Tag Archives: Queen Mary

How Cold Play came to be…

The last time you heard from me, I was getting ready for a book release. A rather big book release, involving all four of my novels, which were being re-published by Diversion Books in New York.

So on July 7, the e-books were released. And this weekend, the paperback editions appeared.

Before I follow up The Delicate Art of Book Promotion with a blog about how successful my efforts have been, I thought you might like to read a little story about the genesis of one of the novels, Cold Play.

Cold Play is a novel with a very long history. Some books are written in no time at all. Some take a while to simmer and stew…and Cold Play is one of those.

As a child and a teenager, in the 1960s and 70s, I traveled to and from England by sea. It was the very end of the golden era of ocean liners, and the beginning of the jet age. My dad was a travel agent and he was able to get wonderful discounts for us on various ships, including the original Queen Mary – the one which is now a landlocked tourist attraction in Long Beach, California. I sailed on five different liners, but my favorite of them all was the Empress of Canada.

It was 1971, and we didn’t know it at the time, but that summer was to be her last on the transatlantic run from Montreal to Liverpool. Perhaps I picked up a feeling, seeing the dwindling numbers of passengers sharing her public rooms and decks. Perhaps it was because I was nearly 17, and I was already writing stories and making up adventures for characters who lived with me nonstop, day and night. My imagination was primed. I fell in love with the Empress of Canada. And the summer of 1971 is where the story of Cold Play really began.

Years later I briefly became a travel agent myself, and when Carnival Cruise Lines began to market their first ship, the Mardi Gras, I looked at the pictures in the brochure and thought, this lady seems very familiar! And she was… my Empress of Canada had taken on a new life and was proudly cruising the Caribbean. She was the first of many ships for tiny Carnival, which eventually grew into a massive corporation which now also owns Princess, Costa and Cunard, among others!

My lovely Empress stayed in service for decades, but changing laws about safety at sea and the demand for newer and larger ships meant her days were numbered. Her last incarnation was as Direct Cruise’s Apollon, but in 2003 she was finally retired, and sold for breaking up as scrap. It was a very sad end for my lady, beached in Alang, India, her entire hull exposed and her beautiful white and blue livery rusting in the blazing sun. I saw photos of her as she was demolished, section by section. It made me cry.

I knew I wanted to write about an aging ocean liner the minute I stepped off the Empress of Canada in Liverpool in 1971. But I didn’t have a story, and at age 16, I didn’t yet have the skills to be able to pull it off. I devoured movies like The Poseidon Adventure, parts of which were filmed aboard the Queen Mary; and The Last Voyage, from 1960, filmed aboard the old luxury liner, Ile de France.

Fast forward now to the late 1990s. My career as a travel agent was long in the past, but my sister had taken up the banner, and was working as a Captain’s Secretary for a popular cruise line that sailed weekly from Vancouver to Alaska. She served on a number of different ships, but one of them happened to be a former ocean liner, a tiny jewel that had once been owned by Cunard. She was dwarfed by her newer and larger colleagues when she was docked at her ports of call, and she wasn’t quite as beautiful as my Empress, but she was gracious and proud, and when I was given the opportunity to sail on her, as a guest of my sister, I leaped at the chance.

There are always perks associated with being related to a uniformed officer aboard a cruise ship, and this was definitely one of them. I stayed in my sister’s cabin, which was located in the crew area. I ate in the Officers’ Mess, and I consorted with the Pursers after hours when they held parties in their cabins, spilling out into the main connecting companionway. I stood up on the Bridge in pitch blackness while the ship was navigating the waters near Ketchikan. I was taught how to open and close watertight doors below the waterline. I stayed on board after all the passengers had disembarked, and I saw first-hand what turnaround day involved, before the next lot of passengers were allowed up the gangway. I observed how a cruise ship functioned from a crew point of view, and I knew then that I had my story.

But who was going to be my main character? And what, exactly, was the story going to be about – besides an aging cruise ship that was once a grand ocean liner?

In Cold Play’s first draft, Jason Davey was a Purser. I had a notebook filled with anecdotes from my sister’s colleagues, and from my sister herself, who had worked at the Purser’s Desk before being promoted upstairs to the Bridge. Jason, an out-of-work actor, had run away to sea after the death of his wife in a fire that he believed he was responsible for: he’d accidentally dropped a smoldering cigarette end into a sofa. The novel was called Found at Sea, and the story involved an aging actress with designs on Jason who comes aboard and wreaks havoc for him and the crew; and a travel agent named Katey who is searching for meaning in her life after a messy divorce and facing burnout from her job.

I had an agent pitching Found at Sea to publishers in the UK in early 2002. But nobody seemed to be interested. We tried for about a year, and then my agent decided to pursue other occupations, and I took a buyout from my place of employment, and decided to go to film school to learn how to write scripts. Found at Sea became my major project and my first screenplay. After graduation I entered it in a contest, where it caught the attention of a local producer, who optioned it. We worked on it for a year or two, changing the name to Life Boat, and changing the location to Alaska.

