tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58943643373492895072024-03-29T11:03:07.365+00:00Milly Johnson's BlogWitterings of a Barnsley Novelist BirdMilly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-46616896367744874242023-07-16T16:46:00.017+01:002023-08-08T10:41:28.704+01:00Kindness, Acceptance, Peace. <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">I always thought that my ex-husband would die on the 3<sup>rd</sup> September. The lyrics of the song ‘Papa was a Rolling Stone’ were written for him: a stone that rolled his own way who baulked at responsibility and commitment leaving a trail of devastation in his wake. But he didn’t, he died at 2am on Tuesday July 11th, 2023 in Galway hospital. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">He moved to Ireland after we divorced twenty years ago and I haven’t seen him since. Our elder son has only the sketchiest memories, our younger son has none and my ex was never in touch with them – not a card, not a phone call. I heard from him only once when a letter arrived. He had obviously seen me on the TV and it had it inspired him to write a very short note to say as much and sending love to myself and the boys. No address. At least that proved he was alive, news that my beloved father-in-law was desperate for because no one knew for sure: we had no clue where he was. My father-in-law sadly died not knowing because his son hadn't been in touch with him for sixteen years and searches yielded no results. Yes it is possible to fly that low under the radar, even in this day and age. I was always convinced he would turn up when he was in need and as such I have always been on low alert waiting for it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> A month ago I was contacted by someone asking if I had been married to him and a red light was activated. This person told me that my ex didn’t know he’d tried to track me down, but he felt obliged, on his behalf, to tell me that he was very poorly. I turned into a detective that would put Sherlock Holmes to shame to find out what all this was about because I was convinced of an ulterior motive. It stirred up a lot of things because our marriage was a car crash of the highest order, but back then I’d always hoped I could rescue it, and trust me I tried. No one marries expecting to divorce. I wanted us to be forever, but our forever ended short. Even when we divorced, I wanted to keep it civil because the guilt of having been the one to call an end to our marriage weighed heavy on me. I didn’t want our sons to come from a broken home yet I had been the one who filed for divorce. When my Decree Absolute came through – on Halloween – I popped the cork off a bottle of champagne, took the first sip and broke down. That piece of paper represented my failure and I think I’ve been flogging my guts out ever since to make it up to my lads. But I would never have cut their father off from them, he severed those ties and kept them severed. For too many years I’ve been angry at him for taking off without a thought for his lovely father, his brother, his sons without a backward glance at what that level of abandonment might do to them.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> I had barely begun to comprehend that his name was back on my horizon again when he died awaiting a major operation, frail and thin and so ravaged that his friends who had seen him only a short time before couldn’t recognise him. I couldn’t register it, I couldn’t define what I felt. I don’t know why I was so upset, I’m still processing it, still struggling with a situation that sits outside the norm. I can't explain it and I can't understand it, I can only feel it. It isn't anything to do with love, but it is everything to do with loss.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> My ex found his way to a gentle, accepting community in very Irish Ireland. He lived a simple life, labouring on people’s houses, on their land, on a dairy farm, his home a ramshackle lowly dwelling place with a wild feral cat running around for company, enjoying the craic in the local village pub. The few photos I was forwarded by people who knew him show him aged, smiling, as if he’d found his contentment. Trading home comforts for a harder life but one as free as it is possible to get is undoubtedly the highest state he could find: satisfying the ‘here for a good time, not a long time’ adage. People in that community gave him lifts when he needed them, work, companionship, donated clothes and bedding, washed his laundry when he was ill, took him at face value. The couple on the farm fed him when he was poorly at the end, forced him into hospital, cared for him. Then the community arranged his funeral for him, wrote their eulogies, liaised with the priest and turned out en masse to mourn for one of their own in church. We watched the service online and it was humble and touching and yes, they included our names out of their innate goodness. They asked us if it was okay if he stayed in the midst of them, in their churchyard. It was only right and proper than he rested among these wonderful people who had enfolded him. It was a funeral service with the purest sort of kindness at its heart, their consideration has deeply touched me. On his coffin was a photo I’d sent over of him in his younger days looking handsome with that full head of thick hair that he has passed on to his sons. But I don’t recognise this man they will miss. We all refine of course. I hope I’m not the same person I was years ago, I hope I have evolved somewhat from a much rougher copy (and will from this rough copy). He obviously moved away from the man I knew too. Maybe in shedding everything but that which served his basic needs – and that little feral cat running wild about the place – he found all he needed in life. Maybe it was just easier to keep focused on forward than to unknot everything that lay behind him, cut the ropes and let it sink to the depths of the sea that lay between us. Maybe addressing everything was too big, too much and so he reset his whole life and began afresh.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> It is the finality of it that is hard to comprehend for the family he left behind him. I know there was always the lingering hope of a reconciliatory pint, of them being able to talk, which has now been removed and can never be. It is a confusing time. Why else would I be so incensed that he has gone denying his sons a single scrap from his emotional table, worrying about the effect on them, and also poring over pictures of gravestones because I can’t bear to think of him in an unmarked pauper's grave. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> I know the priest is surprised that the quiet man who stood at the back during Mass had chosen such a different life from his ex-wife, who is doing okay at writing books. And she made that happen so she could support her children as a single mum, and had enough material from that marriage to write novels until the pen drops out of her hand at her own end. Books featuring women rising like phoenixes from the ashes of bad relationships. That marriage was rocket fuel for my literary ambitions. The end of us was the beginning of me, and probably the beginning of him too, even if the path he took led to a wilder, harsher terrain.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> There are a lot of feelings here that refuse to sit in pigeon holes. I don’t know what the correct protocol is for a long-divorced ‘not-widow’. There is a template when someone close dies, but this chapter was left out of the textbook. I have few good memories of our time together, they were all snuffed out by the weight of too many bad ones. I have no idea why all this has affected me so much because I can hold (and have held) grudges for decades, trust me, I’m no saint… except to say that I gave birth to his sons, who have the best of him in them, and who I love more than my own life and that link will always be - maybe that is it. My overwhelming feeling is one of sadness, of something ended, even though for me it had ended long ago. And yet it feels now as if it has ended again, but properly this time. Maybe I am worried about the effect of that ending on those I love with all their questions left unanswered. It is impossible to get into someone’s head who thinks so differently from you, who has such opposing values. It was also impossible back then to see someone continually swimming against the tide, taking the path of most resistance when it would have been so easy to go with the flow and I could never work out why he did it. He was an apprentice-trained joiner. He had a trade, a way of living well but he threw that away too. He was a puzzle that defied solving beyond his last breath, the ultimate enigma.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> These are uncharted waters: losing the father of your children. Someone who, apparently, spoke of us fondly to his Irish friends who knew this different version of him. Every time I think I have a grasp of it, it slips away as if greased and it will not be pinned down. He told people about us, but he wouldn't answer any questions. Information given was on his terms only. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">Then I found that letting him go with my forgiveness freed me. There is no longer a need to try and untangle the knotted emotions, I have buried any enmity in its own grave. It is all finally done. There was a weight inside me that I didn’t know I was carrying but now it has gone. I have told my sons to let him go with forgiveness also and move on. Any ends that remained untied, we have to tie off ourselves now, make our own closure. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">It will take the soil on his grave time to settle, in line with our feelings, but settle it will. And I will see to it that there is a stone erected so that one day his sons can go and see his resting place if they choose. It is a marker for what was once but is no more. It is time for us all – living and dead – to be at peace. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p>Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-90202612041519520492023-05-30T13:05:00.004+01:002023-06-02T00:05:50.173+01:00The Power of Nancy<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3nvW0H70NcKI5Iz2jt7oU4M-ItxKAYUKBF-fWBwuBmT0aswsz6AcI4Dfm5HQdF8L7aNnC54KjCCLll6EzOJvmyNT7neu5WWsAafefeqnTtAvixJqL3yRow6mhTPXRFNzVyUsxWH70UvdvnzHaM5NFgW2rxM6ICIrvqMIaW4mi6gj_PUUvfbPfCrn5hQ/s1695/IMG_7255.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1695" data-original-width="1284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3nvW0H70NcKI5Iz2jt7oU4M-ItxKAYUKBF-fWBwuBmT0aswsz6AcI4Dfm5HQdF8L7aNnC54KjCCLll6EzOJvmyNT7neu5WWsAafefeqnTtAvixJqL3yRow6mhTPXRFNzVyUsxWH70UvdvnzHaM5NFgW2rxM6ICIrvqMIaW4mi6gj_PUUvfbPfCrn5hQ/s320/IMG_7255.jpeg" width="242" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>My friend Nancy died last week. I wept buckets. I wept like someone who saw her every day of our lives but the truth was I rarely saw her. We wrote - always a VERY lengthy one at Christmas - and I went to visit her last year, the last time being before Covid. But therein lies the strength of a good friendship, we picked up as if we HAD just seen each other the previous day. And she was never far from my mind because she turns up as a mention every time I do a presentation about my career. </p><p>Our friendship started when I was twenty-five. I lived in Haworth and had secured a job at a local furniture and antiques shop and I was introduced to the three women who I would be working with - Nancy, in her fifties, Sheila in her sixties, Mary in her seventies. My initial thought was 'My god, this is going to be fun working with these old farts' but it WAS the best fun. We called ourselves the Golden Girls. Mary was the flighty Blanche, Sheila was dizzy Rose, Nancy was the pragmatic Dorothy - and it was ME who was the old Sophia, because they were far younger in spirit than I was. We went bowling together, to dinner, to the theatre... they taught me how women's friendship batters down all the barriers of age, background, colour, creed. It was the best lesson of my young life. </p><p><span>The place we worked at well, you had to be there to believe it and a tale for another time, but thirty-odd years later and Nancy and I we were still laughing and coming out in cold sweats at what we experienced there. The big Christmas letter was the one I looked forward to writing and receiving most. But there will be no more. Nancy didn't want me to know she was poorly so it all came as a bolt from the blue and there will be no funeral because she didn't want anyone who barely knew her telling a congregation all about her as if they were best mates and she thought religion caused more problems than it solved. She wanted no fuss. That was her, strong, straight but you can be both of those and also full of joy too and she was. And, when I came to write my books, because of that friendship I had a lot in my scrapbook to draw from. Nancy's first husband was a serial adulterer, she told me, but he couldn't understand why she got upset because 'he saved her for best'. That turned up in a book, I tell you. (And yes, she moved on and met the most wonderful new husband.)</span></p><p><span>So when I read the article in the Mail at the weekend about the rise of 'mid-lit' - and how it had become this summer's literary sensation, my initial thought was 'about bloody time'. It's good that it's now in vogue - plus a double-whammy with some nice press for romantic fiction. But it has been around for quite some time waiting for the sun to shine on it, and there are many novelists out there writing about middle-aged and older women.</span></p><p><span>When I first started writing, I took a chance and wrote a story that was relevant to me rather than the ones I read - and loved - which were mainly set in the south and featured younger women. I was forty and badly in need of a Renaissance after a long drawn-out divorce. I couldn't see books about there about ME, so I wrote them.</span></p><p>My first book, <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-books/the-yorkshire-pudding-club/" target="_blank">The Yorkshire Pudding Club, </a>about three northern women having babies aged forty, was a risk. But it paid off. And it sold because a load of women out there, like me, wanted books that were about women closer to their own age, who'd been kicked around the ring a few times and wanted hope that better things lay ahead. That book came out in 2006. I liked writing about women my own age, I knew what they'd been through, I knew that a few had been whittled away at in life, become doormats, and were ripe for a change of life. But I knew that a lot had gone the other way and embraced getting older, riding the age wave, pushing their boundaries. By this time I was finally free of the husband, I was running my own copyrighting company and doing a lot better than just surviving. Roll back seven years before though and I was standing crying in a corner thinking that if all I was going to have in life was what I already had, I might as well not be here. That low. So I absolutely know that however bad it gets, there is always the prospect of hope, of things getting much better, of reuniting yourself with the path your young self imagined lay in front of them which had some gold on it. As you age you realise sometimes that the gold is actually turds with a lucky light on them. But it doesn't have to be like that. Women have renaissances and when that biological clock hits forty and beyond... it seems to awaken a dragon within that says, 'Time's ticking, I want more.' It happened to me exactly like that. My life now couldn't be more different to how it was back then. I had no connections in this industry, just a hope that I could one day see my name on a book and see that book on a shelf in a shop. Change is scary and messy, but the end result is magnificent and that's why I write about such things.</p><p>I know that Jane Austen wrote about much younger women, but in those days you were finished if you were mid-twenties and hadn't got spliced. So when she writes about women like Anne Elliot, she's more or less writing the equivalent of middle-aged women, past it, heading for old-maid-dom, given a new lease of life. She was ahead of her time. She'd have worn a #RespectRomFic badge.</p><p>Sometimes my characters are younger (I still can remember what it's like to be that), sometimes they are much older than me, I have a wide range of ages in my books because I want to appeal to all readers. And even though I'm not a pensioner (yet), I've had enough friends of that age group to know that they are far from Scrapheap Farm and a switch hasn't been turned on that forces them to start an annual subscription to 'What Denture Paste?' and collecting thimbles. Let's not go down the lazy stereotype route. Women in their sixties don't start calling people dear and checking out retirement homes. They are going pole-dancing (yes some WIs so this) and trying all manner of new things, including internet dating and finding love. My friend is mid-fifties and she's about to climb Kilimanjaro, and not for the first time either. In many cases 'mature' women care less what people think of them which frees them. I was far more paranoid in my twenties than now. And I wear much brighter colours.</p><p>In <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-books/here-come-the-girls/" target="_blank">Here Come The Girls</a>, I have four friends who go on their first cruise for their fortieth birthdays. They're not in the best way, in need of that renaissance. In <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-books/afternoon-tea-at-the-sunflower-cafe/" target="_blank">Afternoon Tea at the Sunflower Cafe</a>, Connie has become prematurely middle-aged, but she finds a fire in her belly when she finds her husband is cheating on her. In <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-books/the-teashop-on-the-corner/" target="_blank">The Teashop on the Corner,</a> one of my main characters Molly is a pensioner who, in <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-books/my-one-true-north/" target="_blank">My One True North</a>, starts up her own business in her seventies. In <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-books/sunshine-over-wildflower-cottage/" target="_blank">Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage</a>, I fought to have my middle-aged characters going through the menopause because 'it wasn't a sexy subject' but I had a feeling it would be. I didn't want their symptoms being shoved under the carpet. I didn't want them to become superwomen either because of something entirely natural, but I did want to acknowledge it happens to women and so it <i>should </i>be mentioned. In <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-books/the-mother-of-all-christmases/" target="_blank">The Mother of All Christmases</a>, Annie has a baby late in life. In <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-woman-in-the-middle/" target="_blank">The Woman in the Middle,</a> I write about Shay, in the sandwich generation, where a massive proportion of women find themselves these days - looking out for adult children, looking after elderly parents, juggling a job, the menopause, housework - and running on empty, squeezed out of their own lives. <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/together-again/" target="_blank">In Together, Again,</a> Jolene is mid-forties and writing about love and romance but desperately unhappy at home. That 'insta-perfect' life jarring with reality. In <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-books/a-summer-fling/" target="_blank">A Summer Fling.</a> one of my early books, there is a cross-generational friendship of women in their 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s. I'll leave you to work out where the inspiration for this one came from. A group of females who are bonded by life, by friendship and give support to each other at work. Yes, my precious Golden Girls group. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1t_HwpSy9yiFKBhuhD7k3jwGIsCLEHB5eEr3JLkxVWwvSeKhDbrPgnVIRMrSxeYLRQglTpM9b6jgngy8eb5InLZKjf77Qo6vtSDoJCVmWW5Qh5_HtKdOo8RkLhrPlwfJH0VBoM8rzHP9c0UgO8T45Z7Z3FPZ5JjaxiAgjF5mDVgnoCE4WjGEbmZWYuw/s912/Screenshot%202023-05-30%20at%2012.56.46.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="912" data-original-width="598" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1t_HwpSy9yiFKBhuhD7k3jwGIsCLEHB5eEr3JLkxVWwvSeKhDbrPgnVIRMrSxeYLRQglTpM9b6jgngy8eb5InLZKjf77Qo6vtSDoJCVmWW5Qh5_HtKdOo8RkLhrPlwfJH0VBoM8rzHP9c0UgO8T45Z7Z3FPZ5JjaxiAgjF5mDVgnoCE4WjGEbmZWYuw/s320/Screenshot%202023-05-30%20at%2012.56.46.png" width="210" /></a></div><p>You don't just stop having sex when you leave your thirties. You don't start buying brogues (although Crocs are blimming marvellous) and wearing twinsets and pearls. Women are having renaissances everywhere. They're being brave and leaving shit marriages and opening their own businesses. And often they find the bravery to do that by reading books in which fictional characters do this, written by writers who have taken their inspiration from real life - so there's a fabulous cycle of reality and fiction feeding each other. And it's a sign of a well-written book that a real person can take inspiration from a fictional person because they feel so authentic. That is the power of 'our books'. </p><p>My lovely Nancy would never have believed the amount of material our friendship gave to me. Or the impact of it on my life, on my career. I will miss her wisdom, cackling over 'that place' we worked at which was as surreal as a Salvador Dali painting. I will miss the joy she gave me and I'll send a great big fat thank you to whatever it was that decided our paths should cross all those years ago. I owe it a pint.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Read the article online <a href="https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-12133817/How-frazzled-fortysomething-woman-summers-literary-sensation.html?fbclid=IwAR0pJKVXQx-3kr3R-XVezl3rKZTcU5U2X6UHtwJJFLu1bKYIs1G9LBg4fiM" target="_blank">here</a>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18D3APKcv5vLL8gkh1TfRaJBkpIKsF_ZVIUhl9Id2CDpgvsgK9Pk4adTS3keHPJai_Gxg1KMcJOrL5bNqyZD2tYInm6_qrPwVW1rjWPlHIaJEXPHSpgddljTMCrsEh62G4yA_1a6bv9bzIR96_6gvXeBo8faTHXi1O5iQdgh5y28eGIRwnTxUI0cNUA/s1662/Screenshot%202023-05-30%20at%2010.58.43.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1550" data-original-width="1662" height="596" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18D3APKcv5vLL8gkh1TfRaJBkpIKsF_ZVIUhl9Id2CDpgvsgK9Pk4adTS3keHPJai_Gxg1KMcJOrL5bNqyZD2tYInm6_qrPwVW1rjWPlHIaJEXPHSpgddljTMCrsEh62G4yA_1a6bv9bzIR96_6gvXeBo8faTHXi1O5iQdgh5y28eGIRwnTxUI0cNUA/w640-h596/Screenshot%202023-05-30%20at%2010.58.43.png" width="640" /></a></div><p></p>Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-60367378890584071722023-01-27T17:17:00.009+00:002024-03-02T16:28:30.474+00:00HOW TO SAY NO AND HOW TO VALUE YOURSELF AS A WRITER<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">At the risk of appearing like an out of season Grinch, I’m going to be saying NO a lot more this year and I’m already uncomfortable with that because it’s a word I’m totally rubbish at using. But over the past years, I’ve said YES too much because it felt easier (at the time) than saying NO. I’ve bust my gut, I’ve not seen friends I wanted to meet up with because I’ve had no space in the diary, I’ve been panicking when things have cropped up with my parents’ ill health that I’ll be away on one of the many committed dates when they needed me, so this year my hand has been forced and I’m going on an intensive NO course. I’m going to grow a backbone, put my big girl pants on, remember that my elastic can only stretch so far. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Also, while we are on the 'wo-manning up' to things, let's throw in the c-word. CASH (almost as dirty as the other c-word). There’s something about cash in this business that makes it so hard to talk about. Other professionals work for money, electricians aren’t hobbyists hoping that someone will fling them some filthy lucre for a job occasionally, they trade their expertise for a wage. So why do writers find money so vulgar, so scary to talk about? Somehow I end up giving so much away for free because it feels icky to broker the subject of cold hard cash. I’m even cringing writing this. Goodness, what will anyone think of me talking about money *vision of a grasping Scrooge looms in my head*. But I’m going to because I think it’s important. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Firstly saying NO, is preferable to me saying YES and then ending up with a big fat MUG painted on my head. While sitting recovering from a seasonal bug recently, I contemplated just how much time I’d wasted because I couldn’t say NO. The amount of occasions when I’ve been cajoled into meeting up with a stranger who ‘wanted to run something past me’. I have no idea what I expected, but I should have said, ‘Run it past me on the telephone’ and ignored their insistence that they needed to do it face to face ‘but it won’t take long’ (it invariably does). So I’ve gone out for coffees or meetings with someone I don't know from Adam and ended up wasting all morning waiting for the big reveal. It’s nearly always a favour, or a crash course in ‘how to write a book’ and I’ve sat there thinking, ‘Why am I here when I haven’t seen my best mate for three months because I've told her I've got no time?’ On one occasion I sat there for two hours listening to a woman telling me how many times she’d seen David Tennant in person because she’d travelled anywhere he might show up, and how much she was in love with him before we got to the nitty-gritty: her daughter at primary school had written a book and she needed help in getting in published. Possibly the longest two hours of my life even though there are many contenders for that title. And though it might be very flattering that someone’s six year old child wants to interview me for their YouTube channel (1 post, 4 views) … need I go on? There's being polite, nice, wanting to encourage... and then there's just doing things because it feels wrong to say NO.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">And when it’s a local person asking somehow that NO word makes it even worse to say because they might think you’re obliged to help coming from the same town and then they’ll tell everyone you are a stuck up arse if you say NO. I do believe that many people who ask a favour think they are the only one who does, not one of twenty that week. And you’d be amazed how many of those requests never feature the word ‘please’. Can I turn up at X's birthday party <i>if I'm not doing anything on Friday </i>and do a speech? Can I send X a signed book because her washing machine has blown up and she's a bit down? Can I mentor someone? You're local, can you advertise my husband's window cleaning business? As a fellow local writer can you read my book and tell me what you think? Can I... can I... can I? So many requests, enough to fill a diary. Please don't be offended by the word NO. I barely have enough time to shave both legs in one sitting doing my day job never mind all the extras. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">As much as I love doing events, I have to be selective. It’s no good doing a seven hour round trip to talk to six people, however lovely they might be, especially when I'm struggling to finish a book or it's main launch period and I need as many sales as I can get so a full hall would be so much better thanks. But – a disclaimer – if I wanted to do that event, because it sounded fun or would allow me to call in on an old friend I haven’t seen for ages, kill two birds with one stone – I am totally at liberty to do it if I wanted to, if it were my free choice. And you have to keep that in your mind: FREE choice, not one that you’ve been manipulated into taking. Beware the manipulations. The amount of times I’ve been asked to be the after-dinner speaker somewhere, often at a ‘charity event’ but as soon as I’ve mentioned a fee and petrol, I never hear from them again. I imagine them pulling their handbags up in disgust that I’ve actually asked for money. Who do I think I am? Note to self, never say YES to anything on the spot, especially when hammered at a social event. You don’t have your diary on you, you can’t possibly say when you are free. You’ll come back to them. Don’t be bullied or pressured or cornered, you do not have to say YES. You do not have to explain why it’s a NO. And if you do say NO, don’t start imagining then that they have stuck a picture of you on a dartboard because you are a nasty, unhelpful, selfish arse. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Sometimes organisers at events might say that they can’t pay a fee because they want to raise as much money as possible for their charity and every penny counts. If it was a charity close to my heart, then I could choose to do it of course. But I have my own charities and they get the free time I have. We can’t all support every charity, we can’t do everything for free. We need to pay bills and eat. Blimey, some celebs charge £10k just for turning up but we’re feeling guilty about a daily rate of a couple of hundred quid (see Society of Author’s guidance - <a href="https://societyofauthors.org/Advice/Rates-Fees" style="color: #954f72;" target="_blank">https://societyofauthors.org/Advice/Rates-Fees</a>). Ticket prices should factor in that cost. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Set out your fee (and your terms - including the 'blue Smarties') from the off because if they're paying you a fee, you're 'worth more' than those who don't take one. This advice is from someone who used to organise lit fests etc. So even if you were going to do it for free, don't. Take the fee and then you donate it if you wish, your choice, but you'll be treated better if you charge. You'll get the respect and the gratitude. Crazy isn't it. Handle it like your PA would handle it. