Arlene Hunt – Writer

I have not been lazy, honestly, but rather alarmingly busy. Today ( finally) I finish the first draft of the new novel, still botheringly titleless. After which I will let it rest for a spell of about one week before attacking it with gusto and a ferocious edit.

Between now and that I will be at Elecric Picnic, waffling on Saturday about matters female with fellow bloggers from the excellent Anti-Room, and later with my colleagues on a crime panel. I’ve never been to Electric Picnic before so it should be interesting.

More good news comes in the form of Declan Burke’s anthology being given the green light. This collection should be highly entertaining and thought provoking and as such I am delighted to be a small part of it. I am extremely pleased for Declan as to organise so many contributors must be like trying to herd clouds.

All in all, stuff be happin’.

Hope everyone is enjoying the last few days of summer. If you’re not, get busy.

Arlene

From Saturday 17th of July. Taken from the Review Section.

“CRIME: Blood Money By Arlene Hunt Hachette Books Ireland, 352pp. £12.99

NOW THAT THE fizz has gone out of chick lit and paperbacks with pink covers no longer dominate the bestseller lists, popular fiction has tilted in the direction of crime, with Irish women writers taking on the murder and mayhem that’s the stock in trade of the genre.

Arlene Hunt is something of an old hand, as Blood Money is her sixth novel. It’s an assured crime read centred on an upmarket plastic-surgery clinic in Dublin run by the icy Frieda Mayweather.

Shambolic PI John Quigley has been commissioned by Rose Butler to investigate her daughter’s death. The police think it’s suicide, but Rose can’t believe that her caring mother-of-two doctor daughter could have died this way, and she wants answers. Not being exactly busy, Quigley, whose personal problems include the hole left in his heart by his partner who has fled – he’s an interesting, complex character – takes on the case and uncovers an illegal organ-transplant business being run out of the clinic.

The organs come from eastern Europe, and as the nip-and-tuck business in Dublin has collapsed because of the recession, the brutal and scheming Mayweather has hit on this new lucrative income stream, and she doesn’t care how the organs are harvested.

As Quigley gets close to the truth, super-violent Pavel Sunic is on the rampage from Minsk, looking for the person responsible for the death of his beloved sister, who died when she sold her kidney in exchange for his freedom from prison.

Hunt is a skilled crime writer, able to build and sustain suspense – but never at the expense of credibility – and her dialogue zings with authenticity. The clever plot is carried by a cast of deftly drawn characters, who are all as recognisable as the Dublin locations Hunt puts them in. And there’s humour here, too, mostly in Quigley’s realisation that he’s in danger of becoming a sad, lonely loser and, if he’s not careful, a cliche of a private investigator. He’s a character worth watching out for in future.”

Bernice Harrison.

Though I was not aware the ‘fizz’ had gone out of romantic fiction – I was almost crushed under a pile of Amanda Brunker novels at the airport – this review did fizz up my own morning in a rather pleasant manner. I am ridiculously fond of John Quigley as a character and care deeply how he goes about his shenanigans, so it brings a broad smile to my chops when another reader ‘gets him’, so to speak.

If you want someone to review a book author Declan Burke is your man, what he doesn’t know about crime fiction you could fit on a the back of a stamp.

Take a gander here.

Book glorious book, baked roasted and pickled!
No wait, read, just read, no cooking of books, neither culinary or mob style. Declan Hughes and I were guest on the ever supportive TV3 talking about the about the advance of Irish crime across the globe. You can catch our chit chat if you click on this little old link.

Hello there crime-fiction lovers, just a quick one to let you know I will be on TV3 with fellow author Declan Hughes tomorrow morning around 9:25 am to discuss the explosion of crime writing and crime fiction reading within our fair island. Please tune in if you get a few minutes to yourself in the morning.

(Thanks to Tony for sending me a copy of this.)

L-R we have Stuart Neville, John McAllister, T.A. Moore, me, Tony Bailie, Brian McGilloway and the delightful Ger Brennan, main man and big chief behind Requiems for the Departed.