Nothing ever came of the script, which is typical of 95% of screenplays – they sit in development, and then end up abandoned when the option expires.

Fast forward again, to 2009, and Twitter. I was part of a community of first-adopters of Twitter. It was fabulous fun, and the potential for plotting was enormous. There were constructed personalities operating under pseudo-names, claiming to get up to all sorts of adventures, in bursts of postings that were 140 characters long. You never knew who you were really talking to. And whether or not they were telling the truth, or were very convincing liars.

In 2009, I went on another cruise, again to Alaska, but this time I was a passenger. It was on a very large and modern ship, a different line from the one my sister had worked for, and I spent a good part of every evening in the ship’s library, where the computers were, trying to connect with my Twitterfriends. Right next door to the library, separated by a glass wall, was the ship’s biggest lounge, and every night there was a one-man band playing in that lounge, surrounded by electronic gadgets, playing his guitar and singing. Sometimes he had a full house. Sometimes he was singing to just himself and the bartender. But he captured my imagination…and I knew that I’d found Jason.

He wasn’t an actor at all and he didn’t work at the Purser’s Desk. He was a ship’s entertainer. And he was still being pursued by an aging and eccentric actress. And his love interest was still Katey, the recently-divorced-and-burned-out-travel-agent. But Jason now spent much of his spare time on Twitter, using the handle @Cold_Fingers to amuse his followers with tales of a life at sea. And because of that, he’d picked up a stalker named @SaylerGurl… who may or may not have been aboard his ship that week. And there was the added intrigue of an alcoholic musician from Jason’s past who might know a very big secret. And there was still the question of Jason’s wife’s death in that fire…and who was really responsible for it.

And then there was the story of Jason’s ship. I called her the Sapphire in the novel, but she was always the Empress of Canada in my imagination. And she was an important character, just like Jason and Katey, Rick Redding and SaylerGurl and Diana Wyndham and Jilly, Jason’s “guardian angel”. I wondered what it would be like for the Sapphire to be facing her last useful days at sea…to suddenly discover that she was going to be sold for scrap at the end of the season. And how she might react, as a result…

I was going to change the name of the novel from Found at Sea to Cold_Fingers, but I consulted a friend who suggested Cold Play would be a much better title. I thought it was brilliant. I spent much of 2011 pitching the story to agents and publishers, who couldn’t see a best-seller in it and therefore declined my offer. So in 2012 I decided to self-publish instead. I used one of my own photos from Glacier Bay for the cover. And my Empress of Canada story, born forty years earlier, was released at last.

I’ve recently signed with Diversion Books in New York, and as part of my contract with them, they’ve re-released all four of my previous novels. Cold Play has been given a new cover, and now has the potential to reach an entirely new audience. I’m so pleased my lovely Empress of Canada lives on, even if it’s only in my readers’ imaginations.

One final note… last October I went on a short overnight cruise from Seattle to Vancouver with my sister, who is no longer employed in the cruise industry. We traveled as passengers, on a ship sailing her former employer’s flag. We were sitting in the atrium, enjoying coffee and pastries, when a musician sat down and started to tune up. He had a guitar, and some elaborate gadgetry. He looked extremely familiar, and when I checked his name in the daily bulletin, I saw that it was the same fellow I’d watched five years earlier, playing in the lounge next to the ship’s library. My Jason.

Did I introduce myself, and tell him about Cold Play, and the inspiration he’d provided?

I’ll let you guess.

Cold Play is available from Amazon as an ebook and a paperback, along with my three other novels, Persistence of Memory, The Cilla Rose Affair, and Skywatcher.



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A Voyage Aboard the Queen Mary

I’m a pack rat and I never throw anything away, so somewhere in a box in my flat I know there’s a passenger list. It’s from the RMS Queen Mary and it’s dated sometime in January 1962. It looks exactly like this:


Except my copy has some pencil sketches on the inside cover because when I was sitting on an Underground train with my mum, I was bored, so I started drawing pictures of the passengers on the only available paper I had with me. I hasten to add I was seven years old at the time, and would never in a million years have defaced such a historical article if I’d had an inkling what a passenger list from the Queen Mary would have meant some 50 years later.

Last time I told you about our voyage from Montreal to Southampton aboard Holland America’s Ryndam. This blog’s about the return journey, from Southampton to New York. My mum and my sister and I sailed both ways without my dad, who was a travel agent. He didn’t much like England, and I think at that particular time he had a fam trip booked to Bermuda instead. So we spent Christmas in London without him. But we were scheduled to meet up with him in New York and then fly home with him to Saskatchewan.

I remember having an amazing time in New York, accompanying dad on a sightseeing tour while mum stayed at the hotel with my sister. But I balked at climbing the spiral staircase to the top of the Statue of Liberty. So my dad left me at the pedestal with instructions not to move or talk to strangers, and took off on his own to visit the lady’s head. My mum was highly unimpressed when we got back to the hotel and I told her all about my adventure with dad. He could never, ever, have got away with something like that today! Nor would he have attempted it, to be honest. But this was 1962, and the world was a much more innocent place back then.

