Gender: Female
Status: Married
Age: 101
Sign: Capricorn
City: Oxford and Eastbourne
Country: UK
Signup Date: 1/16/2007
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Sunday, November 08, 2009
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The God of the Hive has a face
Here’s how The God of the Hive will come dressed, on April
27th, my editor craves your reaction:
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Tuesday, September 22, 2009
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From my literary agent's blog:
After considerable to-ing and fro-ing, most of which was
well-mannered, Random House and its author have a name for LRKing’s
next book, formerly known as The Green Man, to be published in June 2010:
The God of the Hive
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Wednesday, September 02, 2009
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My literary agent, Laurie R. King, has an on-line book club, and this month she is offering a new experience, the chance to discuss a book (not one of mine or hers) and to have some interaction with the author of that book. Here is how Ms. King describes the new feature:
The Virtual Book Club, which I started in early 2007, has now worked its way
through all the books in the LRK canon and a number of related novels and
non-fiction works. So in September, we begin anew, only with a difference: We’ll
do the occasional month of “The Writer as Reader” where I choose a book, give a
copy away, and hold an interview or online chat with the author towards the end
of that month.
Our first book? The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, by
Alan Bradley, a book I adored, blurbed, and have pushed into every empty hand I
see. You can sign up at Mutterings, my blog, for a chance to win an autographed copy of the book
( the drawing will be on September 4th) and come here on September 1st to start the talk.
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Monday, August 24, 2009
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The Language of Bees UK tour:
My literary agent, Laurie R. King, will be at the following places in September-- she invites everyone to come
and talk books!
Sept 9, 7:00: Newcastle on Tyne, The Lit & Phil (23 Westgate Road)
with Chaz Brenchley
Sept 12, 2:30-4:00: Reading Festival of Crime Writing, panel on "Murder
in Mind" with Sophie Hannah, Stephen Booth, RJ Ellory, and Jane
Hill
Sept 14, 6:00: London, Charing Cross library (4-6 Charing Cross Road)
Sept 17, 7:30: Luton central library (St.
George's Square) on "My Story"--a BBC learning project
Sept 18, 2:00: Oxford central library (Westgate centre)
Sept 21, 6:30: Cambridge, Heffer's books (20 Trinity Street) on the
history mystery, with Michelle Spring, Ruth Downey, Manda Scott, and Barbara
Cleverly
More information is on the events page at
LaurieRKing.com
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Monday, May 18, 2009
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I find myself, for the first Monday in
weeks (fifteen of them, in fact) with nothing to post. In any event,
certain other areas in my life are beginning to heat up, which means that I
shall be out of communication for a time. However, I believe that
tomorrow, my literary agent, Laurie King, will be posting what she calls
"Mary Russell's MyStory" on her web site, in a format that is bound
to bring amusement to many.
For a bit, I shall limit myself to posting on the whimsically
named Twitter. However, I understand that, towards the end of summer, Ms
King intends to embark for the United Kingdom. Perhaps then I shall find
myself at leisure to post here in MySpace.
I bid you a good summer
(or winter, if you dwell in the Antipodes) and a pleasurable exploration of The
Language of Bees, the ninth volume of my memoirs.
The Language of Bees (April 28): http://www.laurierking.com/?p=1866
web site: http://laurierking.com
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Monday, May 11, 2009
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Follow
Mary Russell's account of the story behind how and why Laurie R. King
came to have the Russell/Holmes memoirs, as described in Laurie's
prefaces to the first four Russell books
http://www.laurierking.com/?page_id=2032. This is the final installment of Miss Russell's story, but Ms. King will be posting a downloadable mini-book of the complete story on her website very soon.
If you're buying The Language
of Bees from an Independent bookseller, send Ms. King your receipt by Wednesday, May 20 for
a chance to win a work of art with an original Mary Russell story.
Details at: http://www.laurierking.com/?p=2614
Now, in
celebration of the honeybee and in support of Heifer International’s
efforts to provide poor communities with assistance in their
agricultural (if not philosophical) endeavors, this exclusive facsimile
booklet of Holmes’ Practical Handbook excerpts is available. If you donate two beehives ($60) by next Wednesday, May 20, you will receive Holmes' Practical Handbook along with a jar of Heifer honey and be entered in a drawing to have your name in the next Mary Russell. Details are here: http://www.laurierking.com/?p=2834
Mary Russell: My Story
15.
