.

Dale glanced at the window and saw his face reflected against the desolation.
Kay still believed he was out there.
In exile.
Punished.
She must never know the truth. No one must."

That's my contribution folks the rest is up to you. If you are interested please contact me at philiprowlands@ymail.com.

You may or may not know that I also write educational programs for children. If you have a young child I am currently giving away free copies of an app that simulates Cuisenaire Rods. My grandson, who's seven, loves using it. If you would like a free copy follow this link FREE APP

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