Back to the Queen Mary. My memories aren’t as vivid as those of the Ryndam, which is a shame. I remember sailing out of Southampton, and my mum being particularly sad at leaving the country where she was born and spent her first 30 years. Years later I found out why. It was because she knew her dad was quite ill with cancer, and that this was the last time she would see him before he died.

She didn’t tell me that, though. All I knew was that she was very upset and crying, and because she was upset, I was upset. To the point that when we were sitting down for lunch in the very posh restaurant, I was sick. All over the tablecloth. Much to my acute embarrassment. Because even when you’re seven, you know what embarrassment is, even if you have no explanation for your behaviour, and no idea how to control it.

So that’s my first enduring memory of the Queen Mary.

I remember our stateroom. It had dark wood panelling and two portholes, and I recall dark green as being the predominant colour of the upholstery and bed coverings. Here’s a photo of a First Class cabin on the Queen Mary, converted into the present-day hotel in Long Beach, California. The room has modern curtains, bedding, fixtures, and amenities but the wood panelling and portholes are originals. I recall our cabin looked a lot like this, though I’m not altogether certain if we travelled First Class.


I remember our night-time cabin steward, who you summoned by pushing a button on the wall beside the bed. He was quite elderly, and lovely, and he told us that the best cure he knew for seasickness was ginger ale. At the time we thought it was just an old wives’ tale – or an old mariner’s tale – but now we know that ginger has amazing anti-nausea properties – so much so that the companies which make traditional seasickness OTC medications also now offer pure ginger as a natural and very effective alternative.

I remember the bathroom in our cabin. It was a luxury, as most passenger ships from that era had a sink, but no private toilet and most definitely no private bath or shower. You shared the facilities at the end of a corridor with your fellow passengers. This bathroom had a bath, and the bath was highly unusual in that, in addition to hot and cold fresh water taps, it also had hot and cold salt water taps. Which really did work.

I remember that also making this voyage from Southampton to New York were the Vienna Boys Choir. The Vienna Boys Choir still exists today, but I would say they’re not nearly as famous as they were in 1962, just after Walt Disney made a film about them called Almost Angels. I saw that film, well after our ocean voyage. But even that January, I knew who they were. And they were scheduled to give a performance on board the ship, very late at night. Mum decided we’d have a sleep first, and then get up to watch the concert. Unfortunately we neglected to set an alarm clock – we should have asked our lovely cabin steward for a wakeup call – and we missed it entirely.

I remember that mum was invited to sit at the Captain’s table for dinner one night. I’m sure it was because dad was a travel agent and he’d undoubtedly sent a lot of traffic Cunard’s way. My sister and I ate our dinner early, and then mum set off in her finery, leaving strict instructions for us not to leave the cabin, and to behave.

Please bear in mind that I was all of seven years old, and my sister was three. Please also bear in mind that my sister has always been more adventurous than me. And that she very definitely had mischief on her mind about half an hour after mum closed the cabin door behind her. And that I was a willing participant in my sister’s mischief, which involved slipping out of the cabin clad only in a cotton petticoat and knickers – I couldn’t possibly catch her, she was moving too fast – and I had no idea how she’d managed to open the door. Little sister made her way out onto an open deck, with me in hot pursuit oh…about 10 feet behind her… Once there she ran about with the wind in her hair, and clambered onto the railings – I pulled her down before she could tumble overboard – and was only stopped when a stern-looking officer confronted us both and marched us back to our cabin. We were joined about fifteen minutes later by mum, looking very annoyed, having been informed that her two small daughters were running amok and unattended on deck and could she please return to her stateroom immediately to see to them.

The rest of the voyage was uneventful. Which is probably why I don’t remember much more about it. I’ve always been more excited about going to a destination than coming home from it. I do recall sailing up the Hudson River, and peering over the railings to see immense chunks of ice cracking away from the side of the ship. And I think I spotted the Vienna Boys Choir at the pier, disembarking before us.

There are a few things about the Queen Mary which found their way into my writing. If you’ve read my novel Cold Play, you’ll know that Chris Davey, the hero, ends up in the bow of the cruise ship after rescuing Katey – his love interest – and Rick Redding – a passenger – when she ship catches fire. The space they find themselves in is the old cargo hold. Modern cruise ships don’t have cargo holds, but the old passenger ships did. The Queen Mary did. And, in fact, when I was researching how Chris, Katey and Rick were going to climb up the decks to safety, I consulted the Queen Mary’s original deck plans, and original photos of the insides of her cargo holds.

Another thing about Chris Davey: the sea is in his blood. He was conceived on board the Queen Mary, during one of her last voyages. I like to think his parents occupied the same cabin that I did. And that the Vienna Boys Choir were on that crossing too… and that perhaps his conception possibly came about because of a missed wake-up call…

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