Had our pursuers been familiar with Oxford, they could have caught us up several times over. As it was, by the time they extricated themselves from the young man whose boat we had stolen, then consulted their maps, we were away from the river-side path in Christchurch meadow—by this time, I was punting—and down the new cut to the Isis proper.
By the time they had located the Thames path, gone back up to Folly Bridge, and crossed the river to get to the path, the current had moved us briskly downstream. They nearly caught us up at Iffley, when the lockkeeper protested about working the locks for one solitary punt, but a flash of gold in his hand changed his mind, and we were away.
The day was warm, the cushions were comfortable, and the merest touch of the pole kept us moving in the right direction. We stopped from time to time to take refreshment. And at one such stop, I bought an antique post-card, thinking to amuse Ms King in California.
When evening came upon us, I changed into raiment that would draw less notice than trousers on a woman my age, and we abandoned our vessel. In a fit of whimsy, I left the day’s clothing folded in the boat, with my secondary pair of spectacles, since every reader of crime fiction knows that suicides always remove their spectacles.
Thus, the explanation of how Ms King came to possess my memoirs. I may at a later time recount the story of our subsequent communications: What I meant by the antique postcard that she read as, More to follow; why we were in Utrecht when I sent it; and why, most puzzling of all, The Times did not publish its account of the punt found in central London for an entire three years.
Is it not satisfying to know that there is always more to any tale?
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Monday, May 04, 2009
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Follow Mary Russell's account of the story behind how and why Laurie R. King came to have the Russell/Holmes memoirs, as described in Laurie's prefaces to the first four Russell books http://www.laurierking.com/?page_id=2032. Further chapters to come each week during the Fifteen Weeks of Bees http://www.laurierking.com/?page_id=912 every Monday on Myspace, or Tuesdays in Laurie R. King's blog, Mutterings (http://laurierking.com/wp.php/).
If you're buying The Language of Bees from an Independent bookseller, send Ms. King your receipt for a chance to win a work of art with an original Mary Russell story. Details at: http://www.laurierking.com/?p=2614
Now, in celebration of the honeybee and in support of Heifer International’s efforts to provide poor communities with assistance in their agricultural (if not philosophical) endeavors, this exclusive facsimile booklet of Holmes’ Practical Handbook excerpts is available. http://www.laurierking.com/?p=2834
Mary Russell: My Story
14.
I do not know if our American pursuers were actively watching for us, or if they had decided to make the best of their visit and take in the May Day festivities while waiting for
us to emerge, but at the corner of the Botanic Gardens, where Rose Lane comes into the High, the straining silence was broken by loud American accents: “Hey! There he is!”
And the hunt was on again.
I spoke in Holmes’ ear, ordering him to abandon me. He hesitated, being neither cowardly nor disloyal, but even he could see the logic in my suggestion. He bent down enough to vanish in the crowd, while I appropriated a nearby furled umbrella (in any English crowd, there will always be a man who doubts the clear sky overhead) and tripped one attacker, jabbed the second in the stomach, and nudged the third into the large,
intoxicated Rugby player beside him.
With that trio temporarily disposed of, and making certain they had seen me, their unlikely assailant, I pushed into the crowd, crossing to the Magdalene side of the High and making for Magdalene Bridge.
Halfway across, I ducked down to make my way back up the human stream, ducking into the grounds of the Botanic Garden and making for the river.
Holmes had located a punt, worked its anchoring pole out of the bottom, and was waiting for me. I heard a shout behind me—English, not American—and tumbled into the boat. He pushed off, and I turned to face the boat’s irate owners.
“Terribly sorry,” I called to them. “There’s a trio of Americans just behind you who said they’d be happy to repay you for the hire cost. You take it up with them, there’s a good lad.”
A sweet old lady in a boat; how could he argue with me?
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Friday, May 01, 2009
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As a brief interlude to the ongoing saga of my story (which
will draw to a close in the coming weeks), I would like to mention that my
literary agent, Ms. Laurie R. King, has embarked on what she calls a "book
tour" to discuss the latest edition of my memoirs, The Language of Bees.
As I have in the past, I may even try to stop in at one of her lectures
myself (in disguise, of course) to ensure that she does not take too many
liberties with the details of my life. Although travel becomes more and more
arduous with every year, I imagine that the aeroplane flight to the United
States will be a far cry from that which I endured in the episode recounted in
The Language of Bees. For details of her book tour, please refer to her web
page at http://www.laurierking.com/?page_id=1263.