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">This is how weird it gets with us. Imagine an event and the organisers decide upon a well known author who they are sure will spin lots of ticket sales. Their <i>lure. </i>Someone of value. They hope to raise a fortune for charity so they want as many people as possible to attend. But they ask the author to do it for free so that it doesn’t eat into their monies raised for said charity. YET… the printers of the tickets are a business and will make a profit. The bookseller attending will make a profit. The caterers will be paid. The venue will be rented. Hmm. Sometimes they won’t even offer petrol either (so I’m also expected to fork out travel costs to turn up at an event I’m not even getting paid for). ‘BUT we can supply you with tea and coffee all day *smiley face*’ they say. Alas, tea won’t pay my mortgage. Try asking your plumber to mend your radiator in exchange for a cuppa and a Mr Kipling’s French Fancy. I nearly always have to ask what the fee will be when approached to do an event because it isn’t mentioned, as if the hope is I’ll forget if it's glossed over. Sometimes the answer is ‘a token fee of X, although most people waive it’. Ooh, a hint there that I’m possibly being unreasonable for asking - you greedy cow. It’s a breath of fresh air when you’re approached to appear and the fee is transparent from the off. And it’s both respectful and respected. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">My time is money. I have to take time away from my book which is what pays my wage. I have to work at writing a speech and you can’t write those in an hour, some take days. I have to practice, I have to travel to the event. My time is money, did I say? (I have a friend who isn’t even on Twitter because he won’t write ANYTHING he isn’t paid for. And he’s proud of it. And flipping richer than me by a country mile.) </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">I felt a bit manipulated recently when I was asked to do something which would have taken a lot of driving time and appearance time for bugger all recompense apart from enough tea to drown me and so I asked Joanne Harris for some advice because I knew I could rely on her as a wise stick. ‘If you want to support the charity, fine, but expecting you do to it for free without giving you the choice seems exploitative and wrong’ she said. And that her experience of working for free is that all it really gets you is more offers to work… for free. She voiced what I knew already but I wanted someone to tell me that I wasn’t being a grasping bitch. I’m not and we shouldn’t be made to feel that way. Our time is ours to give away as we wish. As is our goodwill. Is there any other profession where people are made to feel like this? I'm already thinking 'dare I publish this'? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Lit festivals never pay a lot, we know this and accept it. But you shouldn’t be out of pocket for attending. Not unless you want to be. There was a new lit fest being launched a couple of years ago by fellow author friends who quite candidly asked if there was any chance I could help kick it off. They couldn't pay and they'd understand if I didn't want. I went, I turned down the nominal £20 towards petrol and I had a whale of a time. It was my choice, no one tried to bully or trick me. It was a wonderful success which means the next time they do it, sponsors will most likely be on board and they'll be able to pay a going rate. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">And here's another bugbear while I'm purging. The amount of times I've trekked to the other side of the country to sign books for a bookseller and they haven't even asked me if I want a cup of coffee or said 'thanks'. I don't go back to those places now. Isn't that a basic courtesy? We even give our window cleaner a can of pop when he's doing my upstairs (not a euphemism). Value value value. Who values us if we don't value ourselves? Once a four hour round trip to a place that couldn't be bothered advertising I was coming so in the two hour stint, six people turned up in total. Not a cuppa was offered. Not a thank you when I left. I thought 'they'll email me'. They didn't. They asked me back the next year. I, dressing it up in politeness, said that last year was a bit disappointing and why that was. I hoped for a 'Oh goodness, I'm so sorry. Let us put that right.' I got only silence and a big ball of tumbleweed blowing past my desk.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">At a very early in my career event with a small readers’ group in Barnsley, a lady slid a tenner across the table to me and said ‘You’re a professional, you have to start charging’. She was right. Do an event for the WI and they pay you, let you sell your books and fill you up with butterfly buns. Fed, watered, good PR job, financially recompensed. Might not be a fortune - £50-£90 as a rough guide, but they're great. And they pass your details around to other WIs. Proper respect, proper value. By doing things for free, I’m not helping any solidarity with my fellow authors. It shouldn't be a shock to anyone to presume we should be paid for a job. It’s not greed, I’m a businesswoman not someone farting around on a typewriter for a laugh. Neither am I Elon Musk who is loaded enough to give up his time for nothing because he doesn’t have a mortgage and he doesn't care that his heating bills have tripled. Except he wouldn’t give his services gratis, he’d charge and want more than a cuppa as an appearance fee, because that’s how business works. No one would say, 'I can't believe Mr Musk has asked for plane fare and a hotel to come and talk to us about space!' It would be entirely expected. So why isn't it with us authors? If we are valued enough to be asked to do something, we should be valued enough to be given proper recompense for it. Raise the money question at the beginning like a business person would. It's a JOB. If you enquire about serving your boiler and the gasman then says 'It's £140' you don't slam the phone down and say 'Well, I can't believe he's mentioned a cost. How dare he, the greedy twat.'</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Say NO whenever you want to. It’s not illegal. You are running things, they aren’t running you. Unless you let them and if you are - stop now. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">Good luck. </p>Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-64319685343114138702022-09-06T12:38:00.023+01:002022-09-06T13:00:59.160+01:00A Book Full of Jolly Japes you say? Oh F...flip!<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> When I asked my publisher what were the hot new trends in the book market, she answered 'joy and cheerfulness' and I thought 'GREAT' because my new book is set between a death and a funeral and features some very dark themes.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But...</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Also in her list of 'wants' was the word 'hope' which I consider an essential in books of my genre. You can drag a reader over hot coals, but you must leave them with hope that we can overcome just about anything. This is what our readers want, some of them even need it because they look for guidance in our words.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It's the fault of a lady I was sitting with at an event why <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/together-again/" target="_blank">Together, Again </a>turned out the way it did. She was sweet, ordinary - in the nicest way, warm, the sort of person you think would be an affectionate mother and granny. And as we chatted, our discussion got very deep. I have a theory that people like to tell authors their stories, not because they want them turned into a book but because they feel understood, because we deal with big issues sensitively and with insight and they sense that we are safe places (that may be bollocks of course). But certainly in my experience, people I talk to tell me their innermost secrets even though I have just warned them that I harvest any information that may be given to me. Anyway, the story she told me of her early life was horrendous. A mother who pimped her out to her boyfriends, who was cold to her but strangely much warmer to her brothers. Only one day of the year - Christmas - did her mother defrost and she was given a load of presents... that promptly disappeared on Boxing Day. She left home when was just sixteen and has never seen her mother since. Yet she confessed she loved her mother and people couldn't understand that. I got it. Something inside us tries to compel the force of shared blood and though we may feel love for something, we may have to resist having to do something about it. We are often at war with our feelings. Our heads and hearts are not always congruent.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I felt as if it was a story I had to write, even if the market was crying out for jolly japes. My last book - <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-woman-in-the-middle/" target="_blank">The Woman in the Middle </a>- was about a loving family, a matriarch who would kill for her offspring. What fun to write the total flip side of that, about a narcissist mother who had children for reasons other than to love them and care for them. To have a family who had everything on paper to those looking in, but for the children to be starved of that most essential of nourishment growing up - love.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdxaegV-cWllyjSvSItn4GQevApsi6NBRaXBOCCFisrBuI-bvEDLfqsLh0NMuFP9cxYK5GNuXF3QpVGnR_v3YgCZjDh9huDURImLqRESj4Eaoc3R8wxWfEBE5Wgd-PVirI46XxJz-fEP4I38axYwTEJBPTtYOzXMSERg3eOmUXtfs28DwG7_qocbAdw/s1008/Screenshot%202022-08-31%20at%2014.25.49.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="1008" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdxaegV-cWllyjSvSItn4GQevApsi6NBRaXBOCCFisrBuI-bvEDLfqsLh0NMuFP9cxYK5GNuXF3QpVGnR_v3YgCZjDh9huDURImLqRESj4Eaoc3R8wxWfEBE5Wgd-PVirI46XxJz-fEP4I38axYwTEJBPTtYOzXMSERg3eOmUXtfs28DwG7_qocbAdw/w400-h269/Screenshot%202022-08-31%20at%2014.25.49.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And more importantly, as the three girls grow up, feeling they are failures from the off, what are the repercussions of such a childhood, born to parents who create them but can't be bothered putting anything but minimal effort into them? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There are many who blame their present failures for their backgrounds, but there are more who are determined to shake them off, to never put their own children what they went through and that requires a lot of will because the propensity must be to repeat patterns, exhibit learned behaviour. The woman I spoke to over tea and scones showered her family with the love she never had. She might have classed herself as someone unspectacular but I marvelled at the resilience and strength I doubt she even knew she possessed. She was an embodiment of hope that children can come through the most horrific upbringing and rise from the ashes like a magnificent phoenix. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, my story is about three women who have never really bonded because they were born seven years apart and what happens to them when they are free from the shadow of their mother, even though she continues to play with their heads from beyond the grave - an enigma to the last. It pulled the lungs from me writing it, I couldn't get it right at first and I was frightened I had attempted something beyond my capabilities. I could see what I wanted to do, but I couldn't get to it. Then I met that lady and everything just slotted into place.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I had a LOT of letters from readers about The Woman in the Middle because it touched a nerve with so many of them that they were women in the middle, swimming in a sea of familial duty and feeling as if they were getting nowhere, and berating themselves for everything they got wrong yet ignoring everything they got right. I am preparing for many letters from people who read Together, Again and recognise themselves in the pages - sadly. And I just hope their letters tell me that they too have survived and become strong and found happiness. Because it's more than possible for any wound to heal, to escape the past, savour the freedom of the present and look forward to the future.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Together, Again is Milly's 20th novel. Please check out her <a href="http://www.millyjohnson.co.uk" target="_blank">website </a>for <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/main-news/" target="_blank">news</a>, <a href="http://www.millyjohnson.co.uk/appearances/" target="_blank">appearance dates,</a> how to get hold of signed copies. </i></b></span></div><p><br /></p>Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-2043271172503131822022-06-12T13:06:00.004+01:002022-06-14T11:31:40.036+01:00HRT or Not HRT - That is the Question<p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6XKGY2lmaBExwb6JZ09uE5o8RjW63u-BrWah1PXQEUPiGQM9k9wqvv7XK8gU95AbN1s-qKeMpoU1yWanffSYWFsj2ei9EbP62kFKWY4tWFk7hgIuaZCWjU_u-jofA0vHetY96dt3n6wEJ6dq9UgEGLygwI8xPh3ahwgzgPu7DDOd5rjQrFzbtZSrRQ/s1578/IMG_2005.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1501" data-original-width="1578" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6XKGY2lmaBExwb6JZ09uE5o8RjW63u-BrWah1PXQEUPiGQM9k9wqvv7XK8gU95AbN1s-qKeMpoU1yWanffSYWFsj2ei9EbP62kFKWY4tWFk7hgIuaZCWjU_u-jofA0vHetY96dt3n6wEJ6dq9UgEGLygwI8xPh3ahwgzgPu7DDOd5rjQrFzbtZSrRQ/w400-h380/IMG_2005.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-OsTT71JAx8H4XaIs9hSlh3wlIIwnA89MRDRM4VjY4cf8JDDhhO-gihdUaNc_7hcpugAhV8-f8D6DQhXcE1UBZalXznGPX5wZI5TRTYB-_-QbxT4SzDGzaOAHci2au4IlUwuSDfM_7CGny7bY1xiXblt80LIlza_uqoyzlp-KZZKtYakP_8M91cLhA/s3023/IMG_2006.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1534" data-original-width="3023" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-OsTT71JAx8H4XaIs9hSlh3wlIIwnA89MRDRM4VjY4cf8JDDhhO-gihdUaNc_7hcpugAhV8-f8D6DQhXcE1UBZalXznGPX5wZI5TRTYB-_-QbxT4SzDGzaOAHci2au4IlUwuSDfM_7CGny7bY1xiXblt80LIlza_uqoyzlp-KZZKtYakP_8M91cLhA/w640-h324/IMG_2006.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So yesterday this appeared in the Daily Mail and eyes rolled everywhere in our writing community. There are two issues of course. The first is that there is a misconception that there are no books out there for women of a certain age, featuring women of a certain age. The dawn of a 'new genre' - sorry, loves, that sun isn't just peeping over the horizon, it's been shining brightly for years. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When I started, though I enjoyed reading books about twentysomethings... they were no longer relevant to me and I wanted to write books for women like me who I could identify with: sparky women of forty, fifty, six, even seventy. Strong women, not 'nana's who crocheted incessantly while chomping on Wethers Originals, but who had sex and fun and were chiselled from wisdom and experience. There are LOADS of great books out there written by my big name contemporaries that champion older women and for this article to say 'new genre' sticks in my craw because it's as if they aren't even on the radar!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The second issue is 'the menopause'. Yes we know middle-aged women go through it. It's like Covid though - you can skirt over the issue or acknowledge it. In one of my books, I did feature it. A group of 'Old Spice Girls' in my <a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-books/sunshine-over-wildflower-cottage/" target="_blank">Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage</a>. I wanted to talk about it because I sensed a tide turning. That said, it was never more about their hot sweats than the women themselves. THEY took centre stage, not their symptoms (though some made for good comic effects).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The book featured in the article 'The Change' is excellent. I was sent an advance copy and I enjoyed it. It's got a lot more to it than just women going through a natural stage in their life, there's magic in the pages - literally - and I hope it does brilliantly, I'm sure it will. BUT Clare Hey, who is my editor and mentioned in the article is absolutely right that S & S are proud to publish older female authors writing for and about women our own age because I've been with them from the beginning and I know this for a fact.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Women in our books walk tall and are comfortable in their own skin anyway without needing the menopause to empower them. I suppose there will be people reading the article and already penning their menopause thrillers and maybe that's what the market wants. But is this just the flip side of the 'chick lit' tag? Will it spawn a whole library of books focusing on memory loss, bloating and er... memory loss rather than strong characterisation and plot because if you chuck some Tenaladys in, no one will notice the lack of them? Do you have to throw in a daily dose of HRT to make your women strong? Are they competent because of the menopause or in spite of it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I think Ronnie Henry had the perfect comment on this whole thing. She said that she 'likes her women to be defined by a bit more than their hormones, though obviously that can be part of their make-up. But they are more than hot flushes and mood swings.' </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There you have it. If the menopause has to feature, let it not absorb all the interest or we are heading for 'chick-lit II' and - dear god - we really don't want that. We've enough battles on our hands to be taken seriously! I'm waiting for the male writers to catch on and write the equivalent. 'Dan is on the trail of a serial killer. He was a second rate cop but since his prostate started to swell, he finds his detective skills have sharpened...' Or maybe 'The Saturday Erectile Dysfunction Club - four men who... ' I can't even be bothered finishing off that sentence. Suffice to say, I somehow don't think that's going to happen.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And should you want some books that feature older women who aren't dotty drips groping for their calcium supplements... </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Christmas at the Beach Hunt - Veronica Henry - a plot driven by menopausal women running away from Christmas</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The Singles Series - Elaine Spires - the series follows a peri menopausal woman Eve who takes groups of tourists all over the world while living her best life. </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>A Scandinavian Summer - Helga Jensen-Forde - whose books always feature over 45s</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The Library, The Girls - Bella Osborne - both books have fabulous older women as lead characters</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Sunshine and Second Chances - Kim Nash - is about 4 x 50 year olds going away to celebrate their joint birthdays</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Her Last Holiday - CL Taylor - a thriller with a 52 year old main character</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Elaine Everest books - who writes about older women in her sagas as they are so colourful and worldly wise</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Cathy Bramley, Jill Mansell, Jo Thomas, Catherine Jones, Katie Fforde, Judy Astley - all write fabulous mature women</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The Old Girls' Network - Judy Lee</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The Spa Break - Caroline James - '70 is the new 40'</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Five French Hens - Judy Leigh - 5 women in their 70s on a hen do in Paris. </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Karin Trunk Holmqvist - a Swedish author who writes about older people, books which are funny as well as wise.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The Winter of Second Chances - Jenny Bayliss - a fab book about a menopausal woman starting over.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Alex Brown - whose last TEN books all have older heroines</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Woman of a Certain Rage - by Georgie Hall</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Mental Pause - Anne Louise O'Connell - a thriller about a woman going through the menopause who is accused of murder</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>So... not really a 'new genre' then eh? </b></span></div><p></p>Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-34428585288902272812021-11-29T13:15:00.028+00:002022-09-13T10:28:17.500+01:00Nothing to See Here Folks, Just Women Writing Fiction. Do Move Along...<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The world of publishing is terrified of coming across as discriminatory in this age of equality for all. It is rightly important that everyone is represented. Unless you happen to be a woman writing ‘popular’ fiction, genre fiction, if you like, contemporary stories, romance, historical, sagas. Then you might as well grab yourself a sackcloth and a bell and roam the streets calling ‘Unclean, unclean’ ahead of you. Misogyny is alive and kicking in our world, though it pretends it isn't.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Only recently Phillipa Ashley and I were having a convo. 'Why don't the telly have a popular fiction series with the big selling books people really buy and interviews with authors in their homes/hometowns and some sneaky looks at the world of publishing and bookselling and supermarket books? They could visit creative writing classes for real people, or go to a book festival, like in Cannock?' she said (she set up the Cannock Chase book festival and it was fabulous!). 'No posh elitist stuff'. She put a worm in my brain that great to the size of a giant anaconda. The pair of us have been batting back and forwards ideas, as well as frustrations. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Take this week. Someone came out on Twitter to say that she watched the Sara Cox book show because she likes <i>her</i> personally, but... (see below)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuTAKCOJbbHvC6bM9q5K32eV5_i5BItimgEirBsnPyv3IP2GOaGVbi1QMKK7tBe7D-Mt9keYtNq-ZXw_6rU8I-pdZ1QgfK-fHB8TMi9YKn36T77SbPQepp9ovCOCsq9TDL93tcgSA5LGCi/s774/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+18.20.44.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="774" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuTAKCOJbbHvC6bM9q5K32eV5_i5BItimgEirBsnPyv3IP2GOaGVbi1QMKK7tBe7D-Mt9keYtNq-ZXw_6rU8I-pdZ1QgfK-fHB8TMi9YKn36T77SbPQepp9ovCOCsq9TDL93tcgSA5LGCi/w400-h209/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+18.20.44.png" width="400" /></span></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitsKCQzwosH8kmPgsYLkFU1cumIwvQ31U6A0gb3MBEpo086zEW-w3OOU_vtEX2yj5fZuGXuyDtrTpWJPela9pyMAEbaBvkbBupbxTxzb0MHcbwqbTfxMOWJXQs6zxXh6k06-64C5Jiy70G/s754/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+18.20.50.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="754" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitsKCQzwosH8kmPgsYLkFU1cumIwvQ31U6A0gb3MBEpo086zEW-w3OOU_vtEX2yj5fZuGXuyDtrTpWJPela9pyMAEbaBvkbBupbxTxzb0MHcbwqbTfxMOWJXQs6zxXh6k06-64C5Jiy70G/w400-h223/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+18.20.50.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">That kicked a nest full of hornets. Why indeed? What is it about our books that terrifies presenters from featuring them? Do they think that they’ll be laughed at by the cool kids for daring to advertise a book full of wisdom and wit that features that stuff of life we all crave – romance (and though it’s classified as romance, sometimes the big love story is about a community coming together or friendship). Will these presenters or journos reveal themselves as inferior beings for choosing a book for their show/publication that doesn’t have a serial killer in it? It is a question not even Stephen Hawking could have answered with all the might of his knowledge: why are our crafted books seen as ‘lesser’?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We have a lot of support from some fabulous journos, it has to be said. Some of the magazines out there are shining stars of generosity, thank goodness. They aren’t afraid to feature crime books too, but then no one is. And yet, for many, there is a reticence, a terror about applauding one of our books publicly especially if they feature women on the cover. Guess what – we have male readers as well, folks. And they say we write ‘men’ every bit as good as men do. Go us!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A couple of years ago I was invited onto a radio programme with Eamonn Holmes to talk about prizes and book shows that totally ignore us. It was, what Mother Teresa might have called ‘a shit show’. I was led to believe I was being guided onto a sympathetic platform to make a case: ‘Why can't we have a show for genre fiction? Why does every book show have to be so blimming highbrow when we know our readers want to hear about US?' I'm doing all right, I'm in supermarkets and bookshops and I get my fair share of PR, but plenty of good authors aren't and they're caught up in a vicious circle of needing to get into bookshops/supermarkets to get exposure, but need the exposure to get into the shops. So chagrin was in plentiful supply as I was told with a snigger that I ‘probably write the sorts of books that are made into films that come out just before Christmas and always feature a lumberjack’. Totally dissed the whole genre, while worshipping at the shrine of his other guest Marian Keyes WHO WRITES THE SAME BOOKS WE DO. When Marian said she knew my books, EH was HORRIFIED that she could mix with the likes of such a lower caste. The irony was that he galvanised every prejudice I had gone onto the programme to prove existed and wanted to break down. Disappointing wasn’t the word, he could have done a lot of good there. An opportunity totally wasted. Just an excuse to use up some excess tomatoes that needed throwing at an upstart author, albeit one who's shifted millions of books, who the researcher hadn't even bothered to look up. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The sniffy people see our books as fluff, insubstantial, 'chick-lit' (oh please - think of something more original!) but maybe they should see them as the big business they are, as oil in the wheels of the industry machine, that keep it going so it can give out fat advances to authors of literary fiction who won’t earn it out. We make profit. No one gives us publishing deals because they feel obliged to. During the pandemic our figures soared as people wanted the dear familiarity of human contact and company and simple pleasures such as going out for some cake and they couldn’t do it in reality, so plumped for it virtually. They wrote more letters to us than usual – and that’s quite a quantity. T<i>hank you for keeping me sane. Thank you for giving me my reading mojo back. Thank you for the escapism, for helping my destroyed mental health, for keeping me company during a long night shift on the ward.</i> The letters make me cry a lot. They can be heartbreaking. We don’t write books to change people’s lives but sometimes that happens as a surprising byproduct. We write templates of happy lives for people who sometimes follow in the footsteps of our fictional characters and realise that with a few small, but essential changes, they can alter a lot they are unhappy with and make it so much better. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We aren't sniffy about other genres, 'My goodness, a story featuring a talking cat, how ridiculous!' (<a href="ttps://www.amazon.co.uk/Last-House-Needless-Street-masterpiece-ebook/dp/B08DD2RFPD/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=the+house+on+needless+street&qid=1638194376&s=digital-text&sr=1-1" target="_blank">The Last House on Needless Street,</a> incidentally. Read it, it's amazing!) Reading is subjective, there are books for all tastes and exposure should reflect that. It's not for programme makers to censure what people enjoy and want. Give them a wide selection. Give them literary and crime and humour and romance. Chuck in a saga or a good wartime novel.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio4_HWZJUL6FDOKCrn45OLyoY2tJxQymzupSiYVXYPSJF7m2jKV9BGnfwbhi6CVO7hG2SzGqxME4A664uNVHrG3lrjbPDYqBI-B2BUnAarLbIuJNNMAf4ZJ1KsIOcP_391BK3zaWBz1qSd/s1860/208ED4F2-D59C-4603-85A3-5EB4369857A0_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1860" data-original-width="1794" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio4_HWZJUL6FDOKCrn45OLyoY2tJxQymzupSiYVXYPSJF7m2jKV9BGnfwbhi6CVO7hG2SzGqxME4A664uNVHrG3lrjbPDYqBI-B2BUnAarLbIuJNNMAf4ZJ1KsIOcP_391BK3zaWBz1qSd/w386-h400/208ED4F2-D59C-4603-85A3-5EB4369857A0_1_201_a.jpeg" width="386" /></span></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Last week I sold 7660 paperbacks, only Richard Osman sold more in fiction paperbacks. No mention though of the northern oik impudent female who reached her highest chart position on the Sunday Times bestseller list, especially at this time of year where a sea of big names and celebrities have their books out jostling for space on the shelves. At number nine on the list Phillipa Ashley with her ‘A Special Cornish Christmas’, over six and a half thousand sold. Cathy Bramley and her ‘A Merry Christmas Project’ top of the Amazon charts… Jenny Colgan on the New York Times Best seller list, Trisha Ashley storming it with a hardback, Nicola May who made the publishing trade mag acknowledge her astronomical self-published sales figures and those who came after her … and more names. Every one of these a businesswoman a driven, powerhouse of grit and determination and luckily a backbone of iron.