Kate Baker lives in Suffolk with two of her biggest fans: her husband and her miniature daschund. Adult children frequently reappear at the farm for meals but know they’re more likely to find their mother typing than cooking (or in her barn workshop repairing horse rugs for clients at her sole-trader business).
Kate wrote terrible holiday diaries as a young teen, which her husband insists she read out loud on regular occasions for entertainment. After many years of no writing, she has recently renewed her love of storytelling, and, in the last three years, has typed two full manuscripts which are waiting to be turned into something readable. Her love of writing short stories is something she has been working on during the pandemic.
‘The Projectionist’ is Kate’s first story to be published with Fairlight Books.
Q: What is the first book you remember reading or having read to you as a child?
A: The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. I treasured the bunny who felt he would only be good enough if he was real. Emotive illustrations by William Nicholson showed me how words can be enhanced by pictures, long before I became a film-lover.
Q: Do you have a favourite quote? (From a book, film, song, speech…)
A: Coco Chanel once said: ‘Don’t be like the rest of them, darling!’
Q: If you could teleport yourself anywhere, real or fictional, where would it be and why?
A: Manderley. I’d hide in Mrs Danver’s closet and make life very difficult for her, because I have a low tolerance to bullies – even those with valid reasons to be so. I would save the shattered ornament and leave positive notes for the second Mrs De Winter. We would become friends and se would share her first name with me and together we would rewrite her story for perhaps one day only. The original is genius and needs to stay!
Frank hadn’t thought about killing anyone for forty years. Not since he’d closed his left eye and looked down the barrel of his Lee Enfield. But sitting in the dark, the projectors’ hum silenced forever, snapshots of an enemy halted gathered behind his eyelids like a gallery of police evidence. He rubbed his face and …