I would ask that you please refrain from accosting any elderly lady...or
gentleman, who might be standing at the back of the room while Ms. King
speaks. They will most certainly be entirely innocent, and not appreciate
the attention. If I appear it will be in a disguise that would do
Holmes proud, and not be something anyone would expect. My husband would be
horrified if I stooped to merely using my age to remain anonymous.
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Monday, April 27, 2009
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Follow Mary Russell's
account of the story behind how and why Laurie R. King came to have the
Russell/Holmes memoirs, as described in Laurie's prefaces to the first four
Russell books http://www.laurierking.com/?page_id=2032.
Further chapters to come each week during the Fifteen Weeks of Bees http://www.laurierking.com/?page_id=912
every Monday on Myspace, or Tuesdays in Laurie R. King's blog, Mutterings (http://laurierking.com/wp.php/).
If you're buying The Language of Bees from
an Independent bookseller, send Ms. King your receipt for a chance to win a
work of art with an original Mary Russell story. Details at: http://www.laurierking.com/?p=2614
Now, in celebration of the honeybee and in
support of Heifer International’s efforts to provide poor communities with
assistance in their agricultural (if not philosophical) endeavors, this
exclusive facsimile booklet of Holmes’ Practical Handbook excerpts
is available. http://www.laurierking.com/?p=2834
Mary Russell: My Story
13.
May-Day in Oxford is an ancient ritual,
which has been suspended from time to time over the centuries due to excessive
unruliness. It begins well before dawn,
when from all directions people trickle into the high street, making their way
in the direction of the Magdalene College tower.
At dawn, choir-boys raise their voices to
the day, their sweet, high chorus trailing down over the packed street of
families and homeless men, passing tradesmen and beer-sodden undergraduates,
antiquarians and tourists. Participants
of the previous night’s college balls, held upright by the press of the throng,
pass around half-empty bottles of cheap champagne, most of them bedraggled,
tieless, sometimes shoeless, and often sodden from the puzzling ritual of
leaping out of punts or off of bridges in their evening dress. When the snatches of song finish drifting
down from on high, the crowd shakes off its attentive silence, gives a noisy
pulse, and reverses its progress, out from Magdalene College. Morris dancers bounce and rattle on the
paving stones surrounding the Radcliffe Camera, Hobby horses give the kiss of
fertility to doomed young women, odd foodstuffs are sold, the manifold clergy
of the town looks on fondly at the pagan frenzy, and the rites of spring are
officially ushered in.
When the sky was still dark overhead,
Holmes and I let ourselves out of the gate and joined the trickle, soon stream,
of May Day celebrants.
However, before the Magdalene choir had
finished, we had been spotted.
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Monday, April 20, 2009
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Follow Mary Russell's account of the story behind how and why Laurie R. King came to have the Russell/Holmes memoirs, as described in Laurie's prefaces to the first four Russell books http://www.laurierking.com/?page_id=2032. Further chapters to come each week during the Fifteen Weeks of Bees http://www.laurierking.com/?page_id=912 every Monday on Myspace, or Tuesdays in Laurie R. King's blog, Mutterings (http://laurierking.com/wp.php/)A brief episode out of my life with Holmes, in which one of our neighbours dies of bee stings, has been made into a lovely illustrated broadside. My literary agent, Laurie R. King, is giving one away in a drawing to support Independent bookstores, an excellent cause. One may read about it at http://www.laurierking.com/?p=2614.
Mary Russell: My Story
12.
You need to remember, this was 1992, and the number of people who knew that Sherlock Holmes had a wife was relatively small. No doubt our pursuing Sherlockians thought I was a housekeeper, or a nurse—they were standing watch outside of the gate, and began to bay wildly when first I set foot out of the house. I feigned great age—admittedly not a difficult act, at ninety two years—and hobbled to the car, back bent with apparent arthritis and a large straw hat pulled down, not so much to hide my features as to explain why I hadn’t noticed ten jumping figures thirty feet away. I got the door open with my ancient hands, bent slowly—slowly, to retrieve some small object from the door pocket, then inadequately closed the door and, crouching low, crept back into the house.
Thus, before dawn the next morning, the three who had been set to watch overnight from their hire car recognised the hatted old lady behind the wheel of the motor that pulled out of the gate, and hastened to follow—it being too dark to see that the person at the wheel was a foot shorter and seventy years younger. Nor did they notice that the brisk young man closing the gate was in fact the old woman they thought they were following.
Whistling, I went to finish my coffee and leave the house, on what promised to be a perfectly lovely May-Day morn.
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