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Oh and if you're thinking 'She's just pissed off that she didn't get a mention.' Too right I am. Because I would have if I hadn't written in my genre and that is my whole point.' I don't need that exposure - I have the love and support of my readers, but it would have been nice and I deserve it - this is a great achievement for me...'<i>And snapping at the heels of Richard Osman is literary writer MJ with a startling X sales this week with her book about being snowed in.'</i> And much as I do love RO, he's been plugging up the top spot so much, I really don't need to read every week that he's still clinging onto the gold with his perma-photo, I'll take it as standard until he's not. I want to hear about X who has written a book about a Christmas market and has thudded into the number seven spot. Where has she come from? What's her back story? Why have I been reading The Bookseller for X years and can't remember the last time a romance writer had a profile piece done about her, apart from Jojo Moyes who has become so massive she is impossible to bypass? Is this the only way then - to get so big they can't ignore you? How it riles when you'll find so many profile pieces on literary writers to box tick, many debut. No debut female romance novelists though. Nor seasoned ones. Rarer than unicorn turds.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">(update from the week after... that line about a mention if I'd been a man writing something 'serious' - called it!)</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UfBpn4sdyAeu7WZ4KyrO_2pWQvLUHW7QSddpC1R6jUhzfHBNePUYSBma8lf26gQQ3YY_zIgigJcOPYsT1bTJ_zJIq2bHzkU1huN0-fwqjODvdUTCUmqNzS39L2L1Gu-EaWqH2nEWVt3c/s1242/124731AD-F0B9-4BA0-9D1A-ECD1B7E52106_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="1242" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UfBpn4sdyAeu7WZ4KyrO_2pWQvLUHW7QSddpC1R6jUhzfHBNePUYSBma8lf26gQQ3YY_zIgigJcOPYsT1bTJ_zJIq2bHzkU1huN0-fwqjODvdUTCUmqNzS39L2L1Gu-EaWqH2nEWVt3c/s320/124731AD-F0B9-4BA0-9D1A-ECD1B7E52106_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And don't get me started on libraries - you know the places that some would have you believe aren't used any more. Well in the past year my books have been borrowed almost 220,000 times. That's just one romance author... And there are many more popular than me. Why is it so wrong to want to be entertained? No one looks down on Netflix (quite the opposite) - the sole purpose of which is to... entertain!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The Bookseller British Book Seller industry award 'The Nibbies' recently introduced a Crime category. No romance. Maybe as a concession they then introduced 'The Page Turner' award. Nice and vague which allows us to hope we might get on it, allows them to pick us. Guess how many female romantic authors appeared on the shortlist? Actually it's boring even as a game now so I'll tell you. Nil. (Update: this year's Pageturners included a hefty dollop of our genre. There's a change in the air...)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Guess what, world, there is a massive appetite for our books! Especially Christmas books written to lift and entertain. And yet the newspapers filled their pages this week with the ‘best books to buy for presents’ and not a mention of any of ours. Do we not fit in Christmas stockings? Are our corners too spiky? Because, as a reader as well as a writer, I’d like to find a book written by one of my peers in my Christmas pile please, Santa. I want to hole up for a few days and immerse myself in a lovely feelgood well-written story that whisks me away while I’m drinking my Baileys. And judging by how fast our books are flying off the physical and virtual shelves at the moment, so do readers. Which leads me ask, who are those ‘lists of must-read books’ written for? Do people who read the ‘posh papers’ not also read popular fiction? Shouldn’t the press serve the readers who want to know about the books of our genre which are available to buy? Are they actually in touch with the people who read their pages? Are the authors of these books of less interest than those who write literary fiction? </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Diss the novels and you diss the readers who buy these books. Who are they to decide what their readers might like, after all reading is so subjective. One of the Hairy Bikers reads everything I put out there; I'm his 'guilty pleasure' he tells me. Plus what message are we giving out to future writers? That if they choose to write books that people in their millions love that they’re not actually aiming very high? That’s one hell of a mixed message.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-NlytPoKjQgChCD8cU9Zsu3V-TPn09Llu4zNRHSqoKPqwJPfvgWlYZSRq8XnnyJq4d22o-VEJX6QEKkG0qku1c9xGlKR-n6qDVn4bpx72K6B4z9j9kA7G4haYYWtmq8hKTr4T10rFYd-/s1308/IMG_8915.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1308" data-original-width="611" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-NlytPoKjQgChCD8cU9Zsu3V-TPn09Llu4zNRHSqoKPqwJPfvgWlYZSRq8XnnyJq4d22o-VEJX6QEKkG0qku1c9xGlKR-n6qDVn4bpx72K6B4z9j9kA7G4haYYWtmq8hKTr4T10rFYd-/w298-h640/IMG_8915.jpg" width="298" /></a><span style="font-family: arial; text-align: left;"> </span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This industry can be ridiculously middle-class and prejudicial ... and cruel and short-sighted. Women writing Christmas fiction in the Sunday Times best seller list? Move along please, nothing to see here, folks. What sums it up is an observation of Phillipa’s, given that the Sunday Times narrative at the side of its lists this week prefers to celebrate ‘Greg the Sausage Roll’ and ‘The Shiit Workout – a parody fitness book telling you to tone up while on the loo’. Phillipa said, ‘Who knows, we might even be considered literary next to books about shit and a sausage roll’. Sadly no; that’s too much of a stretch, Pip… even in the world of fiction! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">************</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And just in case you were interested... here are just some of the season's pick of books that you SHOULD be seeing featured more! Written by women at the top of their game, Sunday Times bestsellers, multi-million sales, intelligent, brilliant and thoroughly wonderful novelists at with hearts as big as their talent. Click on the title to read more about them. Let yourself be seduced by a blurb. You won't fancy them all, but you'll definitely be drawn to some - and others will be drawn to others, because, as I said, we all like different books, but all books are liked by someone. I've found some authors just by chancing my arm, widening my reading comfort zone and you may find your new favourite below. So browse, buy see what else these fabulous creatures write ... and treat yourself or a loved one. Maybe both!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">(in no particular order at all because they all should be first ..) </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Phillipa-Ashley-Untitled-Book-4/dp/0008371660/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638186462&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">A Special Cornish Christmas</span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">by Phillipa Ashley</span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIocAW-LN04XFi5J11DAUiaNWOIEJff7PCdKp1IVYaUvX-Pp1-SidyVLbTnXlGbGLd4cn7_BL3PKvWtBi1_eDVkzwj-om_Xf3Y4zaPTgmqcjxWIuUvdX50UZi42MQtMMdBTyFUYm8hflFc/s1462/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.48.16.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1462" data-original-width="972" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIocAW-LN04XFi5J11DAUiaNWOIEJff7PCdKp1IVYaUvX-Pp1-SidyVLbTnXlGbGLd4cn7_BL3PKvWtBi1_eDVkzwj-om_Xf3Y4zaPTgmqcjxWIuUvdX50UZi42MQtMMdBTyFUYm8hflFc/w266-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.48.16.png" width="266" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial; font-weight: 700;">For Bo Grayson, Christmas has always been the most wonderful time of the year. Well, until she had her heart broken last December…</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When <span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;">Bo Grayson</span> and her friends meet a mysterious fortune teller, she gives each woman the same prediction: <span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic;">You will meet the love of your life by Christmas Day.</span></span></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But Bo quickly dismisses this as nonsense. And with the festive season in full swing, she has plenty to keep her busy: creating the seasonal menu for her Boatyard Café, getting her rock and roll dance group ready for their Christmas show – and avoiding thinking about last December, when her fortune took a turn for the worse…</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Besides, she definitely isn’t ready to open her heart again.<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"> But will fate – and perhaps a sprinkle of Christmas magic – change her mind?</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Celebrations-Chateau-feel-good-cosy-autumn-ebook/dp/B091C8WP38/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=celebrations+at+the+chateau&qid=1638187241&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Celebrations at the Chateau</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Jo Thomas</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6va_lO04zveF1Bp0xyXRY6pEmpr3CTGycu9LcCjke1t4n2TGNLlmCv6jsAenGNlvTn50JKLcmL0mWfdx-Sm3ocGb4LAWo_rgLbW_voTDVkPcaFw6MekggBwwK6T2rL6Pfe1qy5-cMlcs/s1472/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.54.20.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1472" data-original-width="946" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6va_lO04zveF1Bp0xyXRY6pEmpr3CTGycu9LcCjke1t4n2TGNLlmCv6jsAenGNlvTn50JKLcmL0mWfdx-Sm3ocGb4LAWo_rgLbW_voTDVkPcaFw6MekggBwwK6T2rL6Pfe1qy5-cMlcs/w258-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.54.20.png" width="258" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">When their grandfather dies, Fliss and her sisters are astonished to inherit a French chateau! Travelling to Normandy to visit the beautiful if faded house, they excitedly make plans over delicious crepes and local cider in the town nearby.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">They soon discover the chateau needs major work and a huge tax bill is due . . . Unable to sell but strapped for cash, Fliss determines to spruce up the elegant old rooms and open a B&B.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">But Jacques, the handsome town mayor, is opposed to her plan. When it becomes clear that the only way to save the magnificent castle is to work together, Jacques and Fliss discover that they have more in common than they think...</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Snowed-You-Penny-Parkes/dp/1398508438/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Penny+Parkes+snowed+in+with+you&qid=1638187574&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Snowed In With You</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Penny Parkes</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdwMSVigNMUCf0kGJ00lQ5KrgL6-a6xsyI4PAK1Sz65C0j77T4TpC7QuvvjvhQi628NaHvEZc0lAike2sks3ikjUd9YKXcBfh2sy9ndjMFYAUNxPpyCwd84VNZ4THldAiNMeBjaeku5j8P/s1472/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.57.01.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1472" data-original-width="972" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdwMSVigNMUCf0kGJ00lQ5KrgL6-a6xsyI4PAK1Sz65C0j77T4TpC7QuvvjvhQi628NaHvEZc0lAike2sks3ikjUd9YKXcBfh2sy9ndjMFYAUNxPpyCwd84VNZ4THldAiNMeBjaeku5j8P/w264-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.57.01.png" width="264" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-weight: 700; text-align: start;">Larkford Surgery is the heart of a tightknit community in the Cotswolds, as well as a hotbed of drama, rivalry, resentment and romance - and that's just the doctors …</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"> </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-weight: 700; text-align: start;">Dr Holly Graham </span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">has just had twins and is finding life exhausting. Even with husband </span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-weight: 700; text-align: start;">Dr Taffy Jones </span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">and devoted friend </span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-weight: 700; text-align: start;">Elsie </span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">by her side, she is completely outnumbered. Making the transition back to work will be no easy feat but then an unexpected job offer changes everything.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"> </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Her maternity cover, </span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-weight: 700; text-align: start;">Dr Tilly Grainger</span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">, has arrived in from South America to cover but it seems that she isn’t finding life in the peaceful Cotswolds valley as rewarding as she’d hoped, and she is causing chaos.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"> </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Then widower and former rock star Connor arrives in Larkford, ready for a new start. He’s not sure how he will fit in with his new tightknit community. Has he made a mistake leaving his old life behind, or will he find exactly what he’s looking for in the beauty of the Cotswolds?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Beginners-ultimate-festive-bestseller-ebook/dp/B08CKKBX9R/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638188940&sr=8-1-spons" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Christmas For Beginners</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Carole Matthews</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkqEK7N9oNBggmHi5p04mx-VDEoyrj1oxpi05twES4pt9LTeVM_ElhHdJAhA_JopoweRer__X1dhvT4osUi8bpwjvDfwAhvLHMgxINIxqqj-xYD-Ems0TWGgMsEAqjMUci6UbydUAyUgqF/s1470/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.29.16.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1470" data-original-width="958" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkqEK7N9oNBggmHi5p04mx-VDEoyrj1oxpi05twES4pt9LTeVM_ElhHdJAhA_JopoweRer__X1dhvT4osUi8bpwjvDfwAhvLHMgxINIxqqj-xYD-Ems0TWGgMsEAqjMUci6UbydUAyUgqF/w261-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.29.16.png" width="261" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Christmas is fast approaching at the new Hope Farm. Owner Molly Baker has been convinced to organise an open day to raise some much-needed funds ahead of the New Year, but the nativity tableau is proving challenging. With anti-social sheep, awkward alpacas and a seriously sequined Santa Claus to assemble, Molly is feeling overwhelmed, and in desperate need of some Christmas spirit . . .</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Despite the chaos of the farm getting in the way of her event planning, Molly is looking forward to spending the holidays with boyfriend Shelby and his son, Lucas, hopeful that a happy family Christmas is exactly what they need to draw them all together. But while she is busy making plans on the farm, Shelby, it seems, has ideas of his own.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">As the nativity draws near, the team are working hard to pull off a spectacular festive fete - and make sure the animals and humans remain on their best behaviour.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Will this Christmas be merry and bright... or is there more than one surprise in store for Molly and Hope Farm?</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Merry-Christmas-Project-feel-good-bestseller-ebook/dp/B08QYL38C8/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Cathy+Bramley&qid=1638187656&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">The Merry Christmas Project</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Cathy Bramley</span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px;" /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5MOT_VNRvjoOfNmLy0WE1WuZ7chF37eKvsm76uvM9E5eEvfCESbO2SbngszfFXHbKtmFpHeLT2I5ud1s3WeycyAsVd-S1YFdmklUebshVXI78mpDqNxrKcdr8n-TJU5D-FX2ieNF-fJ_O/s748/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.57.54.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="492" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5MOT_VNRvjoOfNmLy0WE1WuZ7chF37eKvsm76uvM9E5eEvfCESbO2SbngszfFXHbKtmFpHeLT2I5ud1s3WeycyAsVd-S1YFdmklUebshVXI78mpDqNxrKcdr8n-TJU5D-FX2ieNF-fJ_O/w263-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.57.54.png" width="263" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;">Christmas has always meant something special to Merry - even without a family of her own. This year, her heart might be broken but her new candle business is booming. The last thing she needs is another project - but when her hometown's annual event needs some fresh festive inspiration, Merry can't resist.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;">Cole loves a project too - though it's usually of the bricks and mortar variety. As a single dad, his Christmas wish is to see his kids again, so getting the new house finished for when they're all together is the perfect distraction. </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;">But this Christmas, magic is in the air for these two strangers. Will it bring them all the joy they planned for . . . and take their hearts by surprise too? </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-style: italic; text-align: left;">After all, anything can happen at Christmas. . . </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/One-More-Christmas-Castle-bestseller-ebook/dp/B08ZHB4M2M/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=trisha+ashley&qid=1638187748&sr=8-3" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">One More Christmas at the Castle</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Trisha Ashley</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfebTku1sHNxkwBAa7M27TivZrtmGhhvZAW2do5ChrsYQV8xI5d4P0Hu8BcABDVY0Uc4DANHldqMer-G3mSNITY9iPIzccN3yblFXDIhqm4o-Ufs4RPOt7RIPQJP7o6D0eFyx9J1oW4bf/s1474/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.53.46.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1474" data-original-width="940" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfebTku1sHNxkwBAa7M27TivZrtmGhhvZAW2do5ChrsYQV8xI5d4P0Hu8BcABDVY0Uc4DANHldqMer-G3mSNITY9iPIzccN3yblFXDIhqm4o-Ufs4RPOt7RIPQJP7o6D0eFyx9J1oW4bf/w255-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.53.46.png" width="255" /></span></a></div></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Elderly widow Sabine knows this will be her last Christmas in her beloved home, Mitras Castle. Determined to make it just like the ones she remembers from her childhood, she employs Dido Jones of </span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-style: italic; text-align: start;">Heavenly Houseparties</span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"> to help with the big day.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Dido is enchanted by the castle as soon as she steps through the imposing front door. And as Christmas day approaches, her feeling of connection to the old house runs deeper than she first thought.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">But when the snow begins to fall and Sabine's family arrive at the house - including Dido's teenage crush Xan - tensions rise around the castle's future and long-buried mysteries begin to unravel...</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-weight: 700; text-align: start;">As past secrets come to light, can this still be a magical Christmas to remember?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Cosy-Christmas-Bridgets-Bicycle-Bakery/dp/0008463697/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638189532&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">A Cosy Christmas at Bridget's Bicycle Bakery</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Alex Brown</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWldpVbfEJDb8VVNzlXEbP7pyTXm7dIKub9mg0Br7LweJNyWS35tu0T7i30BWY-0hGrNKlq4eWDenPw6ZzoFLHU1FN-H0aNVKSkBJptyqg308LNRgXKal8fCW5VP6SG5v-FcoM4CJUFzDR/s1468/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.39.08.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1468" data-original-width="958" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWldpVbfEJDb8VVNzlXEbP7pyTXm7dIKub9mg0Br7LweJNyWS35tu0T7i30BWY-0hGrNKlq4eWDenPw6ZzoFLHU1FN-H0aNVKSkBJptyqg308LNRgXKal8fCW5VP6SG5v-FcoM4CJUFzDR/w261-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.39.08.png" width="261" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: 0px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">Bridget smiled to herself, certain she could see one of the stars twinkling extra brightly in that moment as if to acknowledge her wish and convince her that, yes, Mulberry-On-Sea was just the place they all needed to be. Surrounded by those happy memories of holidays and special times where nothing bad ever happened… </span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Finding yourself without a home in the weeks before Christmas would break most people, but for Bridget Carrington it’s a chance to start again. Mulberry-On-Sea has always been her happy place and she’s hoping it can work its magic this festive season and heal her family after a difficult year.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Now, as the community wraps Bridget and her children in its warm embrace, she starts to feel like herself again. With a new business, kids who are starting to smile, and the promise of a second chance at love, Bridget’s holiday season might just be a happy ever after…</span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; font-weight: 700; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Underneath-Christmas-Tree-Heidi-Swain/dp/1471195848/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638186695&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Underneath the Christmas Tree </span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">By Heidi Swain</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeMwhFugj0iLZFpf_8oOhjBO9qtR0DwbkSrCzjqZAFtULBqFbXd7qM1wicIPfJICthlaykFaznyZHexBVoE6k-OfzVuwtPPoe-Cn8sHjUYCdDLWh3Rz31k-zgWSkQsK7sSV1RLg6HfUWQC/s1470/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.51.52.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1470" data-original-width="970" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeMwhFugj0iLZFpf_8oOhjBO9qtR0DwbkSrCzjqZAFtULBqFbXd7qM1wicIPfJICthlaykFaznyZHexBVoE6k-OfzVuwtPPoe-Cn8sHjUYCdDLWh3Rz31k-zgWSkQsK7sSV1RLg6HfUWQC/w264-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+11.51.52.png" width="264" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;">Wynter’s Trees is the home of Christmas. For the people of Wynmouth it’s where they get their family Christmas tree, and where Christmas truly comes to life.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;">But for Liza Wynter, it’s a millstone around her neck. It was her father’s pride and joy but now he’s gone, she can’t have anything to do with it. Until her father’s business partner decides to retire and she must go back to handle the transition to his son Ned.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: left;">When Liza arrives, she discovers a much-loved business that’s flourishing under Ned’s stewardship. And she’s happy to stay and help for the Christmas season, but then she has other plans. But will the place where she grew up make her change her mind? And can it weave its Christmas cheer around her heart…?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Bookshop-Jenny-Colgan/dp/0751584258/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638189687&sr=8-1-spons" target="_blank">The Christmas Bookshop</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: large; text-align: left;">Jenny Colgan</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKC0WaWmv-zqSSDk2y2jyAiP_kN6_vqrXXVzrp5oWEl7cacX2nyaRl8XSETqT-GOtnGBv9CemRBW-Oezy4B0qPCgoFJbYzuM7-l-EUogKu9eq2_NRblV3BKsA8X9VQGjznVqGaPBeBVo1N/s1468/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.42.02.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1468" data-original-width="950" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKC0WaWmv-zqSSDk2y2jyAiP_kN6_vqrXXVzrp5oWEl7cacX2nyaRl8XSETqT-GOtnGBv9CemRBW-Oezy4B0qPCgoFJbYzuM7-l-EUogKu9eq2_NRblV3BKsA8X9VQGjznVqGaPBeBVo1N/w259-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.42.02.png" width="259" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">C</span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">armen has always worked in her local department store. So, when the gorgeous old building closes its doors for good, she is more than a little lost.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">When her sister, Sofia, mentions an opportunity in Edinburgh - a cute little bookshop, the spare room in her house - Carmen is reluctant, she was never very good at accepting help. But, short on options, she soon finds herself pulling into the snowy city just a month before Christmas.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">What Sofia didn't say is that the shop is on its last legs and that if Carmen can't help turn things around before Christmas, the owner will be forced to sell. Privately, Sofia is sure it will take more than a miracle to save the store, but maybe this Christmas, Carmen might surprise them all...</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: large; text-align: start;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Never-Kiss-Man-Christmas-Jumper/dp/0008150230/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638190108&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Never Kiss a Man in a Christmas Jumper</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Debbie Johnson</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">(Made in a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9MADXgCRok" target="_blank">Hallmark film </a>last year!) </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4d0v1EDHaCfdKoCTDp0qiBLqIUcYPGhurWVlnf6Ey7lO1F6WVby-BcAuOciux6GUcKqyyS8Q2M3Yb33VtspMUQexgGgtoXvDTIyRUxGmx-w6PeTe1arAEw_JweBH6_SOXln4k_7f-szG/s754/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.48.45.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="754" data-original-width="490" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4d0v1EDHaCfdKoCTDp0qiBLqIUcYPGhurWVlnf6Ey7lO1F6WVby-BcAuOciux6GUcKqyyS8Q2M3Yb33VtspMUQexgGgtoXvDTIyRUxGmx-w6PeTe1arAEw_JweBH6_SOXln4k_7f-szG/w260-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.48.45.png" width="260" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: 0px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: arial; font-weight: 700;">You’ve seen Mark Darcy in his reindeer jumper, now meet Marco Cavelli in this season’s Christmas knit!</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">For single mum Maggie, Christmas has always been a family occasion – her daughter Ellen filling the house with her bubbly warmth and mistletoe, her dad Paddy having one too many festive tipples, and the traditional family Christmas tree looking like a drunken elf vomited a rainbow all over it.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But this year, with both Ellen and Paddy away for the holidays, Maggie’s facing a truly blue Christmas – alone with nothing but a bottle of Baileys and an M&S turkey dinner.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Until walking the snowy streets of Oxford, Marco Cavelli quite literally crashes into her life – and, complete with broken leg, becomes her unexpected houseguest. All dreamy brown eyes and 6’5” of gorgeousness, the man is hotter and more delicious than a freshly baked mince pie.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Though Maggie always thought it’s a truth universally acknowledged that you never kiss a man in a Christmas jumper?</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Starry-Skies-Ferry-Lane-Market-ebook/dp/B08ZS5RJ84/ref=sr_1_1?qid=1638191074&refinements=p_27%3ANicola+May&s=books&sr=1-1" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Starry Skies in Ferry Lane Market</span></a></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Nicola May</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM_DipUDF7BHI_Ad2lYDilfbA_zLfyVZLyFAjVcGsht1IrsIB3itCMw6X3PegoDtQB0Apk-kavyESFc27YC9Off_DujiBRkV1wOeAvhmCX-6cO31Dd-CbD6PapnrDR2PVsqqOFYV4xc3YW/s1472/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+13.06.11.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1472" data-original-width="970" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM_DipUDF7BHI_Ad2lYDilfbA_zLfyVZLyFAjVcGsht1IrsIB3itCMw6X3PegoDtQB0Apk-kavyESFc27YC9Off_DujiBRkV1wOeAvhmCX-6cO31Dd-CbD6PapnrDR2PVsqqOFYV4xc3YW/w264-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+13.06.11.png" width="264" /></span></a></div><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">When Star Bligh got pregnant at the age of sixteen, she thought her life was over. Now thirty-three, mother to Skye and owner of the successful jewellery stall in Ferry Lane Market in Hartmouth, Cornwall, she wouldn't change a thing about it.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">Well, maybe one. A few months ago she fell hard for American visitor Jack, but then he left without even saying goodbye and ever since she has struggled to get him out of her head. Until the handsome, roguish Conor turns up and sweeps her off her feet. But then one day, Star is shocked to bump into Jack. He's back in Hartmouth to tell her why he left - but is she ready to listen? </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">As things get more complicated with her love life, another revelation threatens to turn the lovely world she has built for her and Skye upside down. But could this be the one thing that will make it complete?