The Official S. J. Bolton Blog

We're not meant to judge books by their covers but most of us do. Which is why I can't resist showing off the latest paperback cover for Sacrifice.  This is from Sweden, where the title translates literally as "Prey", and I think it could be my favourite so far.

No other publisher thought of putting linen-wrapped strawberries on the front cover but I think it works brilliantly, managing to be both menacing and intriguing.

I've just come back from a PR visit to the north-west, where I made good use of linen-wrapped strawberries to demonstrate my life as a writer. It's not enough anymore, you see, that people like me write. We also have to talk. To people who've made a special effort to hear what we have to say.

I gave two such talks last week, in Blackburn and Haslingden libraries. Both very carefully scripted. About two thirds of the way through, (just after we put the snake away), I start to read from chapter 11 of Sacrifice, acting it out as I go. I take Tora down the cellar steps and crouch with her to the linen-wrapped parcel, about the size of a grapefruit, oozing scarlet liquid onto the stone cellar floor.  I unwrap the parcel, just as Tora does, to find….strawberries.

Get's em every time! Well, those who haven't yet read the book. Then, when they're all still giggling, I produce the pig's heart - virtually indistinguishable from a human one, and slap it on the table in front of them.

I blame Tess Gerritsen. When I was asked to do my first talk, I had no idea how I was going to fill the hour, but I had heard that Tess travels with a shrunken human head and uses it to liven up her presentations. Brilliant idea, I thought, what can I travel with? Awakening was just about to come out so the obvious choice was a snake and a young friend of mine just happens to have a pretty and obliging corn snake who's rather taken to his personal appearances. My local butcher supplies the pig's heart and my son the fake blood that adds the extra bit of menace to the package of strawberries.

I enjoyed talking to people in Blackburn and Haslingden, but the highlight of the trip was probably being a guest on BBC Radio Lancashire's Sally Naden show.  Fellow panelists were Carmen Parkinson of the Referral Institute and Carole Roberts, a psychosexual therapist. Well, you can imagine what set the tone of the entire two-hour conversation.

Later in the week, when I'd managed to get erectile disfunction and menopausal dryness out of my head (a couple of treats Mr B and I are really looking forward to) I popped into my old school, now the Darwen Aldridge Academy, where I met head-teacher Brendan Loughran and the lovely learning resources manager, Janet Arnott. They made a huge fuss of me and Glam One (who came along for the trip) and asked me back in September to be a role model for the students.

Friends I've mentioned this to find it hilarious. They're just jealous. It's a great honour. And one I'll be delighted to accept.

I had my portrait painted this week. Quite an experience. My friend Lucy has been trying to persuade me to sit for her for some time now.  Had I known how phenomenally talented she is, I'd have agreed straight away. To produce, as she did, a portrait in oils in under two hours, that not only bears a passing resemblance to the model, but is also something I'm rather keen to hang on my wall, is no mean achievement as far as I'm concerned. But what I found really fascinating is that artists such as Lucy can see colours that ordinary people like me cannot.

About halfway through I'm allowed a break. In a very sunny studio I'm in serious danger of falling asleep. I get up for a sneaky peak. The canvass is an impressionist-style mass of colour daubs and my hair appears in dozens of glorious copper shades. The face is in outline only but it's unmistakably mine. I'm unexpectedly impressed. And very curious.

'Now, what made you put those blue/greys in the bottom left hand corner,' I say, 'and then that patch of yellow cream above it?'

'Well, it's there,' replies Lucy, as though I'm a bit of a half-wit.  I look at the patch of white linen armchair I've been sitting in. I blink. And look again. Nope, where Lucy sees blues, greys, yellows and warm creams, I see shades of white. And not only does she see these shades and tones that I can't, she can reproduce them, in seconds, from just six basic colours. Fascinating.

'Do you think you should be able to see my earrings?' I ask. I'd worn my diamond studs specially. 'It's not painting by committee,' she replies, in a testy sort of way. I suspect she wants me to sit down again. So I do. And she goes back into painting mode. Which is intense, very focused and, actually, a bit scary.

Normal Lucy is zany, bubbly, funny and, I swear, can talk the entire rear end off a donkey in under ten minutes. Artist Lucy is silent and serious, refusing to talk, except to bite my head off if I yawn or move my hair. I start thinking about people in their natural element, how they can be quite different to the folk we thought we knew.

Which is particularly relevant at the moment because I'm racing to finish the second draft of book four: my favourite to date, but the trickiest to get right, mainly because of the dual-nature of the protagonist. Lacey Flint is a young, hard working detective constable, hiding a secret that could destroy her life. Presenting two sides of the same person, without revealing too much to the reader too early in the book, is proving something of a challenge.

I'll be forced to take a break the next couple of days. I'm off back to the frozen north on a PR tour. I'll be speaking at both Blackburn and Haslingden libraries and will be a guest on BBC Radio Lancashire's Sally Naden show.  I've also been invited to drop into my old school. Imagine, nearly thirty years on and being called back into the headmaster's office. Now that, will be an interesting experience.