Q&A with Annalisa Crawford

It is my great pleasure to introduce Annalisa Crawford.

Welcome, Annalisa, to my blog. We’ve just recently ‘met’, one of the wonderful aspects of blogging is meeting new people and especially authors, and have been following your blog for about a year, if memory serves. And I had also read Small Forgotten Moments, which I really enjoyed.

Hi Luciana, thank you for inviting me.

I understand you have a new book; can you share a little of what it is about with us?

My new book is a short story collection entitled The Clock in My Mother’s House. It’s comprised of stories I’ve had published over the past few years or those which have been placed/shortlisted for competitions.

Short stories are my first love – it’s where I began, a long time ago – but few people get to read them, especially those which have been entered into competitions, so I wanted to gather them together much like I did with a previous collection, That Sadie Thing.

How did you come up with the title?

The title story in the collection – The Clock in My Mother’s House Runs Backwards – is about a woman who finds her daughter’s old school project, a clock, in her attic. The clock runs backwards and as a few surprises for both mother and daughter. Practically speaking, the title of the story was just too long as a title for the whole book.

Is there a theme for your collection that you want readers to grasp?

Not that I intended, but after writing a couple of novels with important maternal characters, that spilled over into my short stories – mothers who are central to the story, or absent and casting a shadow, or very present and controlling. In retrospect, it’s nice to have something that ties the stories together, however accidental.

Did you learn anything from collating your book and what was it?

I learnt that I can’t stop editing. Technically, all I needed to do was typeset the manuscript and be done. However, as I was reading, I started to tinker. I also learnt that my addiction to semi-colons has been replaced by em dashes, and I have favourite phrases and words which crop up time and again – “corporeal” being one.

Where do you get your ideas from?

The ideas for this collection came from a variety of places. One story is based on a photograph, a couple are personal experiences taken to the next level, one was written because I set myself the task of writing a ghost story. I love people watching, and daydreaming, so when you put both of those together you get a myriad of ideas all jostling for your attention.

What books have most influenced your writing?

Very early in my writing career I concentrated on short stories – they came naturally to me to the extent that I found the idea of ever writing a novel impossible. Then I stumbled across a novella by Suzannah Dunn, “Darker Days Than Usual”, and I realised I could write the story I wanted to tell. Immediately I started writing Cat & The Dreamer, which became my first published book.

What are your current projects?

I’ve accidentally, got a lot on this year. Just before Christmas I had the rights of my first two books returned – one is Cat & The Dreamer, which I mentioned earlier – so I’m refreshing them and republishing. In fact, previously Cat has only been available as an ebook, so I’m bringing it into print for the first time and I’m really excited.

I’ve also got a few changes to make on my next novel with Vine Leaves Press (due May 2024) before I send it for developmental edits in the autumn. And I’m trying to pin down ideas for the novel after that – I have the characters in my head, and notes on the page, but no actual plot. They’re all perfectly happy bumbling around doing very little, so I’m feeling a little blocked with that one.

What makes you laugh?

Mostly my husband. Between us we’ve got very silly senses of humour – and he’s a master at dad jokes… but please don’t tell him I said that!

Do you listen to music while you write?

In the last few seconds, I’ve just realised something. I used to, and don’t anymore. I used to work in a library, so the first thing I did when I got home was put music on – housework, writing, reading… I needed music.

Now, I work in a gym and there’s music on all the time. So at home, I’m quite happy with the silence. I might start listening again – it’s provided me with inspiration in the past, so it might help my current block.

Where do you write?

It very much depends on what I’m writing. If it’s a short story, most of it will be written in longhand so I’ll curl up in my living room, usually watching a bit of TV – as I do with the first draft of something longer.

Second drafts onwards, I’ll be in my study at my computer. It’s a small room with a view of the road so there’s always something to distract me.

What book are you reading now?

I received a couple of books for Christmas – both non-fiction, which is unusual for me to read. “Madly, Deeply”, which is the diary of Alan Rickman, who I adore, and “Jane Austen at Home” by Lucy Worsley. I’m flitting between the two.

Thank you so much, Annalisa. It has been an absolute pleasure speaking with you and learning more about your inspirations and creative process.

Connect with Annalisa:

Website: https://www.annalisacrawford.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/annalisacrawford.author

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/annalisa_crawford/

Buy The Clock in My Mother’s House (all formats): https://books2read.com/clock-in-mothers-house

Excerpt:

Taken from the story Click.

I watch him leave on the screen of my camera. Click, click, click.

With every snap, he’s further away; his despondent shuffle exaggerated, his spirit wavering.

I want him to turn, to signal some remorse or anguish at leaving. Or simply to acknowledge I’m here with a comforting glance that says it’s not about you.

But he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes on the pavement, head bowed, shoulders stooped. I imagine him carefully avoiding the cracks, the way we used to together. I wonder if he remembers those prolonged treks to the newsagent when I insisted on returning to some arbitrary point and retracing ourselves because I misstepped.

His hair wafts in the wind, and the low sun turns it a soft auburn. He doesn’t check for vehicles as he crosses the road—one car stops abruptly, beeping its annoyance. He waves a brief rebuff and wedges his hands deeper into his pockets.

Click. Click.

If I view though the camera, it’s not really happening. It’s fiction. I’m seeing a film; I’m staring at an IMAX screen, or at a crisp 1940s black-and-white matinee on BBC2, reassured the end will be happy. I spread my thumb and forefinger across the glass to zoom in. Click.

He’s gone. Between that second and the next. Vanishing around the corner. The shape of him remains, the air shimmers like a tarmac mirage in a heatwave. I focus on the point he disappeared, as if the building might shift left and expose him. I imagine him leaning against the wall, his hands hiding his tear-stained face, reluctant to walk away just yet.

I hold my breath. In a moment, he’ll race back, sweep me up and twirl me around. One more goodbye. Just you wait. Any second now… Any minute.

Upstairs, my mother weeps. I pull away from my vantage point, turning my head to listen more closely, to discern whether I should go to her. I don’t. Her tears alarm me. Mothers shouldn’t cry; they should be strong and bold, lionesses guarding their cubs from harm. I step towards the door and pause, unnerved, conflicted by my decision.

Honey and russet leaves fall like confetti. Click. The paperboy cycles past, a whir of legs and wheels. He spots me standing at the window like a ghost. He waves with a cheery grin. Click, click. A soot-black cat stands resolutely in the middle of the road, playing chicken with a four-by-four, scuttling away at the last moment.

“Come away,” says Mum in a frail, croaky voice.

She’s behind me. Her eyes are raw and puffy, her skin clammy and pale. She’s wilting, barely able to lift her head. Her arms criss-cross around her waist; a shawl droops from her shoulders.

The light’s fading, the streetlights are coming on. It’s past dinner time. It’s been hours since he left.

Bio:

Annalisa Crawford lives in Cornwall, UK, with a good supply of moorland and beaches to keep her inspired. She lives with her husband, and canine writing partner, Artoo. Her two sons have flown the nest, but still like a mention. She is the author of four short story collections, and two novels.

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