</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: start;" /></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; text-align: start;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Coast-Mandy-Baggot/dp/180024312X/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638195211&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Christmas By the Coast</a></span></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; text-align: start;">Mandy Baggot</span></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ijNeEdMVR1GTxYW8mI8cICRc-psJWnDMBhlkByrrMdqXgRHzFQPOQzzJUdM7sC1W2JG0ZtDfn8PCmkiKZTq4iS3okGtKb_plBz90YLcW_UOOhgq9RsfM4Ia9oSaBxSYBK0E2xmaApohY/s1468/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+14.13.51.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1468" data-original-width="958" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ijNeEdMVR1GTxYW8mI8cICRc-psJWnDMBhlkByrrMdqXgRHzFQPOQzzJUdM7sC1W2JG0ZtDfn8PCmkiKZTq4iS3okGtKb_plBz90YLcW_UOOhgq9RsfM4Ia9oSaBxSYBK0E2xmaApohY/w261-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+14.13.51.png" width="261" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After a terrible heartbreak, Harriet Cookson worked hard to build her life back up. Now she has a dependable boyfriend, a great job and a decent flatshare. But when her beloved grandmother passes away, Harriet drops everything to fly out to the Hamptons to comfort her grieving grandpa.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Christmas is coming and as she arrives on the sandy beaches of her childhood in Montauk, Long Island, Harriet spots someone she never expected to see again - her 'one that got away', ex-soldier Mack Wyatt. Now, Mack is determined to win Harriet back and show her that the life she's been living might be the wrong happily-ever-after.</span></p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" style="text-align: start;" /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Escape-bestseller-feel-good-uplifting-ebook/dp/B08X1M2773/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Sarah+Morgan&qid=1638189453&sr=8-1" target="_blank">The Christmas Escape</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: large; text-align: left;">Sarah Morgan</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIWqU5IPNH5HXdO2Rnim-d_LFHupmZyfqYu8SnVC7VpbOsIrReEo5_whURqPAC6o-YslcK6x2i0AhPcXdM2CJTbpLJurKA2NWXBDRqS9bCzKdbKWC0fyONMJQbPKlKD4u2lid6lhHHcsA/s1476/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.35.17.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1476" data-original-width="954" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIWqU5IPNH5HXdO2Rnim-d_LFHupmZyfqYu8SnVC7VpbOsIrReEo5_whURqPAC6o-YslcK6x2i0AhPcXdM2CJTbpLJurKA2NWXBDRqS9bCzKdbKWC0fyONMJQbPKlKD4u2lid6lhHHcsA/w259-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.35.17.png" width="259" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It was supposed to be Christy Sullivan’s perfect Christmas escape – a dream trip to Lapland with her family and best friend, Alix. But facing a make-or-break marriage crisis, Christy desperately needs time alone with her husband, Seb. Her solution? Alix, along with Seb’s oldest friend, Zac, can take Christy’s daughter on the planned Lapland trip, and they will all reunite there for Christmas Day. After all, what are friends for?</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There’s nothing Alix won’t do for Christy, but Christy’s plan to save Christmas is testing their friendship. Especially as Alix and Zac have a difficult history of their own.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As long-held secrets unravel, and unexpected romance shines under the Northern Lights, can Christy and Alix find the courage to fight for the relationships they really want? And could this Christmas escape save the precious gift of each other’s friendship?</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3ln2NnD" target="_blank">Under the Mistletoe</a></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Sue Moorcroft</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0I8guZRuL2TyOhV_WzJeDsPC9fJe-TfhWrgD-XCTbnpKfUpYdD0ItUvKl8qGkAnOrLI08uGN_2Hb1GTH2miyeCjS6g7Qo1ZC6gyqybgSAWIaiDTsmtC3lNoSUVdfWPdObadTjgfCOFzzR/s1891/638E8226-3300-4B17-B63E-C687FF4DD1B8_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1891" data-original-width="1242" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0I8guZRuL2TyOhV_WzJeDsPC9fJe-TfhWrgD-XCTbnpKfUpYdD0ItUvKl8qGkAnOrLI08uGN_2Hb1GTH2miyeCjS6g7Qo1ZC6gyqybgSAWIaiDTsmtC3lNoSUVdfWPdObadTjgfCOFzzR/w263-h400/638E8226-3300-4B17-B63E-C687FF4DD1B8_1_201_a.jpeg" width="263" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p></p></div><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -0.4rem 0px 1.3rem; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When Laurel returns to the village of Middledip, she’s looking for a quiet life. Adjusting to her recent divorce, she’s ready to spend some time getting back on her feet amidst the glorious snow-dusted countryside.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -0.4rem 0px 1.3rem; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Yet, life in Middledip is far from straightforward. Coming to the aid of her sister, Rea, as she navigates her own troubles, Laurel barely has a moment to think about where her own life is going.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -0.4rem 0px 1.3rem; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">However, time stands still when she sees her old flame, Grady Cassidy – and it’s soon as if they’ve never been apart. But through her happiness, Laurel remembers why she left the village all those years ago, as she recalls a dark night and Grady’s once-wayward brother, Mac…</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Can Laurel learn to forgive and forget? Or will her chances of Christmas under the mistletoe with Grady remain a dream?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Midnight-Snow-Karen-Swan/dp/1529006147/ref=sr_1_1_sspa?keywords=Karen+Swan&qid=1638189324&sr=8-1-spons&psc=1&spLa=ZW5jcnlwdGVkUXVhbGlmaWVyPUEzQzg1WENXSEJKWTVYJmVuY3J5cHRlZElkPUEwMzM4NTYzMkw1MEk0VlIzUFVOTSZlbmNyeXB0ZWRBZElkPUEwNzA3MzA4MU83TUpOOEJIQU1WSyZ3aWRnZXROYW1lPXNwX2F0ZiZhY3Rpb249Y2xpY2tSZWRpcmVjdCZkb05vdExvZ0NsaWNrPXRydWU=" target="_blank">Midnight in the Snow</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Karen Swan</span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmoH7QHH7pBqcxfjf9vmqNeXLNIp0qICdOt4hyQQgbAz53tR8-IEN4cd3sC65IeKxzklg9oxnuSoLIsCeu4Kc-QNrwMfojE_B9Ok9pRTL4j0nVCHH4DEW3rlQPHVr6LevdyVdKP980zgV/s1472/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.35.35.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1472" data-original-width="958" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmoH7QHH7pBqcxfjf9vmqNeXLNIp0qICdOt4hyQQgbAz53tR8-IEN4cd3sC65IeKxzklg9oxnuSoLIsCeu4Kc-QNrwMfojE_B9Ok9pRTL4j0nVCHH4DEW3rlQPHVr6LevdyVdKP980zgV/w260-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.35.35.png" width="260" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">A</span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">ward-winning director Clover Phillips is riding high when she encounters Kit Foley; a surfer and snowboarder as well-known for controversy as he is for winning championships.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Involved in an accident that had devastating consequences for a bitter rival, Kit has never spoken about what really happened that day. Determined to find out the truth, Clover heads to the snowy wilderness of the Austrian Alps, sharing a romantic winter wonderland with a man who can’t stand her.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">But as she delves deeper, Clover finds herself both drawn to Kit, and even more convinced he’s hiding something. Is Kit Foley really as cold as he seems?</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-size: large; text-align: start;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Surprises-Mermaids-Point-bestseller/dp/1802809252/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638199268&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Christmas Surprises at Mermaid's Point</a></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-size: large; text-align: start;">Sarah Bennett</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-size: large; text-align: start;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkMpLxO7KVTsW_Rt071wbEiuZ3Z24FVp3kBT_3tqJscOB7vckCHvFeEm0qC5WkddbXE05yrJk97qGJaFjE1lPMagThb1VquPdV3ss9E1mn2cG5IVZzZeUb58yU0Bsirrw3RSlKhwe4vqZW/s1474/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+15.21.25.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1474" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkMpLxO7KVTsW_Rt071wbEiuZ3Z24FVp3kBT_3tqJscOB7vckCHvFeEm0qC5WkddbXE05yrJk97qGJaFjE1lPMagThb1VquPdV3ss9E1mn2cG5IVZzZeUb58yU0Bsirrw3RSlKhwe4vqZW/w260-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+15.21.25.png" width="260" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">Christmas is a time for love, laughter, families and friends, and in Mermaids Point, everyone is getting ready for the festive season.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">For Nerissa and Tom, this will be their first Christmas as a couple, but making sure they have time for each other, whilst blending their families, will take some careful planning. What festive traditions will they make their own?</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">Laurie and Jake are flat out running Laurie’s seafront café, packaging up orders of mince pies, sausage rolls and other delectable Christmas goodies, as well as finding time for Jake’s journalism. But when Jake’s mum offers them an unexpected gift, their plans are turned upside down.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">Alex can’t help but be charmed by beautiful and talented Ivy, but he’s still recovering from his ex-wife’s betrayal and has a secret life he’s not ready to share with anyone yet. But as the Christmas spirit starts weaving its magic, Alex may find himself ready for love sooner than he imagines.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="background-color: white;">For Andrew, nothing is more important than family. As friends and family gather beneath his roof it's a time for reflection about what the future might hold.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">As far as Nick is concerned, pop sensation Aurora Storm is the ‘one that got away’. After they shared a brief holiday fling, he has been thinking about her ever since. Is Christmas the perfect time to finally reach out to her, or is love at first sight just in fairy-tales?</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Hope-Steel-Girls-heartwarming/dp/000842733X/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638199465&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Christmas Hope for the Steel Girls</a></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Michelle Rawlins</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANzq1LzflOD-mfdz1j9ygcuqBAe28FTU4VIbLgm2RKaGYNqQNFOT9XnCyltRygrE8u8EvvlKPcDn_F7M6RkWKUEiJXrS72Eru0aB20Yc7Jq_qIpHxB4Nw2otJSrvG2O5NE70qoPVdtMs9/s1470/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+15.24.40.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1470" data-original-width="948" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANzq1LzflOD-mfdz1j9ygcuqBAe28FTU4VIbLgm2RKaGYNqQNFOT9XnCyltRygrE8u8EvvlKPcDn_F7M6RkWKUEiJXrS72Eru0aB20Yc7Jq_qIpHxB4Nw2otJSrvG2O5NE70qoPVdtMs9/w258-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+15.24.40.png" width="258" /></a></div><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;">Winter, 1939</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />As December draws nearer and with her family facing their first Christmas without Bert, <span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;">Nancy</span> is desperately trying to keep up her children’s spirits and her own.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">Young <span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;">Patty</span> should be excited to be spending her first festive season with sweetheart Archie, but why does she worry he’s keeping something from her?</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;">Betty</span> is missing her beloved William as he continues his RAF training but she’s determined not to sit around wallowing. In the midst of the coldest winter on record and with the introduction of rationing, times are tougher than ever but Betty has an idea to make sure nobody goes without this winter.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">And with our Steel Girls rallying around each other, can there still be hope this Christmas?</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;">The second novel in the new heartwarming Steel Girls series following our feisty factory sister’s bravery and hope during wartime. </span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Shetland-Love-Christmas-heartwarming-friendship/dp/1472281527/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638200301&sr=8-1" target="_blank">From Shetland with Love at Christmas</a></span></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-size: large;">Erin Green</span></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><br /></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: -4px 0px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); clear: both; color: #0f1111; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBbZfe2w1koRHlEwSYGqMFBeVhu-gGeaUt0Hs0kHfF0utzhg-9WbLI371fshDOR1FFgUT2IjuVjUbrI6HxCwYBSfGO-W0V0FWXPCMwxHOl5AikaANDMwPLeI5T8ryqiskTa7vanxJithFW/s1472/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+15.38.38.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1472" data-original-width="970" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBbZfe2w1koRHlEwSYGqMFBeVhu-gGeaUt0Hs0kHfF0utzhg-9WbLI371fshDOR1FFgUT2IjuVjUbrI6HxCwYBSfGO-W0V0FWXPCMwxHOl5AikaANDMwPLeI5T8ryqiskTa7vanxJithFW/w264-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+15.38.38.png" width="264" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">V</span><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">erity is embarking on a better-late-than-never gap year now that her sons have flown the nest, and dreams of turning a lifetime's hobby of knitting and crocheting into a profitable new enterprise at Lerwick Manor's gallery. </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Nessie has returned to Shetland after two years spent retraining as a blacksmith on the Scottish mainland. She's determined to do whatever it takes to reignite the traditional craft and prove that gender is no obstacle to taking on her family's heritage. </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Isla is fresh out of catering college, but she is desperate to prove she has what it takes to run Lerwick Manor's artisan café. Focused on perfecting her grandmother's traditional recipes, Isla has no time for anything else - especially not her pesky ex.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">With the island's Yule Day celebration fast approaching, it's the ideal moment for their crafts to shine. But they can't do it alone - and their friendship might turn out to be their greatest creation yet...</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Poppys-Christmas-Wishes-Annette-Hannah-ebook/dp/B09KXYGM36/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=annette+hannah&qid=1638202857&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Poppy's Christmas Wishes</span></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;">Annette Hannah</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhPKqZZ8YgCnf1BD6wdYebaengxg-iVbKDz9NHmaaskuKv9CIxUgD5n4GPQWkQiB_oRg_NMwYgypdixcR9-U4UKtWFS4GkknVEP4iUqupaA1S_AOKhvnDLu_R6EJHZ6hxld3YqwwlbdN2b/s962/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+16.21.47.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="962" data-original-width="634" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhPKqZZ8YgCnf1BD6wdYebaengxg-iVbKDz9NHmaaskuKv9CIxUgD5n4GPQWkQiB_oRg_NMwYgypdixcR9-U4UKtWFS4GkknVEP4iUqupaA1S_AOKhvnDLu_R6EJHZ6hxld3YqwwlbdN2b/s320/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+16.21.47.png" width="211" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;">For the first time she can remember, Poppy is dreading Christmas. Unceremoniously dumped by her boyfriend after moving across the country for him, there's nothing cheery about the festive season this year.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">Dragged to a Christmas ball by best friend Layla, Poppy meets gorgeous actor Gabe, who stars as a genie in a play. When he asks her what three wishes she would make, she realises it's quite simple: love, a job she's happy in and, just once in her life, to do something extraordinary. </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: start;" /><span style="text-align: start;">Gabe and Poppy make a pact to help each other make their dreams come true. As they tick off their wishes, their friendship blossoms... But, as they discover, sometimes, what you want for Christmas isn't necessarily what you need...</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; text-align: start;" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Carols-Cornish-Cream-heart-warming/dp/000850363X/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1638262073&sr=1-1" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Christmas Carols and a Cornish Cream Tea</span></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;">Cressida McLaughlin</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCYmxzvZiaooyvxnOVCx-KX2EIyaLbUPhQ28v_nYnuor9ldi-cPJlYXqlAYEGIvHLra45sGuVyBY6-po_GKNLj_ke44stF2l9lUk4OOu1MINNZjrJ31urXM7VqxFOLFa8YimG2bmomt0H/s1472/Screenshot+2021-11-30+at+08.48.11.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1472" data-original-width="958" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCYmxzvZiaooyvxnOVCx-KX2EIyaLbUPhQ28v_nYnuor9ldi-cPJlYXqlAYEGIvHLra45sGuVyBY6-po_GKNLj_ke44stF2l9lUk4OOu1MINNZjrJ31urXM7VqxFOLFa8YimG2bmomt0H/w260-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-30+at+08.48.11.png" width="260" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></span></div><p></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">All Meredith Verren has ever wanted is to escape the holiday season without having to wear a Christmas jumper. Her new job at the cosy gift shop in a picturesque Cornish tourist spot is making it impossible for her to maintain her scrooge-like manner.</p><div><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">With their seasonal hampers on everyone’s wish list, Meredith must paste on a smile and fake some holiday cheer. Then she meets handsome new arrival, Finn, who wishes it could be Christmas every day and wants her to feel the same way too.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;">Can she embrace the holly and the ivy before the decorations are packed away for another year?</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: start;"><br /></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/12-Days-Christmas-Poppy-Alexander/dp/1409196429/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">The Twelve Days of Christmas</span></a></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Poppy Alexander</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd-t2Yfb47NcZ-nf85qaw4CXHXUvaAGaIjqyh1YG1j0Nkfg1r_128ZwkXKXTGfDkZf3ScgQX8hw1Rd_MY4zAYILK6n8ojYepzJfLnye8-FfpYcTm6fMIgOe5uRSvhJuh6ClVJaFPZ4pBUZ/s746/Screenshot+2021-11-30+at+13.15.54.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="746" data-original-width="490" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd-t2Yfb47NcZ-nf85qaw4CXHXUvaAGaIjqyh1YG1j0Nkfg1r_128ZwkXKXTGfDkZf3ScgQX8hw1Rd_MY4zAYILK6n8ojYepzJfLnye8-FfpYcTm6fMIgOe5uRSvhJuh6ClVJaFPZ4pBUZ/w263-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-30+at+13.15.54.png" width="263" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="text-align: start;">For the first time in ten years, Freya is back in the little village of Middlemass for Christmas. The streets might be twinkling with fairy lights, but after the recent loss of her mother, she's never felt less festive. </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="text-align: start;">Forced to sleep under the same roof as her handsome neighbour Finn, Freya realises she's going to need a distraction - fast! So she sets herself a challenge: to cook the '12 Days of Christmas'. Her delicious food soon brings the villagers together, and as each day passes, old friendships are renewed, memories stirred and there's even the flickering of romance... </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic; text-align: start;">She was only meant to stay for the holidays, but could Middlemass - and Finn - steal her heart forever?</span></div><p></p></div></span></div><p></p></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i>And last, but hopefully not least...</i></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Wish-Could-Christmas-Every-Day/dp/1471178560/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Milly Johnson</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KA7eNBe0Mu31JUhWNNtuWkB7Isrtj1TxOWBrEMCMuqXX16KW-jvLrEcxxfOkah6nWh4TYGi1cxIaFlUK0cBpytiV7lQiTgqmvtHIkieQgQsU3hnpPpRjb59gFGESx1MR_UiPqbG02SfF/s1468/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.46.10.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1468" data-original-width="968" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KA7eNBe0Mu31JUhWNNtuWkB7Isrtj1TxOWBrEMCMuqXX16KW-jvLrEcxxfOkah6nWh4TYGi1cxIaFlUK0cBpytiV7lQiTgqmvtHIkieQgQsU3hnpPpRjb59gFGESx1MR_UiPqbG02SfF/w264-h400/Screenshot+2021-11-29+at+12.46.10.png" width="264" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">It’s nearly Christmas and it’s snowing, hard. Deep in the Yorkshire Moors nestles a tiny hamlet, with a pub at its heart. As the snow falls, the inn will become an unexpected haven for six people forced to seek shelter there…</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"> </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Mary has been trying to get her boss Jack to notice her for four years, but he can only see the efficient PA she is at work. Will being holed up with him finally give her the chance she has been waiting for?</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"> </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Bridge and Luke were meeting for five minutes to set their divorce in motion. But will getting trapped with each other reignite too many fond memories – and love?</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"> </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">Charlie and Robin were on their way to a luxury hotel in Scotland for a very special Christmas. But will the inn give them everything they were hoping to find – and much more besides?</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;"> </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;" /><span face=""Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); color: #0f1111; text-align: start;">A story of knowing when to hold on and when to let go, of pushing limits and acceptance, of friendship, love, laughter, mince pies and the magic of Christmas. </span></span></div></div>Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-67478216823951769692020-10-16T15:10:00.001+01:002020-10-16T16:41:19.893+01:00Easy Read...<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">I recently enjoyed a book so much that I was going to post a review up on Amazon and noted that someone hadn’t quite enjoyed it as much as I did. So naturally you have a look to see what that reader thought was wrong with it. Then you check out the many other reviews out of interest, the massively wide spectrum of opinion… then your eye snags on a phrase that keeps cropping up.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> ‘An easy read’.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> I confess when I saw that placed as the title of a review, I expected it to be a bit sniffy. On the contrary, the review was very complimentary. But my head had gone down a side-street with this one. Why was I conditioned to think that ‘easy read’ was a bad thing?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">I think of an ‘easy-drinking wine’ as one that’s a bit insipid, that it’s not great, it’s not going to set my tastebuds on fire… something I could just drink without bothering to savour it, because it’s <i>there</i>. ‘Easy listening’ music to me is music that I hear but don’t necessarily listen to<i>. </i>It’s in the background, non-demanding of my attention. Easy has somehow become synonymous with ‘bland’ for me. I can’t remember ever using it in a complimentary way to describe a book. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> I did a bit of digging. It seems that we have quite different views of this two-word phrase. ‘Easy reading means anything that you’ve enjoyed’ said someone. But could I honestly say that about Stephen King’s book Pet Sematary, a book I couldn’t stop reading and consumed in a single day? I wouldn’t call it ‘easy reading’ though I’d golloped down every single word. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">Here’s what some said about the phrase ‘easy read’ and you can clearly see the conflict. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …suggests the writer has just churned it out with no effort<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …takes skill to write an easy read<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> … means low brow. An insult<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …means the reader was engaged and kept turning the pages<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …insinuates it’s an ‘easy write<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …better than being described as difficult which would put readers off<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …is a compliment though I have to caveat it in case people think I mean it’s not well written<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …means it’s a book I will probably read all day because I’m so caught up in it<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …I get called this all the time and it’s hard to take as a compliment. I feel more as if they are saying, ‘next I will attempt joined up writing in a sentence’ (Ha!)<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …it’s flattering. It means people can really engage with my books<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> … I often think it’s intended as a diss<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> … it means something not too challenging<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> … it’s an insulting term, as if the book is of a lesser quality to others<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …I find the term slightly condescending<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …’If you’re thick’, is how I hear it<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> … easy read suggests to me that the use of language is simple, the plot is basic and the themes are weak<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …I’m always accused of being an easy read – or a guilty pleasure. One reviewer said ‘She’ll never win a literary prize, but I couldn’t stop reading’<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …I suppose it’s better than being described as tricky, arduous, difficult read<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> (I’d argue that ‘easy read’ and ‘difficult read’ aren’t true opposites…)<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> … I don’t think anything, apart from Ladybird books for three-year olds, should be classed as easy reads. It’s insulting<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> Is ‘easy read’ the equivalent of Dolly Parton saying ‘it takes a lot of money to look this cheap?’ asks one writer. Books that flow are hard to write – like Katie Fforde says, ‘…it’s a funny one. I do find it a bit sniffy, but I do always aim to be easy to read. I reckon I do the work so my reader doesn’t have to’.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span> <span> </span></span>So it seems that ‘easy read’ doesn’t necessarily mean it as an insult to the writer. They’re not saying it’s taken no effort, maybe even they’re insinuating quite the opposite. But then again, it can be taken that way, the phrase is a little loaded. It’s that word ‘easy’ I think. It has too many negative connotations that you find without having to mine too deeply. If someone (mainly a woman – yawn!) is easy, that’s far from a compliment. Easy = no effort. Sometimes things can be so easy there’s no fun in them. They’re no challenge at all. Brain baked yet? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> Maybe it’s a contextual thing, as someone said, ‘depends what comes before/after the phrase.’ And they’re right, because the sentence in which it’s couched will determine if it’s a compliment or an insult. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> ‘An easy read which is instantly forgettable’<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> …is a world apart from <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> ‘An easy read that I devoured whole’.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> Maybe it’s a perception problem. Those of us who have seen that word ‘easy’ too many times as a negative will read ‘easy read’ as a negative (like me) and vice versa for others. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> It seems that many authors see it as rather dismissive while most reviewers use it as a compliment, though – as is clear – not all. Plenty of authors accept it as a positive, some reviewers use it as a deliberate slur. But ‘page-turner’, ‘unputdownable’ and ‘compelling’ don’t seem to have any of those negative connotations; you’re in no doubt that you’re turning those pages or can’t put the book down because you can’t wait to get to the next bit. That’s a really good thing, no ambiguity, no sly insult.