If you’re ever up in Belfast to pop along to No Alibis, it’s a truly great independent book shop.

Belfast is really pretty, I cannot believe I had never been. But, as I told anyone who expressed surprise, I am off to Kerry for the first time next month too. Verily I am ashamed of my lack of traveling around this fair isle.

But forget my shame and let’s indulge in my delight. First and foremost I would like to congratulate Ger Brennan for  the publication of Requiems for the Departed.  I think it was Brian McGilloway who mentioned last night that it’s hard enough trying to get one author to follow a time line, try doing that with a number if ‘em. But Ger did and did so brilliantly and I hope after all his hard work this book flies off the shelves.

A big thank you to David, and the much introduced Jill for a genial welcome and some fine wine, thank you very much folks. David’s shop, No Alibis, is an absolute gem and another solid brick in my belief foundation that independent books shops should be supported and cherished. The ceiling mounted Columbo alone is worth a visit (but you should buy a book once there).

It was great to catch up with Brian McGilloway and Stuart Neville again, and lovely to meet John McAllister, Tony Bailie and Tammy Moore.

I’d like to say thank you to all the people who took the time to come out and support the launch, it was lovely to meet so many of you and I am sorry it was only a flying visit. I intend to make a weekend trip up in the near future so that I can best enjoy the food and hospitality.
Thank you again for a wonderful evening.

Arlene Hunt.

Hey folks just a quick one as I am running- almost literally- out the door.

I will be in the Flora Mini Marathon on Monday and running to raise money for Debra Ireland. The link is below, any and all contributions woulld be most welcome as they are a terrific charity.

You can go to charity page here.

Take care.

A

I would be lying utterly if I said I like down time,  I don’t. I get bored easily and don’t understand the meaning of the word ‘relax’. However, currently I find myself so busy I don’t know which way is up. Being busy did not stop me from popping along to see Declan Hughes and Alan Glynn talk crime out in Dun Laoghaire or from stopping by The Gutterbookshop to throw my support behind Kevin McCarthy’s terrific debut, Peeler.

Next Monday I’ll run the mini Marathon for a charity, the following Thursday I am off to Belfast to the launch of Requiems For The Departed in No Alibis book shop.

See?

Busy.

Oh yes, and I’ve to write a book. Yes, a book, this book. The one I’ve been dithering over. The one with all the notes. ‘Mid july’ I airily mentioned completion to my agent.

Well it’s bloomin’ June, which means mid July approacheth. I need to stop dithering immediately. If not sooner.

Procrastination, thy name is Hunt.

Poor Opus, barely a bassety sprite ( he will only be 14 in October)  and poor old thing is going blind.

Fortunately he has always been a trooper about everything in life, so despite his worsening sight and the wobble in his back legs when he gets out of bed first, he still goes out for his tour of the block and goes up and down the stairs countless times a day. If he’s okay with being blind I can’t complain too badly. As long as he’s happy enough bombing about the place that is all that matters.

What I will complain about is my inability to write a synopsis. I’m mean how many years am I doing this now? Don’t answer that.

Being a Hunt through and through, the gift of the gab is not something I have ever struggled with. Condensing that yappity yip is a whole other matter.

‘Just a short page,’ Faith said to me this morning over coffee in The Rathgar Bookshop, ‘to have should we need it.’

Oh yes, it’s all good and well saying ‘just a short page’ to me, but what does it mean?

How am I supposed to shorten an entire unwritten novel into a short page and still make it zing? I’ve reread what I wrote earlier, it does not zing, it flaulumps, and I think we can all agree flaulumping is not zinging. Nope, I am afraid it is 1000 words of leaden poop.

I will look to the basset on this matter. Perhaps I am relying to much on one sense and not the others? Perhaps if I stop squinting angrily at the screen the answer to my minuscule task will slap me up side the head in a flurry of inspiration.

How hard can it be?

Don’t answer that either.

On his thirteenth birthday, the basset found he was  drawn inexplicably to flame.