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> I’ve had the ‘easy read’ thing levelled at me more times than I can count. It sits in the same family as ‘light read’, ‘a beach read’, ‘a cosy read’. Out of all of those the last one would be best for me, but when I put it out there, I was met with the comment: ‘that’s like one of those specific cosy mysteries that I’d avoid’. I’ve read a lot of books in my genre that may have that old happy ending, but in the pages leading up to it there is domestic violence, abuse, cruelty, emotional breakdowns… everything short of buggering a Shih Tzu – and yet it’s as if everything is judged on the final scene of two happy protagonists so it’s okay to dismiss it as a ‘light read’. Likewise ‘beach read’. My idea of a book to take on the beach is a psychological dissection of a serial killer. Yet I’ve never seen ‘Beach Read’ on any review of ‘Killing for Company’ or a biography of Fred West.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> I have no idea why I picked up on all this. I have no idea if it even really matters, but something drew on those two words in mental highlighter: ‘easy read’ and my brain started to fry.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"> But I did see this too.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">‘If an easy read is where the words and meaning fall off the page so the reader doesn’t register the process, I’m all for it,’ which I thought was utterly charming.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;">And of course we are living in strange times where everything is totally tits up. On that theme a couple of people – both readers and writer said that the term was… </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">‘…Sniffy if in a review, but conversely, if someone recommended to me a book as an easy read, I would grab it with both hands right now.’<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">Maybe it’s wrong to put those two words on trial with all that’s going on around us. Maybe if what is really meant by ‘easy read’ is a book that transports us away from the cloud of gloom which is not only above our heads but has descended and is swirling around our feet. A book that drags us into its pages and keeps us as willing captives because the story flows ‘with ease’, and leaves us with a sense of peace that's as ‘easy as Sunday morning’ is a quite nice judgement. <i>Easy Read</i>: a phrase which can be used for slight or praise, but if used as the latter at the moment, in this climate, maybe it’s really not that bad a tag to have after all?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;">But I’d still rather have ‘unputdownable’. You know <i>exactly</i> where you are with that. <o:p></o:p></p>Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-88358630469152930082020-09-12T13:17:00.001+01:002020-09-12T13:17:15.456+01:00What a Flipping Weird Book Year (and a special offer for people in the US) This month my latest book 'out there' My One True North is on special offer on Amazon.com for readers in the United States - it's only $1.99 so please grab it while you can.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWLcashfJYlxvje4LuOvoP3QdRs9PSSgr6SDDzjFh5x6jhtmk3kDMZjydmvQJMgYGnALZDckirP9aRkfFv2mkgeLziHia0he_PoEwhvlGCWKVW1jwYKqSEshWz3jE5959edMpfCYQUJSNf/s1428/Screenshot+2020-09-05+at+12.30.25.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1428" data-original-width="988" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWLcashfJYlxvje4LuOvoP3QdRs9PSSgr6SDDzjFh5x6jhtmk3kDMZjydmvQJMgYGnALZDckirP9aRkfFv2mkgeLziHia0he_PoEwhvlGCWKVW1jwYKqSEshWz3jE5959edMpfCYQUJSNf/s320/Screenshot+2020-09-05+at+12.30.25.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-books/my-one-true-north/" target="_blank">My One True North </a>came out in what should have been the biggest year of my career. Just before the world went bonkers, I'd been awarded the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hxzeFTvHXDo" target="_blank">Romantic Novelist Association's Outstanding Achievement Award </a>which lifted me from the most severe depression I've ever had following the death of my father. I can honestly say when I was doing the speech, all I heard was a pin drop silence that I took for boredom and at one point I can been seen flicking through the speech to see if there was any way of cutting to the end. I wasn't prepared for the reception, I was humbled by it. Many people have presumed that My One True North was written when I was grieving dad. The story is, after all, about traversing the cold lake of grief - easy assumption. But quite the opposite is true, it was written before dad was even ill. I found myself stepping in the footsteps of my characters, having to pick something for dad to wear to meet his maker (I can't tell you how long I laboured over his socks). It was life imitating art and my only consolation is that I got it right, I got it on point what a truck travelling at 100mph to the head grief can be. But it was never my intention that it was a miserable book - on the contrary. If you tackle something as heavy and dark as the loss of a partner, then you need lots of humour and lightness whipped into the mix. And as I was writing the book, I was aware that it fell quite naturally into four stages: the lowest point, a dawning of light on the horizon, an autumnal breeze of change blowing out the old so that new life had clear passage to grow - and finally an upward surge. It was like four points of the compass: South, East, West, North - in this case 'The Northern Lights'. North featured heavily, not the least because that's where I come from. But the true north... the idea of fate interfering, overriding circumstance to put people together - for them to find their true north in each other.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Some have commented that there was no epilogue with this book. (Funny because if you do write an epilogue, some people complain that you've spoon fed them conclusions they were grown up to reach themselves, thank you... you can't win!) I will continue to write epilogues if needs be, but in case you're asking, there's no epilogue in this one because when I tried to write one, it felt as if I had left the characters where they should be and must leave it there because anything else would work against it. It didn't feel right to add anything else, it ended when it ended and in my head it was the perfect point to say goodbye with a spectacular scenic finish. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I was lucky that I managed to have a hardback launch for this book before lockdown, where so many of my friends didn't manage it for their books out later. I was lucky that the supermarkets, who had cut down on their books offering, took mine by the thousands and it stormed the charts and stayed in them for weeks - my longest 'tail'. I felt privileged to have more letters than ever before that this book about two people grieving their partners who find friendship with each other and a motley group of people travelling in the same grief boat, gave respite to worried minds, took people away from the mess happening in the world. Books can work with the tide or against it, and the trouble is we never know when or in which direction those tides are going to flow so there is alchemy at work with book success. A book with a sad beginning could have floundered in a climate where people were looking for jollity, but mine didn't. The tide worked in my favour. This job is often about luck as well as hard work. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I should have been in a radio studio with Graham Norton to advertise the paperback, I should have been at parties and touring and readings and celebrating the biggest book of my career... but instead I had to sit in my office and connect to people via Facebook Live. It became a weekly event - just me and a cup of tea and a bun, talking about all sorts of very little news but somehow that worked too. It gave people a sense of connection. That for an hour each week, we were all pals in a virtual front room, chatting about the little things not the great big elephant in the room as, for that hour, it had been banished to the shed. I enjoyed all those sessions. I enjoyed writing jokes and making them into mini videos and posting them 'The Daily Jolly' I called them. As authors we have to keep the plates spinning, we have to keep saying 'Please buy my book, this is my job, I have a mortgage' and we had to invent other ways of spreading the news about books we had worked on for the best part of a year. We couldn't afford for them to be pushed out into the sea only to sink like a boat with a hole in the bottom. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncQc2kcIl2gGpZ0SEPujdHe1ajj4LVg0lqiGuIRDyr9FNJVq6PJFx78j69S_QGQsfs2bgs-__Sr0mGbWqSgbNlFLxhFdPDgwVnyfczrdsqZnMsGtURSsWdD67wpPANLdq5gJTzKJdEHaq/s1974/Screenshot+2020-02-05+at+17.22.58.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1974" data-original-width="1550" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgncQc2kcIl2gGpZ0SEPujdHe1ajj4LVg0lqiGuIRDyr9FNJVq6PJFx78j69S_QGQsfs2bgs-__Sr0mGbWqSgbNlFLxhFdPDgwVnyfczrdsqZnMsGtURSsWdD67wpPANLdq5gJTzKJdEHaq/s320/Screenshot+2020-02-05+at+17.22.58.png" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9rtOpr4qIwOEAVbMHepSqVat5TQKXwV9fCo4R46ml0BoHQXCBu-4OyTy4loWTfhaeHmLNKpKAuzO4mlSwTa6cYoSnFrhcL3OHHUrm8lMMeZp4FppGuxYMlQE3R0KtDJnfZVhQlSchg0Dq/s1498/Screenshot+2020-06-01+at+15.27.55.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1498" data-original-width="990" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9rtOpr4qIwOEAVbMHepSqVat5TQKXwV9fCo4R46ml0BoHQXCBu-4OyTy4loWTfhaeHmLNKpKAuzO4mlSwTa6cYoSnFrhcL3OHHUrm8lMMeZp4FppGuxYMlQE3R0KtDJnfZVhQlSchg0Dq/s320/Screenshot+2020-06-01+at+15.27.55.png" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And I had to put my creative head on and write the book that I'm about to bring out in just under seven weeks now. <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Wish-Could-Christmas-Every-Day/dp/1471198650/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1599910824&sr=8-1" target="_blank">I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day </a>(across social media as #ChristmasEveryDay) WAS written just after dad's passing, unlike My One True North. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Timing is everything and this book wasn't the one it was originally meant to be. I've had the title in my head for years. It was originally going to be a sort of Brigadoon where people find themselves in a place where it is Christmas every day, literally. But I couldn't make that work. Had I written it weeks later, when the pandemic hit, it wouldn't have been the book it is today either - because the idea of setting a story in a place where people are effectively locked down, would have been the last thing on my mind.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEief5I5L4Ql3ZXY2UsU-_1C4VSOXPmSC81Ftj_RICC5ALc_gfImUjWukfGhLukz7HMSAM2I9jt0hv2TPtTdfD7QDHj58QubXwPHkRJ2jqnFgHLu8-fRpzK2TMhrD24e6q4TKMA9EK3K6aSZ/s1958/Screenshot+2020-08-11+at+12.35.22.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1958" data-original-width="1274" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEief5I5L4Ql3ZXY2UsU-_1C4VSOXPmSC81Ftj_RICC5ALc_gfImUjWukfGhLukz7HMSAM2I9jt0hv2TPtTdfD7QDHj58QubXwPHkRJ2jqnFgHLu8-fRpzK2TMhrD24e6q4TKMA9EK3K6aSZ/s320/Screenshot+2020-08-11+at+12.35.22.png" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I wrote the first draft in less than three weeks flat. I didn't want to talk to anyone in the new year, I just wanted to write. I immersed myself in a world of snow and let my brain guide my hand hoping it would come up with the goods. And it did. And whereas My One True North has a big cast, big scenes, lots of action, this one has a stripped back crew and one location. And I think it's the best thing I've ever written because of the emotional punch, no doubt dredged from me because of what was going on in my own life. I needed to give myself some hope and redemption with this book. I needed friendship and romance and kindness and resolution. I needed to work a lot of stuff out of me via my characters - writing really is the best sort of therapy. And I can't wait for this one to come out. Even though I won't be having my launch parties and my signings, I hope this one drops into shopping baskets everywhere and people find, within its pages, exactly what they need to find in these times... that it doesn't take much to have fun, that life is here and now and we need to enjoy it in the moment and not put everything on hold until times are better. That it is people who count more than things. And that snowmen poo marshmallows. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is the story of six people.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bridge and Luke who have been battling for five years to end their marriage. They've both moved on and found a way to part via a no fault divorce. All they have to do is meet, sign a piece of paper each, swap them and be on their way - never crossing paths again. But an unforecasted bout of snow means they have to take refuge in an old inn on the North Yorkshire moors and spend far more time with each other than they'd planned. Plenty of time for dangerously cosy memories to rise up and engulf them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mary is the 'invisible' PA to Jack Butterly, owner of the hugely successful Butterly's Scones, a man who Mary has been secretly in love with for four years. She has volunteered to drive Jack to a country house hotel where they will spend the night before the next day's early morning meeting, knowing this is the best chance she will ever have of getting Jack to see her outside the job. But the snow alters their plans and they too are forced to hole up in the Figgy Hollow Inn. What happens when Jack sees this capable young woman through the eyes of others?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And Robin and his husband Charlie are on their way to spend a five star Christmas in a top Aviemore hotel when they too have to seek refuge in the inn and forsake their water bed and seven course Christmas dinner cooked by a Michelin-starred chef. It's a disaster... or maybe they find everything they were most chasing with new friends and a log fire instead.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I think out of all the characters I've ever created, these are my favourites. They became so real, so rounded, I loved them. I loved watching their friendships grow, I loved writing their energy and laughter and banter. I even loved eating their food.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This horrible, awful, sad year has spawned a book I'm so proud of. I hope you take it to your hearts and it gives you pleasure, fun and respite. And with equal starring roles to the human cast are diamonds, scones, broccoli, tins of tomatoes, snowmen, Christmas crackers jokes (of course!) stockings, carols, radios... and an awful lot of food. The only thing missing is Rudolf. And I'm really annoyed at myself that I forgot to shove him in somewhere!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Enjoy! xxx</div>Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-66476452552128663782020-02-22T17:57:00.003+00:002020-02-26T10:28:24.654+00:00The Power of Kind Words<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
The day before my dad died, when I was sitting beside him in hospital, an email popped up on my phone from a woman who had taken it upon herself to trace me in order to let me know in advance that she was going to give me a shit review on Amazon. Quite simply she didn’t like the story. I never think my books are going to satisfy everyone on the planet, but I did wonder if she ever stopped to think how much her words would sting me, what exactly I would be doing when I got her email. If she experienced a sense of pride imagining me opening it - me, the smug bitch who needed to be taken down a peg or two for having the affrontery to be a novelist - and not as someone who would read her words whilst my heart was breaking as I held the hand of my beloved father on the last full day of his life? In the old days (pre-internet) she would have been cross but then forgot about it because it was all too much effort to track me down and then write a letter to the publishers to be forwarded. But these days, it's much easier to vent, so much easier to spew bile.<br />
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Guess what - we authors feel very deeply, we mine into our emotions and that's what makes us write the words that affect our readers, make them laugh, cry, rejoice.</div>
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Words, are powerful tools. A simple ‘thank you’ – said or withheld – can change the course of someone’s day, often beyond. But with power comes great responsibility, as Spiderman’s uncle once said. Words, as we are seeing more and more, can pull someone back from a brink ...or push someone over it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Where once upon a time we might have shared a discussion about someone on the TV with a friend, we now use the internet as ‘a mate’. We parade our feelings about people we don’t know – to people we don’t know. Some might say ‘we have freedom of speech so what’s the problem with that?’ Well, just because you can write something, doesn’t mean you <i>should, </i>love. Words are often like handguns; they should be used responsibly, with care and sense not wantonly as if we were power-drunk cowboys. Our safety catches are off; the internet has stripped away our awareness of empathy, how much we can affect other people with what we say. We can shoot directly at targets that bleed these days. Did I say how powerful words were?<o:p></o:p></div>
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We’ve all done it. It’s too easy, too habit-forming. We’ve all thought ‘Jesus wept’ when we’ve seen someone a bit non-conformist on Only Connect/Love Island/Question Time. Some people take it to extremes, want to grind someone they can’t stand underfoot, even though they’ve never met them or are likely to. Most of us have taken to Twitter at least once to parade our observations to people we don’t know looking for what - affirmation that we’ve got our thoughts right? Until you’re at the receiving end of a trolling you have no idea how much those comments wound. We have developed a thirst for hate, Twitter has become the gladiatorial arena and anyone in the public eye is a potential bear to be poked with a stick for entertainment. No longer do we just turn to our partner in the lounge and say ‘look at the arse on her’, we have to submit our words to the internet where the person with the big arse might see them, even copying in the generously proportioned person to ensure they see them – possibly even adding a hashtag to make trebly sure. What have we gained by going that extra distance to the keyboard and doing that? Do we go to bed happier for it? Do we think what effect our words might have on that person if they read them and do we savour their distress?<o:p></o:p></div>
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We live in a negative age. We are more likely to rage online about a meal we’ve hated than one we have loved. Maybe it’s time to flip the coin. Maybe it’s time to reconnect with the kindness inside us – a quality that is often mistaken for softness and weakness, not for the strong, life-changer… life-<i>saver -</i> that it can so often be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Words can be gentle hands or weapons, and we are producing a generation who see cyber-bullying as the norm. Schools should be teaching their pupils how to use words with care and thought. It’s too easy to hate. It’s too easy to think that there is only one opinion on anything and it’s <i>mine</i> and it’s the right one. Once upon a time there was healthy discussion, now a difference of belief is tantamount to a thrown-down gauntlet. There seems to be a culture of ‘I believe in peace and love and tolerance to all people, unless you think differently to me then I want to kick your head in, you f-ing cow’. One careless word, one thought voiced in error leads to outcries to ‘cancel’, to extinguish a person’s career, to take away their livelihood and profession in a world where the goalposts are continually moving. Once upon a time a mistake was 'tomorrow's chip paper', now even the smallest of innocent errors hangs around for ever, like mustard gas. And, to paraphrase Jesus who puts it better than I could, are we all really that pure that we can be classed as the 'without sin' crew worthy of casting the first stone'? Nope - are we hell.<br />
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Take for instance a word that swam into my radar last week. Not so long ago ‘queer’ was a word that had been thrown into insult jail. Now it has been released and labelled as <i>de rigueur</i>. I can't keep up with what I can and can't say and if we get it wrong, there seems to be an army of enraged people waiting to highlight it to the planet, refusing to let it die as the clumsy mistake it was. With every passing year we get closer to 1984! The world feels like a field full of eight foot pot-holes full of dissolving acid. No wonder anxiety levels are at an all-time high. Maybe it's time to take a moment just before we put fingers to keyboards to type in something derogatory and think what negativity we are releasing. Maybe think of that tweet being directed at us and how we'd feel reading it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">No surprise then that the sales of the books us commercial fiction writers pen are rising. Our books full of kind people, friendship, love and acceptance, fictional communities who pull together and bad guys are thwarted.</span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 36pt;">Does this not signify a clear desire for millions of readers to escape this hard and unforgiving world? Or maybe to find hope that kindness will somehow leap out of the pages and become real?</span></div>
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There is no word for our genre of fiction – one primarily written for women by women – because no label really fits which doesn’t sound dismissive. Chick-lit has become a derisory term and in no way describes the depth, the intricacy and craft of our writing. Women’s fiction (note: there is no ‘men’s fiction’)? Somehow it sounds sniffy, as if it is fit only for creatures with smaller brains and intellect; something for the little lady to read inbetween doing the cooking and washing, as if our lives are less important somehow. (Fem-fiction? Not for me; anything with the prefix 'Fem' makes me think immediately of a sanitary towel.)</div>
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'<i>I don't read romance, I read proper books.' </i>Like Doctor Zhivago. A love story. Hang on... it's by a bloke. Let's reclassify it then as an <i>epic masterpiece. </i>See the problem we women of romance have?<br />
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Whatever you call it, our books have the power to transform, to cheer and inspire, to act like aloe vera on troubled souls. In our works women sometimes find templates of healthy relationships for the first time, solace, motivation to change their lot. And they do, because they write and tell us about it. Though I don’t think any of us set out to alter the fabric of someone's existence when we wrote our manuscripts but our aim to entertain and tell a story often ends up having a massive influence on someone who desperately needs direction – and finds it within our pages.</div>
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Maybe it is time for life to imitate our art. For kindness and forgiveness and acceptance to be allowed to flower instead of being stamped out by big boots of intolerance and literary snobbery given the potential is has to be the salvation for so many. Until it does, we shall continue writing our tales of a nicer and infinitely more considerate world, of hope and 'within reach' happy endings. Our ‘little women’s’ books which seemingly have a power not really to be sniffed at. <o:p></o:p></div>
Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-31925442776466019952020-02-22T16:45:00.002+00:002020-11-03T10:10:51.817+00:00Why I Wrote a Quick Reads Title<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The literacy levels in this country are appalling. One in five adults has the reading age of a 5-7 year old. Sorry, ignore that – it’s gone up to one in six. About eight million people in the UK. That means they can’t read the instructions on a packet of tablets or a simple road sign. Because we don’t just read for leisure – reading is a life essential skill and its effects are far-reaching. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Why did I agree to write a Quick Reads book? Because I was asked. Simple as that. Except timing played a big part because I’d just been into prison to give a talk to the ladies in New Hall about my career, hoping to show them that small life changes can lead to big changes. I met women who were determined never to enter the prison system again after being released. But without skills of reading and writing, they would gravitate back to their small, familiar but dysfunctional circles, from which they might have had a chance to escape had they been more literate. Reading really does transform lives.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Once upon a time, adults who sought help were given the equivalent of Janet and John books, children’s simple stories which did nothing for their already low self-worth. Quick Reads are a selection of stories written by best-selling authors for adults. We’ve all taken care to deliver tales which read every bit as well as our longer novels because we want to encourage not to patronise. They look like books for adults – because they are books for adults, with adult themes and language. The only difference is that they’re shorter, the sentences aren’t long and complicated and full of clauses and the vocab is simpler. Why use ‘discombobulate’ when ‘confuse’ will do the same job? I defy anyone to read one of our books and spot any real difference - a whole load of people front stage and behind the scenes have taken care to make it so. They’re directed at adults who need help to build up their reading skills, who are off-put by thick tomes of dense passages, but they’re available to anyone and the font is slightly larger too for those with reduced eyesight. Perfect for a ‘quick read’ (see what I did there) or for those people who have suffered a stroke or have an illness which means a shorter more easily absorbed story is preferable. Jojo Moyes calls it a ‘gateway drug’ and she’s right; it is a perfect taster for the rich world of books out there, all waiting to be read.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Personally, I can’t remember a time before I could read and I’ve always taken this wonderful skill for granted as much as I have breathing. The prison visit made me think long and hard how essential it is and I spent a day away from work writing down all the instances when I read something: cooking info on food packets, the dosage instructions on the dog’s medicine, a form to fill in to apply for mum’s attendance allowance (29 pages long), a train timetable, a text to a friend... so many occasions where I needed to be able to write and read. Being able to utilise these skills opens up a door to a much bigger, more satisfying – and safer - life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We absorb so much vocabulary and information without even trying when we read. People equipped with a wider store of words are more confident because they feel able to interact more with others and are better equipped for what life throws at them, they’re more resourceful. Those with better literacy skills get better chances, better jobs. It can be no surprise that there is a correlation between a restricted vocabulary and low self-esteem. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Reading is a magnificent sleep aid. It rests and relaxes a brain, powers it down. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Reading also sharpens our ability to focus and concentrate, skills we are in danger of losing with this modern technological age which presses us to multi-task. We watch TV whilst texting or checking in to see what other people's take on things are on Twitter. When we go to watch a band, we record it on our phones rather than just being there in the moment and enjoying it first-hand. Reading demands our whole attention to make sense of what is going on. Being forced to do one thing <i>only </i>but properly lessens our stress levels – no shit Sherlock!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Reading switches our brain into the mains, gives it power, improves memory function, staves off dementia. It’s a ‘use it or lose it’ muscle that needs stimulation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Reading gives solace and escapism for people with anxiety, the poorly who need to forget for a couple of hours that they are hooked up to a drip. It distracts from stress. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Reading a good story can do what no film can: allow a tailor made hero and heroine fashioned from our imagination to play out the story in our heads. How many of us watched Fifty Shades of Grey and thought ‘Nope, didn’t imagine Christian like that’? It’s a lovely, gentle pastime. One in three adults do not read for pleasure. What a travesty. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Reading educates us as we read factual books about the experiences of others, makes us see what is possible, encouraging us to make changes for the better. Reading gives people insight into what healthy relationships should be. I've had more than one letter from a woman who didn't realise she was actually living in an abusive relationship until she read objectively the experience of one of my characters and the penny dropped. And she got out. Reading gives us a wider understanding of the world in general. It reminds us of the impact of people’s actions upon others; prompts us to be mindful of the pleasure we can give, or the harm we can inflict. It reminds us to be sympathetic and empathetic, things which can be overlooked in today's world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Reading is free if you use the library – millions of books out there to improve and lengthen your life for the price of… well… absolutely nothing. Quick Reads books are there in your libraries now – or in bookshops for a very paltry £1.00 each.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There are wider implications upon society for reading. Being literate unlocks more chances in the job market. More vacancies are filled. The pressure on the welfare system is relieved. Literacy improves confidence, lessens stress – that impacts on the health service which is groaning under the weight of patients with mental health issues. The economy benefits, crime levels drop. All from people being able to read a little more.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Our education system is suffering. Excessive accountability and figure/target satisfying, the pressure for data dumps has been taking our teachers away from teaching. Grass roots: children need to read and write adequately because almost EVERYTHING in their future adult lives will depend on it. Government, let our teachers flipping teach – that’s why they joined the profession in the first place. And these days if there isn’t already, there should be a component to the curriculum on how to use language in this techno age. Responsibly. Not purely for trolling on the internet. </div>
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So why oh why was the Quick Reads charity ever in danger? Why did it have to be rescued by one woman, the far-sighted philanthropist and author Jojo Moyes, when publishers could have clubbed together in a joint venture or – preferably – the government could have stepped in to pledge money to keep it open. It would have been cheap at the price for the savings they’d have made elsewhere. This is base level stuff. It doesn’t need a team of financial experts to see the return they’d get for their cash. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There are only advantages to learning how to read. Reading is a key to a life enriched. A life enhanced and changed, a life happier and more fulfilled, a life with more choice and less stress. And it could – and will for many – start with a book priced at a quid. Tell me a better investment than that? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><b>More information about the Reading Agency can be found<a href="https://readingagency.org.uk/news/media/quick-reads-reveals-stellar-list-of-authors-for-2020.html" target="_blank"> here. </a></b></i></div>
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Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-49296997341978944582019-12-27T14:32:00.001+00:002020-02-10T15:02:11.543+00:00Dad<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">Three weeks ago today, I lost my beloved father. A man I never really appreciated enough until I married someone who was all words and no action – the total opposite to dad in every way. Dad was solid, hard-working and honest, the word reliable written through the middle of him like a stick of rock. My wedding day was twenty-four years exactly before the day of my father’s funeral.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">I’m sure it took dad a long time to be able to work out what strange creature he had sired. One who didn’t think sorting out a pension was a priority, who baulked at the idea of a steady job with sick pay in favour of the wild west of careers: the crowded waters of writing commercial fiction. We didn’t always see eye to eye but never enough to fall out. He must have despaired – albeit quietly – as I made so many mistakes but he never interfered, just let me get on with it all but he never let me down when I asked for help. And because I was divorced when my sons were tiny and they never saw their father again, dad was their role model of a patriarch. A man with a pronounced sense of right and wrong. A man of quiet honour. A knight of good manners and decency.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">Dad was generous but he didn’t splash his cash. When my other half once bought me a Mont Blanc pen for Christmas, Dad’s immediate thought was, ‘How much will the bloody refills for that cost you.’ And when I tried to show off my new blue, beautiful Mercedes a couple of years ago with every feature known to man, Dad stared at the gorgeous walnut dashboard and he said in a horrified voice, ‘There’s nowhere for you to play your cassettes!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">I did try and drag him into the 21<sup>st</sup> century. I bought him an iPad for his 80<sup>th</sup> birthday and he gave it back to me after he’d spent hours trying to turn it on. He was quite happy in the 20<sup>th</sup> century thank you with his cassettes and his LPs and his gadgets from Richer Sounds. Never did he come home from Leeds where he worked without buying a gadget. He had more Walkmans and headphones than Dixons (‘Dixons’ became his nickname). I did convince him to get a mobile so I could pick him up from various hospital visits. He had one number in the memory – it was mine. He turned it on to ring me and then straight off again when he’d rung so you could never have got him to answer a call. A ten quid phone card lasted him about five years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">One day when I was a teenager I walked in to find this beautiful old typewriter on the table for me. My dad had got it from work because they were giving it away and he knew I’d want it. He carried it to the bus halfway across Leeds, sat it on his knee all the way home and then nearly broke his back carrying it from the motorway because it weighed a ton. There was no fanfare, he’d just got it for me because he could. My jaw dropped when I saw it because it was the best thing in the world, the ultimate in gifts that matched the recipient. I didn’t think he ‘got me’ but that precious memory reminded me over the years that he did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">He was stupidly independent, didn’t want to put anyone out so he’d not tell me he had a hospital appointment and he’d tell mum not to tell me but as he’d set off for the bus stop mum would ring me and I’d get in the car, race down the road and pretend I was just passing so I could take him. We did this so many times he must have thought I was psychic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">I’d got so used to taking dad to the hospital, sitting and waiting whilst various bits of him were prodded and poked to find out why he didn’t want to eat. He had cameras up and down him, blood tests, scans… results all negative. He never said that he was worried about what they’d find, never gave a cry of relief when they hadn’t found what he was convinced they would. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">The end, when it came, was like a two hour film condensed to a clip. He went in to hospital yet again with a debilitating backache. The medical team found his heart rate twice what it should be working overtime to compensate for other things going wrong. The backache went, the heart rate stayed high. The docs negotiated a maze of treatments trying to sort problem A whilst not inflaming problem B and setting into motion problem C. We went from expecting dad to come home as soon as his heart rate came down, to find that other problems had shown up, to hearing that the palliative team were being lined up to being told, ‘your father is dying’ in a space of a few days. Dad, the docs said, had been living on a knife edge and one condition too many just sent him over the top. Throw in a blood condition that made infection hard to fight off. Ironic that my dad had given blood so generously for so many years and yet at the end his own let him down.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">Seeing a 'Do Not Resuscitate' notice at the front of dad's file sent me in a tailspin. It made sense that he wouldn't be. But seeing it there in bold blue brings the reality of the situation to you in all the dimensions there are on the planet. It gave me nightmares imagining my dad having that conversation with the medics, wondering what would be going through his head. I wanted to protect him from that knowledge, take it away, change it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">And you can say what you like about the NHS but based on dad's three weeks in Ward 17 of Barnsley Hospital, I wouldn't hear a word said against it. I've not always had this experience with hospitals and treatment for dad but if there was ever a department that should be held up as a example of how it all <i>should </i>work then this is it. And it doesn't take much. Doctors who seek <i>you</i> out to inform you how things are going. Proficient consultants not spieling jargon at you but explaining, using rhetoric you can take in. One consultant leaned over and just squeezed my hand and it said everything - it said '<i>I understand this man is your father as well as our patient'. </i>A nurse who was going off duty for a few days and pretty much knew that she wouldn't see us again coming to us to say goodbye, telling me that it was a privilege to nurse my father. Tea ladies bringing mum and me a constant stream of drinks, nurses pressing a cup of soup or a meal into our hands. They were kind and kindness is one of the greatest qualities: understated, flies under the radar, gentle and yet so very potent. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">I can’t begin to relay how hard it is to watch someone so mentally strong have moments of delusion and fear, a glimpse into a world that too many people have to inhabit of their parents crumbling from the inside. We were spared that protracted horror. But seeing the textbook breakdown of him, a Benny Hill speeded end – just enough time to say your goodbyes, not enough time to get our heads around it… was the hardest thing of my life. We didn’t do slush, but a friend of mine told me to make sure I said the ‘I love you’ words, however daft they sounded, and I did and he said them back. He was terrified the attached drips were prolonging the death he’d been told was coming, I was terrified when the drips came down, the monitors switched off, the sticky pads on his chest removed. I made sure I told him that the typewriter was the most wonderful present I’d ever had. When he slipped into semi-unconsciousness, his hands were typing as if he were dreaming about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">My first thought was to have him at home but I was wrong. Mum and I sat by his bedside from dawn to long past dusk for days and days and days and could monitor how his pain relief was working, rush out for a nurse when the medicines started to fail. The worst part was witnessing his mental anguish, his frowning, banging his forehead and because I know how his brain works, I knew what was going on in there: he’d looked after mum and me since we came into his life and he was going first. That thought was both killing him whilst forcing him to cling on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">We live five minutes away from the hospital. He slipped away very quickly at 4.30 in the morning, we dashed up there but missed his last breath by minutes. I shan’t beat myself up about that because I’m pretty sure dad wouldn’t have wanted us to witness that. So many nurses told us, people slip away when loved ones aren't around, as if they want it that way. I was just glad he wasn't alone, that a lovely young nurse was sitting with him. He didn’t like to put anyone out which is why if he could have planned it, he’d have worked it around Easter, Christmas, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, birthdays… but some things you can’t play to a diary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">I don’t know if it’s ironic that my next book was written like a forerunner of what I was to go through – choosing what clothes for a deceased person to wear, the songs for the funeral, keeping everything as is in the house as if he’d just popped out into town, slippers by the door waiting. Throw in wandering like a zombie around Meadowhall looking for a plain black coat and dress. In my case whilst every shop I enter trying to keep my eyes dry is blasting out the old Christmas favourites by Slade and Paul bloody McCartney. Never were two worlds so incongruous. I never thought whilst I was writing it all that I was describing what I'd be living before the words had gone to typeset, that I'd get it so horribly bang on. On 12/11 I was celebrating my parents Diamond Wedding with them, looking forward to Christmas, mum bragging about her card from the queen, popping the cork off a bottle of champers. On 11/12, I was delivering clothes at the funeral parlour for dad to wear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">Grief, I’ve discovered, distorts time. This three weeks since he passed has felt both like years and hours. It’s like a Funhouse without the ‘Fun’ part. A few steps on sure ground underfoot before the room starts whirling or you fall through a hole. Nothing is solid, my world has changed shape. Triggers to bouts of overwhelming sadness hide behind corners ready to leap out without warning and don't necessarily have any apparent relevance. The finality of it all is the hardest to bear – that I will never see my daddy again, never see him strolling up the road so I can pull in to give him a lift, though my mind has already started playing tricks on me and spotting him, even though the ‘him’ is nothing like him at all, just a man in a flat cap walking where he used to walk. My recent memories are full of painful vignettes, of throwing my arms around a coffin and sobbing into the wood, of rolling a toothbrush around my father’s mouth to moisten it because he was too weak to drink, of hovering over my father's bedside as if he were my child and throwing the rightful order of things out of the window. Of riding in a black limo behind the hearse and thinking how many times I’d seen one on the street and wondering who had died and what their story was. I felt strangely calm until the car turned into the crematorium and I was floored with the impact that it was us taking centre stage and all those dear old friends that I had seen so many times over the past few years when I’d taken dad to funerals, were lined up to say goodbye to him now. Surreal is the only word that comes near to summing it all up. I keep thinking this can’t have happened. It hurts too much to accept that it has and my brain is doing everything it can to repel the facts. I cannot refer to dad as ‘was’ as opposed to ‘is’</span><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">; for such a little three-letter word ‘was’ has a dreadful power.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">After he died, one of his two best friends George told me a story about dad. George had found him a job on a building site, but dad was better with his head than his hands so he moved into being in charge of bonuses in the wages office. But the building trade was rotten, men were cheated out of their wages left, right and centre. When two men, who had left, came back to collect their bonuses, dad was told by the managers not to give them and put the money in petty cash instead. But dad was adamant that they'd earned them. He was threatened with the sack if he disobeyed, so he 'sacked himself' and took the men's money with him, kept it in his back pocket in the hope of bumping into these men who he had little hope of tracing. But weeks later, bump into them he did - and he still had their money for them in his pocket. 'That's your dad' said George. And it really was.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">Whilst looking through old photos, I came across one of mum and my godmother that I've seen so many times over the years but none of us ever spotted that in the background there was dad carrying me. Someone said to me that it was a sign... that he was there and always would be, in the background caring for me. It's the sort of thing I'd have dismissed as sentimental bollocks. Now, it brings a strange solace because you take your comforts where you can find them and I'm scrabbling around for all I can get my hands on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">Sadly my godfather Cyril died just three weeks later. Dad was upset about the prospect of losing the other of his best friends and then went on to overtake him. I hope they're together, as they were through their lives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: large;">T</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: 14pt;">here is a piece of me missing. I will adjust, regroup, recalibrate… because that’s what people do. But I will not be the same person ever again and I don't know if I'll be harder, stronger or weaker but time will tell. Nor am I sure that I will ever get to the end of missing him. One day I will be able to watch the full Andre Previn/Morecambe and Wise sketch and think fondly of dad splitting his sides at it every single time without experiencing a crippling pang of loss. I hope. All I know for certain at the moment – and it’s a cliché, I’ll give you that, sunshine – is that the world is a little poorer for not having more tolerant, kind people in it like my father with his cassettes and his quiet, innate decency. He was, quite simply, a gentleman.</span><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span></span></div>
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Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-52937905602417124512018-10-17T15:35:00.002+01:002018-10-17T20:55:56.303+01:00The Process of Writing a Book When You Are Chaos Personified<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
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How do you write a book, people ask me. Well this is what I do. There is no right or wrong way, just your own way. My way is anarchic and chaotic but it works for me. I cannot understand how most of the following happens, it just does. I will not be holding seminars on how to do it this way - but it is here for your perusal. </div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->My editor asks me for a synopsis of my next book. I am not a planner. All I can give her is ‘The lead characters are X and Y and they live in Z. They get together at the end.’ She needs more so I make something up. The finished story will bear absolutely no resemblance to this synopsis.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I try to plan my book this time. I take out a fresh block of post-it notes and write some details on them and stick them on a wall. I see the joy in being able to do this and move them around purposefully and I want to employ this process SO much but I can’t make it work for me. The few post-it notes stay on that wall until they either drop off or the dog nicks them to chew on.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I start to write. Chapter 1. I break that sea of white with one word and one number – I’m in. I have no idea where the story is taking me but the lines cue up in my head and I just carry on writing until I realise it is time to feed the dog/cat/rabbit/teenage boys or wee. Occasionally I will have an idea about something which might happen further down the line and I jot it quickly down in a notepad. Or, if in the middle of the night, on my arm. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I need a title because it has to mean something and the title has to be relevant to the book and blended into it, as surely as sugar is folded into egg-whites to make a meringue. I am always a lot more relaxed when I get the title which either arrives in a blinding flash of inspiration at the beginning or a whirl of panic at the eleventh hour. Usually the latter.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->About a third of the way in I realise I hate the book. I have no idea what is going to happen next and I don’t know my characters well enough to have any opinion of them other than I hate them as well. I have been here enough times to realise this is not a brick wall but an illusion – it is fog. If I power through it, there will be light on the other side. There always is but in the thick of it, it is scary and I worry that <i>this </i>will be the time when the fog really <i>is </i>a brick wall. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->At the other side of the fog I am more invested in my characters. I begin to like them a bit and know what makes them tick. They oblige me by helping me progress the plot. Nice characters.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I do not edit along the way. I complete the first draft. The first draft might have seven Saturdays in February and Andrew in chapter one has become Darren by chapter seven and Siobhan by chapter twenty-five. Green-eyed Mary might have blue eyes by the end of the book – and possibly brown ones in the middle. I don’t care. I do not edit here.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I HAVE COMPLETED THE FIRST DRAFT. TREAT TIME. Sparkling ice wine is ordered. I deserve this lots.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Second draft. I make a timeline. Easiest way to do this is by running off a calendar that I can write on, pin point on it where my last chapter ends, then I work backwards. Shape is happening. I now only have 4 Saturdays in February. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->No title yet? I start to twitch a little.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Third draft. Continuity. Mary’s eyes are sorted out. I make sure that the features of my characters are set in stone. Darren is Darren at the beginning, middle and end of the book and maintains his brown hair and 5ft 7” frame throughout. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->My work goes off to my editor. Whilst waiting for her to come back with her comments, my stomach is in spasm hoping she will not say ‘This is absolute crap, start again.’<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->My editor returns the manuscript, tells me to strip out a murder, cut back on Darren and beef up Mary’s story. It feels a mammoth task. I have to cut, whip out, add in and stitch up my story into a different whole. Somehow this happens.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">14<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I send it back to my editor sort of assured that we are on the same page (chortle). If we are…. Thunderbirds are go!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">15<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->If that title hasn’t come yet, I am now flapping like a flock of sea eagles. My editor and agent and I bat titles back and forth. I despair. Four hundred suggestions and none of them fit. Some are actually so bad they make me vomit and have bad dreams. We need a title urgently.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">16<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->WE FIND A TITLE. I can sleep. Wine helps.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">17<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Having had a couple of weeks away from the manuscript, when I see it again I spot mistakes and plot-holes everywhere. I work on getting these right and anchoring that title deep into the story.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">18<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--> I then do another draft where I enrich the language, deepen the emotion, this is the fun edit. The one where my creativity can flow. This edit is like the glossy top coat of nail varnish. It is as near perfect as I can get it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">19<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Exciting meetings at Publisher HQ. So much goes on behind the scenes – PR ideas, marketing, sales. We sit around a table and they all excitedly tell me what plans they have for the book, which supermarkets and shops have bought them and how many. We plan and plot. It all feels real and wonderful – and we eat buns. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">20<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The cover comes from the art department and it is always a joy to see it. Except that the artist has usually gone off my initial synopsis, which as we know is full of lies, so a bit of tweaking has to go on.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">21<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->My work goes off to the copyeditor and comes back with a million notes on it. Mostly pointing out glaring errors that I should have noticed, and highlighting awful grammar. She is a marvel. I feel as if she should be writing the book and I should be cleaning toilets.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">22<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Magic occurs. Something happens to my brain and it turns me into a copyeditor too now. A very anal one. This is usually panic-driven because I am terrified of overlooking errors. I trawl through every word of my manuscript, realising that I have written ‘just’ 42 times on one page. I take ALL the ‘justs’ out: 675. I read it again and have to put some ‘justs’ back in. My copyeditor’s hair turns white. This is my favourite part of the process because someone else reads it objectively in detail and you can work very closely with them as they are the first real pair of proper reader eyes. But you can work too hard on this. My copyeditor tells me it is okay to have a little natural duplication and working through a thesaurus changing every ‘said’ to a different word is counter-productive because the eye smoothes over many words that are doing a filling in job and don’t need to snag the eye. She’s right. Again. As always. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">23<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I like to look over the finished clean manuscript with all the mistakes ironed out. Still, you always miss a couple because you are poring over it so intensely. My brain now starts to wake me up at 4am. ‘Oy, Darren can’t be found in the park because in chapter 5 you said it was closed for a month.’ I have no idea how my brain does this but in the background it seems to be constantly scavenging for things to torment me with.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">24<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I start to panic that there is a deadline and I’ve just discovered something that is out of place and it has a knock-on effect to other stuff. That deadline is too close. I have a massive repair job to do suddenly. My record is sitting down at 9am, determined not to go to bed until I had made sure everything was sorted. I was still there at 9am the next morning. I was still there at 15.45 that afternoon. My eyes were out of focus and watering and on the verge of bleeding. I put one foot on the step to go to bed as my son entered and asked if there was any chance of a bacon buttie. The answer was ‘no’. But with more ‘f’ sounds. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">25<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I back away from the book, off it goes to be typeset. Whilst I am in limbo I can catch up with some jobs like shaving my legs/moustache, talking to the family, drinking something that isn’t espresso. I try to relax and have a day off but I have lost the ability to know what to do with spare time. I start designing bookmarks/bags/pens. I am the Queen of Merchandise for this reason, because I am now obsessed with my book. I trawl the internet for promotional goods that will look good with a sunflower/owl/Christmas pudding on them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">26<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The typeset version comes back. I need to have an eagle-eye to spot any errors and really have to try not to alter anything that does not need to be altered. Yes, ‘packed’ would have been a better word that ‘put’, but keep it to the absolute bare minimum please. No one else will be thinking, ‘I’d have put packed there myself if I’d written that not put.’ I spend 15 minutes worrying if a sentence makes sense when a reader’s eyes would just drift across it. My stress levels are spiked. I spend half an hour looking at the word ‘was’ and thinking it looks as if it is spelled wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">28<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The typeset manuscript is prised from my hands. It has to go to be bound into a book. NOW. There is no more time to edit. In the words of Frozen Elsa: ‘LET IT GO’.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">29<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Another editor has also been looking at the manuscript to make sure all is well. She will flag anything suspicious. I love this woman like my own mother.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">31<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Whilst I am preparing to launch the book into the world, I’ve started the next one. The editor asks for a synopsis…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">32<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The book is sent off to some lucky (I hope) buggers. One can just hope that the first reviews in are nice as they serve as a suit of armour for that first ‘This is terrible. Do not waste your money’, which inevitably comes. I only look at the first reviews to make sure the book is hitting the spot. Yeah course. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">33<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Mrs Outraged writes a review telling people how appalling my book is and encourages everyone NOT to buy it. I look at her other reviews. If mine is the only one she has commented on, I presume she is an evil twat from my past. But no – Mrs Outraged has 500 other reviews to her name and she has hated the books of every other female writer on the planet, which gives me some comfort. Also she has called the Bible far-fetched and thinks the Brontes were talentless. Although she has given her wart remover 5 stars, so she can be pleased by something.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">34<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->We wait to see the public reaction to my new book baby. Will it make the top 10 - if it does… that’s bliss. The pressure is always on. If it got to number 5 last time, number 4 would be good. But then if JK Rowling has released 7 more Harry Potters on the same week as mine is out… my chances are the opposite of slim – they’re fat! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">35<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I have a busy schedule of meeting readers, signing their books, having pictures taken with them. It’s a joy, I feel exhilarated. I feel <i>someone.</i> Plus people give me a lot of scones. People feed writers and give them Prosecco. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">36<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I go home from being feted as an adored queen of romance to find that the cat litter tray needs changing, the ironing needs doing, I have no milk in the cupboard. And I have the next book to carry on writing… <o:p></o:p></div>
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Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-82904255909374895362018-06-01T11:42:00.004+01:002019-03-25T16:14:13.568+00:00Hello My Name is Milly Johnson and I am a Writer of Commercial Fiction.<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">There is a rise in celeb-led book clubs. And I did make a comment on social media that I hoped they would feature more commercial fiction in their choices. And though these book clubs are starting to include books of our genre (two of my friends have their lovely books in them - Julie Cohen and Rowan Coleman. Read them both and they're gorgeous and should be shouted about from the rooftops)... the problem is that there just aren’t enough of them. And where’s the HUMOUR in the lists? Where’s the books that make you laugh out loud? They don’t feature. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">Humour doth not automatically a light book maketh, so said Shakespeare or maybe I dreamt that. </span><i><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest </span></i><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">made me snigger in places, but it was also one of the grimmest books I ever read. Life is full of humour, we need it to counterbalance the dark times. But, in this world, give a reader something to laugh at in a book and it turns it into ‘a beach read’ ‘easy read’ ‘chick-lit’. Unless you’re a man and then your tome is an ‘amusing literary classic.’ I had humour in one of my books alongside assault, racism and kidnap. ‘A light read’ so said Amazon reviewers. Book by woman + laughter = froth. It would still have been judged the same had I thrown in a buggered Alsatian as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">There’s a lot of snobbery in the book world. Women writers of commercial fiction – and I include the saga and historical writers in this – feel it doubly. Had a woman written ‘One Day’, it would be consigned to the file of ‘chick lit’ (not an original observation by me - I've stolen it as it's a brilliant one) but, guess what girls, we have a long way to go before the playing field is flat so just get on with your writing and forget the politics. The broadsheets will favour literary books for a long time to come... sea changes take a while. Still, I can’t think of any writer I know who has an inverted snobbery about those books. We don’t look down on them because we don’t compare with them: they’re different. Which do you prefer: a fillet steak or a goosedown duvet? It’s not right or wrong to prefer one to the other. Steaks and duvets can co-exist happily in the world. It’s not a contest. We can say 'we want more' without it meaning 'but we want you to have less'.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">Predictable is another lazy insult if you favour a happy ending. A woman once wrote a review on Amazon that she could predict the end after reading four pages of my book. I asked her for next week’s lottery results (naughty Milly, do NOT leave comments). </span><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">Well, yep, I ride that predictability bus. I like to leave people with some hope that their dreams can come true. Mine did. I dreamt of being an author. I dreamt of having £10 spare at the end of my pay packet so I could buy a weekly video. I dreamt of having my own office. I dreamt – big dream – of one day actually having enough brass to GO ON A CRUISE. I’m dreamt of meeting Mr Right and I did. I’m there. It happens, dreams do come true – as Gabrielle so rightly foresaw. Anyway – Agatha Christie is predictable: There’s a crime, Hercule or Jane solves it and the bad guy gets put away in prison. I can put up with that sort of bed-mate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">Commercial fiction holds its own against the insults and all those Japanese knot-weed rumours that it’s dying, that it’s ‘on its arse’. Actually, never has it been so strong. Never has the world, in such a total mess, needed commercial fiction as much to give our brains some respite. And, in case you’re wondering, what I mean by commercial fiction is: books whose main purpose is not to challenge you intellectually or show off how many synonyms for ‘sybarite’ the author can muster up but books which give hope and comfort to people who need some time out of their zone, books that entertain and sweep up the reader into their pages. Books that celebrate friendship, community, love and family, that bruise your heart and then slap arnica on it, books full of characters that readers identify with – <i>perfectly imperfect </i>people who get their happy ending and make YOU realise you could have it too because carers of the elderly, teachers, dinner-ladies, people who work in Asda, stay-at-home mums all have a crack at a happy ending in life, it is not a prerogative of special individuals. Authors write these books primarily for readers to enjoy and their readers are legion and they speak with their purses. This is big business. 'It’s called commercial for a reason: because it sells' (quoted from Cathy Bramley).<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">Oh and just because something sells and becomes popular, that somehow serves to devalue it. As if 'niche' only is desirable. Well that might be the case if Van Gogh had churned out 10,000 identical Sunflower paintings but with books, I'm not sure it's quite the same. Even if it is, I don't care. I write for the masses, not to have one book exhibited in a glass case. I want to be like E.L. who must be so upset by the derision from lofty quarters that she has to take a break from counting her millions. She has so many critics she could build a mansion from their livers, but they're far FAR outweighed by her readers who love her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">But we live in an age where 15% of adults in the country have the literacy </span><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">age </span><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">of an eleven year old. Surely making people feel ashamed that they like a story that doesn’t make them reach for a dictionary every second word is wrong, isn't it? Surely a life-affirming story about people that readers can identify with is no bad thing? One that captures their imagination, has them reading on, improves their literacy levels because they’re so engrossed in a story? There is NOTHING WRONG with a book that is easy to read or has a sparkly cover that calls to you from a shelf in Tesco. Not everywhere has a swanky bookshop. Buying a book from a supermarket is no different from obtaining it from ‘Jago and Dashwater’ with its mullioned windows in the centre of Oxford (I made that name up). A book is a book is a book and commercial fiction books can change lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">Readers of mine will be familiar with a story of a taxi driver that took something from one of my books that made him and his wife quit the rat race and live out a dream existence in an Inn in the most gorgeous part of France. And here are some direct lifts from many of the emails that I’ve kept from people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"> ‘</span><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">The Queen of Wishful Thinking inspired me get away from my controlling husband, I won't go into details, so after a horrible 9 months divorce is nearly complete along with moving into a lovely flat on my own hurray!! Just need a couple of rescue cats for company!!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">‘You wouldn’t believe it but we just literally booked a cruise in the Mediterranean for this September....You can take full credit for that!’ (ahem… I do)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">‘I am sitting at the side of my husband who has dementia and your books take me to a place where I can breathe. Thank you.’<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">And one hot from the press that came as a response to this article: 'Charles Dickens hasn't helped my mental health but your books have.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">I know that a couple of women quit their jobs and set up a business calling themselves ‘2 Woman and a Mop’ because they wrote and told me so. Another set up a café after reading my books. I’m not alone in getting these stories. I know plenty of my contemporaries have similar stories to parade. So not worthless fluff then? Not ‘lesser books’. We write powerful, inspirational books. Even the New York Times has a romantic novel round-up! (thank you Pernille Hughes for this.) And if it's good enough for them... </span><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/books/review/summer-reading-romance.html">https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/books/review/summer-reading-romance.html</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">When a book in our genre becomes so successful that it can’t be ignored, it is reborn as ‘Up-Lit’. It’s like the kid in school who writes an essay so good that he’s whisked off to the swanky grammar school up the road. He isn’t allowed to stay in his friendship group, he has to learn to mingle with the cool kids. Up-Lit is a new genre, they say. Nope. It might not have had the fancy moniker but I was reading Carole Matthews and Sue Welfare way before I’d even thought of my first plot and they were wonderful uplifting reads that left me with a smile on my face at the end. (Presently waiting for one of mine to have the 'Hollywood' fairy arrive with her million pound contract. Then I will be sanitised and relabelled 'Pit Lit'). It’s okay for a book to be a good read and still be commercial fiction. I’m not ashamed of what I write. It’s okay for me to leave a reader with a sloppy contented look on their face rather than a ‘what the f – happened?’ and wondering if they’ve been sold a book with some missing pages. As my friend Debbie Johnson points out: books about community spirit and heart and imperfect people overcoming personal struggles in life to rise victorious are absolutely nothing new. Anne of Green Gables embodied that sentiment in 1908. </span><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">Aaaand the most perfectly imperfect heroine of them all (IMO) Jane Eyre - 1847. Not new then. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">'I read commercial fiction,' a lady told me after reading the first draft of this article, 'but I've got a degree and I'm intelligent.' NOOO... that's nearly an apology. Just because you read 'genre fiction' does not make you thick, indiscriminate. Where does this split in the world come from? Literary fiction readers = art appreciation, business class travel, Waitrose, interest in lofty history programmes, Radio 3 listener. Commercial fiction readers = watches Coronation Street on a continuous loop, holidays in Benidorm, wouldn't know Madame Butterfly from a Butterfly King Prawn, shops in Aldi. (Incidentally one of the poshest women I know shops in Aldi and has a villa just outside Benidorm). You can enjoy a chip butty whilst reading an Ian McKeown novel (incidentally the man is a God - I love his work. It's allowed). That's part of the problem, we've been made to feel apologetic for reading something that lifts our hearts, ashamed of our choices. And I know many authors in our genre who can wipe the floor with most of the literary lot for their beautiful use of language. Read 'The Man who Didn't Call' by Rosie Walsh and see what I mean - a masterclass of beautiful prose. Had Rosie been a man, she'd have... I'll leave you to fill in the rest! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">I’m doing well. I’m a million quid short of the castle I want to buy but I’ve worked hard and long and I sell in bookshops and supermarkets all over the place. But a lot of my contemporaries don’t because it’s harder and harder these days to sell into shops and you need sales to flag up your presence to buyers – a vicious circle. So celeb-led book clubs with their long reach are a gift. They too could change lives by shining a well-needed spotlight on a new talent, one that might not even be with a mainstream publisher. I have brilliant writer friends who left the ‘Big Five’ to self-publish. Sue Welfare, Matt Dunn (yes a man), Tracy Bloom amongst others. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">I did actually make the broadsheet papers last year. Someone decided to clone my name and flood Amazon worldwide with fake titles. In a crazy way it was flattering that my name was deemed big enough to pin their scheme on. Even more bizarrely that means I’m appreciated more by a global criminal fraternity than I am by the book reviewer of the Sunday Times, even when I'm shining on the page in the number 5 Sunday Times bestseller slot. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">Oh and a couple of years ago, I made the top twenty books most borrowed in this country for libraries. Above John Grisham - ahem. Three women in the list - Paula Hawkins and her train, Harper Lee with her Watchman and there - at number 12 - me with my book about a bunch of cleaners in Barnsley sitting happily amongst the Lee Childs and David Williams. What a chance to celebrate! Women! Commercial fiction! But nope - it was classed as an aberration, an anomaly, an Northern elephant in the room and conveniently ignored. Nothing to see here folks, let's move quickly on. Which might make me sound bitter... so read on friends to 'Bitter-gate' below.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">On the strength of the Twitter comment about wanting a celeb-led book club full of commercial fiction, I was invited to go on the radio and talk with a high-profile male, and female presenter and I was delighted. ‘Did I think that our books were the equivalent of bubble gum songs?’ asked the Producer before the interviewer. Churned out, easily forgettable? No, I bloody don’t think that. (He actually said 'like Taylor Swift songs' which, as Lisa Jewell pointed out was not actually the insult it was meant to be because she 'is a hugely talented young woman who makes writing and performing high quality pop music look so much easier than it is.') I was introduced as 'Now Milly, you're bitter...'. Something, as least, I was prepared for just in case they couldn't tell the difference between a genuine call for a celeb-led book club with more of our novels in it and me bleating that I'm not a Richard and Judy choice (yes it would be lovely if I were, but it won't ruin my life if I'm not). </span><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">'Now Milly, you're bitter...' </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">And it went downhill from there. For some reason the female presenter presumed I was on there for advice about how to get my books out there if I wanted to be successful. </span></div>
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'If you look at a book it’s a product and I completely understand before social media it was very difficult to break into the publishing world but you only have to look at JK Rowling, look how many books got refused. So my point is, if you are absolutely passionate about getting your books to be read by the wider audience then actually you have to be a business woman and you have to use social media and you have to get your audience because you can’t rely on TV celebrities and people like… you know… critics, you have to go out there and make it happen yourself.' <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">Funnily enough, I broke into that publishing world in 2006 and I do run it as a business: vat, accountant, assistant, petty cash tin, BIG hole punch. My books are read by a very wide audience - I even have my own shelf in Tesco. And as for social media... even my pet rabbit Alan tweets. But you're wrong, we DO need TV celebs and 'critics' in newspapers, that was the whole point of me going on the programme, not for tips on how to post a photo to Pinterest! How come it's okay for other genres to need them but not us? We all write books. We all enjoy exposure because we have to sell those books, that's how it works, Mrs, whether you write crime, literary, saga, romance, historical, recipes...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">Then my hopeful heart sank further...</span></div>
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Male presenter: 'I know, I know what you’re talking about, it’s just flashed up in my mind. Coming up to Christmas on Channel 5, or some channel, it’s always a Christmas channel, do you notice that, and they’re full of romantic films of a man who’s a lumberjack in a town, a teacher who goes for a new job at a school and her husband has just been run over by a bus in New York city and she relocates out into the country and he’s hunky and she always has a teenage daughter or son who doesn’t like the lumberjack. Isn’t this the sort of thing we’re talking about?'<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;">My bubble of hope burst. I tried, folks. Bitter? Yes. But only about a failed perfect chance to address a very serious issue that really does affect livelihoods. Ironic considering Marian Keyes was in the studio talking too about the snobbery of the book world as she was being hailed by said presenter as a superstar of fiction written by a woman, for women, featuring women. Note to him: Marian is us. I wonder if he realised that he was calling Marian's books Lumberjack Fiction too? (Pick-Lit?). </span></div>
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Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-9596241398233473002017-08-31T16:06:00.002+01:002017-08-31T17:29:25.865+01:00BE A CHARACTER IN MY NEXT BOOK AUCTION!!!In a week where we have taken ownership of a pup who will be loved and cherished, it is a sad counterbalance that so many animals in the world do not receive the respect and happiness they deserve. Mans' best friends - if we let them. Loyal way past the point of no return. The internet churns up so many stories of animal cruelty even the word 'caution' next to a link for a photo brings the tears to my eyes. I can't open the stories. A single sweep of my eye across a photo of animal distress seems to burn the image onto my retina. I want to help them all and I know I can't. So I'm always thrilled when big celebs with big voices, big clout and big money get involved in trying to change things. Celebrity has power, using it for these causes makes all of us animal lovers rejoice.<br />
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But tomorrow - or today if you are reading this on Friday 1st September - I have an auction to try and raise funds for a little dog who really needs some help. He's had a shit life in Romania, how he survived I have no idea, but he did. The pics aren't nice (but doable - even for a wuss like me) so I use the word caution, but he has been taken in by a lovely couple with another rescue dog and they've spent thousands on him. Thanks to some twat with an iron bar hitting Eddie over the head, he has a hole in it that needs surgery and a super vet will do it, but for a fee. And the half-way mark has been reached which leaves another £3000 to raise.<br />
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Oh we have all spent a fiver on daft things - I have. I blew £20 on da Vinci's Diamonds last week (my one and only foray into online gambling) so if you can forego a bottle of plonk or a paperback book in the supermarket (obviously not mine - buy those. Joke!) this weekend to help raise some cash for Eddie, then please do. We cannot save them all, but we can give a little to a few, pick our causes and this is one of mine.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxSM4xV_QlnFnenPKYpbH7KJFoFhChK7JFG_Ag6YI6B_wZM09BYX7gh_G70I5nbaY3o6oyZqPSlO4fbMvXuDCkXfy9qDP7E1Z9hlTzh-LRIIp7FNWPHt2xDkKry-t3_JjkZIh4_Gb9k3y/s1600/IMG_6259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxSM4xV_QlnFnenPKYpbH7KJFoFhChK7JFG_Ag6YI6B_wZM09BYX7gh_G70I5nbaY3o6oyZqPSlO4fbMvXuDCkXfy9qDP7E1Z9hlTzh-LRIIp7FNWPHt2xDkKry-t3_JjkZIh4_Gb9k3y/s320/IMG_6259.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is our lad, loved, safe... hopefully for all his days</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDoY_bkc95Vjg1PoDIcOF7SguN8hUiyHyMHCtjTBJdzcHq2pDqxK44wEH7kc9UnQaNg8s1KdYqrS2D08nkTf2Bou76bzjJIcydSfdXEPjtkwt-ZJf0KYsp0pYQ7O1iO1e2HssbHS1sTjs/s1600/fullsizeoutput_115b.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="882" data-original-width="1198" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMDoY_bkc95Vjg1PoDIcOF7SguN8hUiyHyMHCtjTBJdzcHq2pDqxK44wEH7kc9UnQaNg8s1KdYqrS2D08nkTf2Bou76bzjJIcydSfdXEPjtkwt-ZJf0KYsp0pYQ7O1iO1e2HssbHS1sTjs/s400/fullsizeoutput_115b.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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...and this is Eddie, who is now loved and safe but he's had a rough time and deserves to live out the rest of his life with health and happiness.</div>
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Eddie, despite his history, is a loving soul who probably can't believe his luck landing with his new family who are fighting to save him.</div>
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So... you can help in two ways. Firstly - there is the crowd funding page - where you can stick a bit in the pot for him. No such thing as a little kindness, all those small amounts of cash add up.</div>
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<a href="https://www.leetchi.com/c/money-pot-eddie-22587947">https://www.leetchi.com/c/money-pot-eddie-22587947</a></div>
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Thank you from the family if you do - I know they are touched by the kindness that Eddie has been shown from strangers.</div>
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<b><i>But also there is an auction to win a place in my book 15 - the Christmas Pudding Club. It ends Friday 1st September at 19 minutes past 8 in the evening (20:19)</i></b></div>
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The winner will be able to pick the name of a character - or a business - in the book (there is a disclaimer that it can't be anything stupid like Mr Cheesy McKnob). But I will confer with the winner so that it is a very personal gift. In the past people who have won my prizes have had their loved ones honoured. Bill Henderson in Queen of Wishful Thinking was a massive character and a lovely one and in memory of a lady's father. Stripey the cat in Autumn Crush. Even Cheryl Parker's character - whose husband was the winning bidder for her name to be in a book - took centre stage in Afternoon Tea at the Sunflower Cafe. </div>
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People all over the world will read about the character. The book will be published in October 2018 and the winning bidder will receive advance copies, personalised and 'all the gubbins.' It will be the loveliest present I can make for someone - so if you want to surprise your wife/husband/mother - there are few more personalised gifts than the one that I am offering.</div>
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There are only 24 hours left for the auction so you will forgive me for asking you to spread the news far and wide because I need social media - Eddie needs social media. I promise, whoever wins will not be disappointed.</div>
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<i><b>I will - as an addition - put everyone's name who bids in the auction into a hat, make a draw and put that person - or person nominated by them - into the book too. </b></i></div>
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<b>HERE IS THE AUCTION LINK ...</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/172832677119?ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&_trksid=p3984.m1555.l2649">http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/172832677119?ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&_trksid=p3984.m1555.l2649</a></div>
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And if the price for this is too high - then please, see that money pot link above. Please let us, between us, give Eddie a rest of a lovely life.</div>
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Thank you - and much love folks. It's wonderful that strangers can be so kind, with all the crap news thrown at us, we tend to forget there is still a lot of goodness in the world.</div>
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Milly xxxx</div>
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<br />Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-44613822085261226212017-08-18T14:01:00.003+01:002017-08-18T16:10:18.530+01:00A Week on the Ocean WaveThe choice of a holiday was simple: a week or nothing. Circumstances dictated that we couldn't have the customary long break and I did wonder if a week would be enough to recharge my batteries. I'd never done a week's cruise before. But then I hadn't done a cruise without the kids before - with just ourselves to please. So the choice was simple. We'll take the week.<br />
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It was a research trip as well as a holiday. I was working - honest. If you can call it work. Our ship of choice - P & O's Ventura, sister of one of my two favourites The Azura. Destination: Spain, Portugal and Guernsey. We needed sunshine badly. And a rest.<br />
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The thing I love about cruise holidays is that they start the moment we board the bus. The journey is pretty long to Southampton but we aren't driving and can just sit back and enjoy the view and eat the wine gums. We loaded our cases on the bus and the next time we saw them, they were outside the cabin. <br />
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I always feel better once we have handed over the passports and the tickets at the embarkation desk. You'd be surprised how many people pack their passports, I'm told. (I've never done that but I'm not getting too smug because I did once miss the ship, but that's another story of course. ) Getting on the ship is a bit like opening the door to your own personal familiar timeshare, I do really feel that I'm 'home' for a week. <br />
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We had a balcony cabin which I would recommend because it's lovely to fall asleep on or just stand there and watch the waves/dolphins/scenery. You don't need to take towels with you or a hairdryer. There is loads of wardrobe space, an ensuite with toiletries, a TV, a safe, mini bar and a huge comfy bed. which is made for you every day - a cabin steward comes in twice a day and leaves chocolates at night. Sadly she doesn't follow you home.<br />
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The favourite 'hang out' for me is the Glass House because the food and the wines there are fabulous. We headed straight there for an Ice Wine and I can't tell you how much I instantly felt all weight dropping from my shoulders. I refused to let my mind stray back home to wild parties that my teenage sons might be holding and concentrated on what was happening on the ship via the daily Horizon newspaper.<br />
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You notice changes every time you come onto the ship and one of those was that there is no hiding in your cabins and avoiding the life jacket practice. For the record, I never avoided them. It's nice to mingle and gives me the chance to see if I recognise anyone I've cruised with before plus we always play 'spot the plank' an integral part of the cruise. The lads and I used to take bets on who we thought would be the first person to disobey the crew's message to 'watch and not do'. I spotted the plank first this time, I am proud to admit. Now you have to get your cruise card scanned and if you haven't attended then, then you will have to at a later date. Who wants that? It doesn't take very long (at least it wouldn't if people arrived on time). My holiday begins properly after that. Choice of bars for a cocktail? Plenty. Be rude not to try them all. Check out my chocolate orange gin one.<br />
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Though my favourite is the old Raspberry Creme Brûlée!<br />
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You could even buy Barnsley Bitter! And it looks as if my five a day is sorted easily enough!<br />
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We had some amazing meals on the ship. On the second night we went to the Epicurean with journo friends and were treated to such unexpected delights as a Bloody Mary frozen lolly and a lipstick jelly! Salmon was cut at the table (whisky infused!) crepes were flambed there too. Dinner takes at least two hours and it's fabulous. Not just a meal but an experience. Is it worth the supplement? Oh yes. And not twiddly little nouvelle cuisine portions either. This is serious stuffing.<br />
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My very posh surf and turf with beef and lobster...<br />
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The men got an 'egg' made out of a piece of mango, ladies got lippy!</div>
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My dessert was tiny. Not.</div>
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the after dinner chocolates were many but by then we had reached 'Mr Creosote stage'.</div>
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Our first stop was in Vigo - sadly on a Sunday so most of the shops were shut - but there is a beautiful beach there at Samil. Just ask a taxi driver to take you, it's about 10 minutes up the road.</div>
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But there was sunshine, lots of it and we were happy sitting in it, drinking coffee listening to one of a thousand buskers playing Despacito on a continual loop.</div>
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As we were by ourselves without my boys, we hadn't booked any trips and for the first time had freedom dining, which was fabulous. We sometimes shared a table and sometimes had a table for two - if one wasn't available, we were giving a pager and I can't think that we waited above 20 minutes at all.</div>
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The food on board ship is a huge part of the holiday, and though more than half my pics seem to be of meals, we didn't actually put any weight on! We only made breakfast a couple of times and had a few lunches in the Glass House.</div>
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My other half loved the fish and chips!</div>
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But the totally fatless sirloin with Bearnaise sauce took some beating for me!</div>
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I tended to go for the 3 little dishes... and one day we treated ourselves to the three little dishes of desserts plus a sharing platter featuring Alex James's cheese. Merely for photographic purposes you understand. One day I just had the cheese as a meal - absolutely gorgeous.</div>
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We did go to Sindhu at East one night to sample the Indian recipes of Atul Kochhar.</div>
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My other half though there wasn't going to be much food for him when he saw the size of the poppadoms. But the courses kept on coming...<br />
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...and coming </div>
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and coming...</div>
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and coming...</div>
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and coming...</div>
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...and coming! <br />
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The meal took was two hours of unadulterated bliss. And we tried the complimentary house wine which was surprisingly good (I had been prepared for us abandoning it and buying a decent bottle). The wines are lovely on board and very reasonably priced - which isn't the case with all cruise companies. Though I was gutted to find that my favourite Pinotage has been replaced by another one. I consoled myself with one of Jolly Olly Smith's other choices. It managed to take away some of the pain. </div>
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Coffee to follow... and some lovely Indian delicacies. I almost didn't take a photo of that because by then I was so huge, I couldn't bend over to pick up my camera. <br />
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It's a very small supplement to dine at East and it's worth more than every penny. My OH's favourite food on the ship.</div>
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Although the Beach House high up on deck 15 offers outstanding views whilst you're eating.</div>
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I fancied something light and the salmon - hickory glazed with a potato salad and buttered asparagus - fitted the bill. </div>
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Sometimes you have to get off the ship to compare standards...<br />
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I think the waiter in that Oporto cafe needs to go back to training school!<br />
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Oporto was sunny and we stretched our legs. We also had a lovely day in Lisbon but didn't get off the ship at Guernsey. We were happy just plodding about the ship.<br />
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The entertainment was FABULOUS. For once we didn't go and see the Headliners because the other stuff was too good to miss. These Chapman Brothers were brilliant. Absolutely amazing.</div>
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Sadly this picture or <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbQWNx6laJE">this clip </a>doesn't do them justice, but trust me, they were a must-see. X-Factor contestants who got to the judge's house stage too. Comedians, singers, Jon Fisher the Gary Barlow impersonator, who looks and sounds more like Gary Barlow than Gary Barlow does... Loads of good choice entertainment.</div>
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And during the day, playing to packed out audiences was this gem of a woman <a href="https://chesterdiva.wordpress.com/">Diane Simpson</a> a graphologist and profiler who worked on the Yorkshire Ripper case and had amazing stories to tell in her lectures about serial killers. And then a lecture about Humour and what makes us laugh - and she did. It might sound a bit old farty to say we went to lectures on board, but they have some great speakers on the ship. She was the best I've ever encountered (obviously apart from myself). </div>
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Then I come to an event that I don't mind telling you I was slightly dreading. A masterclass with Marco Pierre White. I had visions of him throwing me out of the kitchen for being useless. But it wasn't the sort of masterclass I imagined. For 2 hours a small group of us sat and watched him cook whilst supping fizz and then we ate what he'd produced. And there was enough of it to send us out of the class 3 stone heavier. <br />
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Did you tell him you'd won Come Dine with Me, asked someone on Twitter. No I didn't. It would have been like telling Pavarotti I once busked in the London Underground. On a kazoo. </div>
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My heart sank when I heard he was cooking seafood. Not my favourite. But I'm not allergic, I don't come out in lumps at the sight of a prawn so I thought I'd put it away to be polite. It's not <i>that </i>hard to stuff down scallops and lobster, two of the fish I can manage to eat without turning green. First he cooked risotto then served it into small plates and we handed them around to each other, washed down with more Prosecco. My sort of cookery lesson. Then came spaghetti with chilli and more lobster and LOADS of basil. Then pasta, tiny macaroni with (barf alert) tarragon. I hate tarragon. I ate tarragon. Have no idea why I could taste the tarragon in that dish but it WORKED and I wolfed it. </div>
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As for Marco's cooking: fascinating, effortless. Obvs, as my sons would say. We chatted, we ate, we drank. This wasn't a masterclass, well it was, but it was more lunch with Marco with the masterclass happening in the background. And it was fabulous. And at the end of it all, we received a huge coffee table book of his life and pictures which he signed, posed for photos with us and left us very happy - if stuffed - bunnies. </div>
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Did I learn anything? Amazing how much you pick up just observing and talking and not really concentrating on learning things - they just happened along the way.</div>
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1. That he cooks with olive oil and not with any fancy rapeseed etc stuff because he just likes olive oil. Simples.</div>
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2. That if you want to avoid lumps in your white sauce, make sure you've got more butter than flour in it.</div>
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3. Don't cook white sauce with a wooden spoon, use a whisk.</div>
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4. Use a spatula instead of a wooden spoon when folding pasta/rice into sauces, far more effective.</div>
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5. Use a stack of fresh basil in your sauces, not just a limp sprig.</div>
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6. I wish I'd known this before and saved myself HOURS. All that rubbish about making a risotto and adding a leeetle bit of liquid at a time - total bollocks. Chuck in the liquid in one go and you won't end up with a lump of risotto but something that (quote) 'walks across the plate'. I tasted that risotto which hadn't been cooked how the recipe books tell you and it was perfect.</div>
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7. That when you're making a fish pie, don't put your mash on then stick it in the oven because your fish will be tough (yep - done this in a bid to recreate his fish pie at home)... but just brown the top of the mash under the grill. And put cheese under and over your mash.</div>
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8. That the best way to make a tomato sauce is to use half fresh and half tinned, cook then pass through a conical sieve.</div>
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9. Grate your onions and your garlic rather than chop them.</div>
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10. That someone can actually make me eat tarragon without me throwing up. That amazed me enough to feature of my learning list.</div>
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This afternoon is a joy. The man is a delight to spend time with. An artist. And lovely company. It's a fantastic package - the book alone costs about £25 in the shops - and I would recommend it heartily.</div>
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So what else... Always lovely to try new things on a ship - like this salt and vinegar ice-cream, which actually did taste a little salty and balsamicy... and was surprisingly lovely.<br />
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There was so much food around I started hallucinating and seeing my handbag as a giant biscuit (see <a href="http://www.yoshi.co.uk/">Yoshi</a> !)<br />
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Some photos do not do justice to the places we visited. We realised that we are 'snappers' and our photos will never be seen in a travel brochure. Would you go to Lisbon knowing that people like the above might be walking around in it?</div>
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And we found ourselves sitting in the coffee bar - The Tazzine (the Samovar in Here Come The Girls) and having some excellent Teapigs brews. My OH was on the detox stuff, I was on the Up-Beet energiser. We rediscovered a love of tea onboard. Good as I drink far too much coffee! Old-farty again? Possibly - don't care. We enjoyed it.</div>
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So how was a week's cruise? Would I recommend it? Would I do it again?</div>
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Smashing. Yep. And yep again.</div>
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I did think I wouldn't 'bed in' enough on a week's cruise, but I was wrong. Though I do like the fortnight plus trips, I would happily do some more week long ones because it did the trick, gave us a holiday, some 'us' time and felt much longer than the seven days, strangely enough. I thought it might not be worth going away for just a week, but I've now learnt that is codswallop. And I'm biased but we do love <a href="http://www.pocruises.com/?gclid=EAIaIQobChMI2Yzciebg1QIVrrftCh1hdAv9EAAYASAAEgJDyvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds">P & O</a> and I know where I am with them, what to expect... but also enjoy the new things they throw into the mix like that cookery experience on the last sea day.</div>
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I didn't go to the spa because I had a good book and read on the balcony instead. Totally and utterly relaxed, glass of champers at my side, batteries recharging slowly... This is the sort of work I like!</div>
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So many people write to me having read Here Come The Girls to say that they've booked their first cruise because of me and booked another whilst they were onboard. Good. It's not for everyone but it's definitely for us.</div>
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<br />Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-25335929890098930232017-07-21T11:57:00.002+01:002017-07-21T11:57:21.488+01:00Anyone for a Creative's Head? <br /><div class="MsoNormal">
I make a few flippant remarks about writers being
bonkers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not all are (obvs) but it does
take a certain kind of person to take joy from sitting in a room all day,
alone, conjuring stuff out of their heads from memory boxes or absolutely
nowhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our brains are our powerhouses
(give or take a heart).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sit there
typing away at a keyboard, tears rolling down our cheeks at the powerful words
we write sometimes, or cheering as one of our characters exact revenge – so
real are these fictional worlds to us (obviously I refer to the fiction writers
here and not those who write cooking manuals).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘What if’ is our mantra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spend
a lot of time wondering ‘what if this happened to her’ ‘what if that happened
to him.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anxiety sufferers in the
non-book world are crippled by ‘what ifs’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They are beaten with unrelenting sticks of ‘what ifs’ from which they
long to escape whilst writers stand there with signposts on our chests directing
‘what if’ traffic towards them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s no
wonder that writers are prone to anxiety.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anxiety isn’t depression. Depression is far worse: a black
cloud that eats up hope and energy, a terrible thing to have – the worst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anxiety is exhausting but it creates the
energy it needs to feed from. You become hypersensitive to everything around you
and what threat is poses. I’ve had it on and off for years, it’s become part of
my way of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s usually my friends
who tell me when my worries are exceeding ‘normal’ levels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being a mum of two teenage lads and ailing
parents – plus chuck in the menopause - brings what I call those ‘normal’
worries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is normal to worry that my cocky
man-child will not kill himself on a jet ski when he’s off to Ibiza with his
equally cocky men-children mates. Normal to worry that my octogenarian parent
still thinks she’s able to climb up on a ladder to dust the top of the curtain
rails. But when I lie in bed and worry that the ceiling might fall on my head
in the middle of the night, for absolutely no reason at all, I know that the red
button in my head has started flashing danger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I know how to manage it. There’s no shame
in admitting I need some non-addictive chemical intervention occasionally;
something to help me sleep and keep me asleep. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure that the new wave of mindfulness
might help, except I can’t sit still long enough to meditate. My mouth would be
saying ‘Om mani padme hum’ but my head would be thinking ‘Oh shit, I’ve just
thought of a plot hole in chapter 5’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus
I haven’t managed the Lotus position since 1975.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those periods where I am at my most manic, where my brain is
spinning like a top, are my most creative times. I am in writer’s heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m at my worst and my best all at once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is the curse of anxiety for me, it is
the conjoined twin of my imagination. Anxiety opens doors to chambers in my
head that only it has the key to. It nudges me awake at three in the morning
with the best ideas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without it, I
wouldn’t be a writer. Or, at least, I’d be one that had enough writer’s blocks
to build a mansion with.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not alone, I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Loads of creatives are fruitcakes with added sultanas, we are renowned
for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Renowned for our excesses and
our greed and ambition, renowned for our insecurities, yet we are drawn to the
most insecure jobs on the planet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Anxiety is part of my life and my world and so I cannot deny it entry
but, like a demanding relative who has stayed too long at Christmas, there
comes a time when I am too tired to entertain it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need uninterrupted sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to walk down the road without thinking
that a car is going to plough into the back of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So it is forcefully shown the door, until I
realise that I miss its company and the inspiration it brings and ask it to pop
back for a cuppa, but it always arrives with its suitcase, and so the cycle
begins again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are old enemies and old
friends, anxiety and I. I am at my most clear-thinking in my work when I am at
my most chaotic away from the desk. Take it or leave it, that’s the
unnegotiable deal it puts on the table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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I take it. <o:p></o:p></div>
Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-83046198363627756642017-06-03T13:13:00.000+01:002017-06-03T13:13:13.286+01:00A Smashing LaunchI would love to thank everyone who came to my launch and made it such a sterling success. The Staniforth's cakes were up to standard - sorry, that's a lie - they were the BEST YET.<br />
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Here we have the calm before the storm</div>
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My other half and myself spent the day before stocking the bags with Walkers Shortbread, Balhsen Biscuits and My Trusty oils.</div>
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The girls were hard at work in the back making a buffet fit for a queen! And boy did they pull it off!</div>
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Mum was first in on the night.</div>
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Though it soon filled up - panic though as my two helpers The Hunter Sisters were stuck in traffic and we would have had to cancel everything if they hadn't arrived... but luckily for us all - there they are in the front row!</div>
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The cakes were sitting pretty in the next room... with the buffet to outshine all other buffets!</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
And the cakes that people brought as prizes!!!</div>
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These by my lovely friend <a href="https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=cakes%20by%20christina">Cakes by Christina!</a></div>
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I got to take a smaller version of this home as the baker had made me one. It was gorgeous!<br />
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They were just too nice to eat!</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
This was about half the raffle prizes!</div>
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Here is the winner of the Rob Royd Hamper - a joint star prize with the £50 Spencers Arms voucher for a slap up meal in Cawthorne.</div>
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Every year Sandra and Caroline have come up trumps - and this was the best launch yet.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNkV2MX_IwfZOOgUVzEVh8Urn8cg-N4ee_v1cc-x-WC2BFt8PO8F_cQ71x_hpsyuDjjQ7a9IvXzvO2U1YXcTk3S42FHoJjbonzSVR6AqIAiz_Yu03Fcx10u4DgjabnEtlkwsOG_lGRe86g/s1600/fullsizeoutput_dd0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNkV2MX_IwfZOOgUVzEVh8Urn8cg-N4ee_v1cc-x-WC2BFt8PO8F_cQ71x_hpsyuDjjQ7a9IvXzvO2U1YXcTk3S42FHoJjbonzSVR6AqIAiz_Yu03Fcx10u4DgjabnEtlkwsOG_lGRe86g/s640/fullsizeoutput_dd0.jpeg" width="360" /></a></div>
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...possibly something to do with my good luck emblem on my cake.</div>
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Next year we will be doing something, not quite sure what yet, but there will be a celebration.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thank you to everyone for supporting me. We raised £1500 for charity - split between Yorkshire Cat Rescue and The Well. And I think everyone went home with a full tum and - if not a raffle prize - at least a stuffed goody bag and a big hunk of cake.</div>
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Lots of love</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Milly xxx</div>
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<br /></div>
Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-33677218464966585012017-04-29T14:10:00.005+01:002017-05-01T14:17:12.576+01:00Our Big Dog<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In addition to the dedication in my book - this is the full story of our Big Dog.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">People associate
Yorkshiremen with flat caps and whippets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not so my grandfather, who might have favoured the headgear, but he was
never without a Chow at his side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had
a succession of them, shipped to him from all over the country during his
lifetime. Leonine fluffballs of one-man dogs which were totally devoted to him
but still endured my cuddles as a child. My sons were as desperate for a dog as
I was as a child, but I knew who would be lumbered with all the daily walks so
I bought them a kitten each instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then I thought sod it, and we got a dog as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBqlWBAAQTXWKIy4Fm2aiSI5bywJfYvyGhEIMlFlBS9i83nWNnJI6dweKev1J9C31cI9rJgjbC2VJX81o-nj7ykc6DVzfXBSNRkueqlg1lEjFej9MxB3GFI0Xg8yjmG7fPJ_1mwcwCvpu/s1600/51782826941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBqlWBAAQTXWKIy4Fm2aiSI5bywJfYvyGhEIMlFlBS9i83nWNnJI6dweKev1J9C31cI9rJgjbC2VJX81o-nj7ykc6DVzfXBSNRkueqlg1lEjFej9MxB3GFI0Xg8yjmG7fPJ_1mwcwCvpu/s400/51782826941.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My initial choice was
a familiar Chow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know how or
when I fell upon Eurasiers, a relatively new breed, a mingle of Chow and Spitz,
bred for their teddy bear looks and friendly devotion to their whole family,
but I was sold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Teddy came to us just
after Christmas 2008.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had to drive
down to Southampton for him one foggy, snowy January night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He slept the whole way, give or take half an
hour when my younger son sang Little Donkey to him to soothe his distress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a huge fox-red pup and we named him Teddy
because he looked like a living teddy bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He loved everyone and everything, although my cats firmly put him in his
place of bottom of the pecking order. Puppy-training classes were fun if
embarrassing, because Ted was so terrified of the instructor, he opened his
bladder and bowels as soon as he saw him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But eventually, after the world’s longest apprenticeship, Ted learned to
be obedient – albeit when he wanted to be. He grew into an
all-mouth-and-trousers lad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strangers to
the house were terrified of his deep bass bark never knowing that he wouldn’t
have harmed a fly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little children on
the school either ran to him for a cuddle or increased their grip on their
mothers’ hands because of the ‘lion’ walking towards them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that’s what he looked like, as if God had
designed a dog that was half-lion, half-bear and then stuck a huge smile on his
face. He was such a magnificent boy we were asked to breed from him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bitch in season came to visit, Ted was
useless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was more interested in
sitting beside her in the sunshine and showing off his toys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the bitch mounted him as if trying to
show him what to do, we shook our heads and realised this was not to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I wanted him to have a line of succession
so much, in case the day came when he was no longer with us and maybe we could
have one of his own boys, to keep us connected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It never happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Teddy was as
rubbish at mating as he was at being a hardman.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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He accepted the
presence of new pets – rescue cats, a rabbit we found hopping about on the road
with grace and resigned sighs. He was
with us constantly. When we all dressed
up to watch England play in the Euros, Ted was there on the sofa in his England
shirt too. He loved to ride in the back
of the car because that meant he was with us.
He slept at the side of my bed, he sat at the side of the bath when I
was in it. If the boys went into the
garden to have a kick-around, he was there with them. </div>
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When we left him to go to the supermarket, he
greeted us as if we’d been away for twenty years. He sat by my side in my office everyday when
I wrote, he sat on my feet when I watched TV at night. We thought we’d have him
forever. When he was seven last year,
the thought hit me that he might be halfway through his life and I didn’t even
want to think about that. If only he had been.</div>
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<br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Just after Christmas,
I noticed that when he went out into the garden for a quick wee, his whole body
crunched over and locked for too long. An exploratory procedure at the vets
revealed that he had a tumour in his bladder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Inoperable and terminal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bladder
cancer is sly and wicked, it takes up residence, beds itself in and then
announces its presence with a ‘Hi, I’m here, staying and growing and there’s
nothing you can do about it.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Medicine
that had a slim chance of sending the cancer into remission made Ted very sick
and miserable and we had to make the decision to give him quality of the life
he had left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We cancelled any holidays
we had planned, scrubbed the diary clean of anything that wasn’t essential and
prepared ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t turn off
the tears until my other half told me that I had to stop mourning him before he
had gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were lost and we needed to
plough our energies somewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Ted
loved being outside in the garden, that’s where we started. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We designed a pergola
so he could sit outside sheltered from the rain and let the breezes ruffle his
thick fur.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we had a summer house
built to be a happy place where we could remember him, have friends round and
fill with company or I could get away from it all and be alone and write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a four we painted it inside and out –
whilst Ted sat on the lawn and supervised us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had the mad idea of making it look like an American diner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of calling it Big Dogs, after Ted, of having
his image printed on mugs and serviettes, of it being a place stamped with his
big dog personality, and filled with his essence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere he would always be part of.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was also writing The
Queen of Wishful Thinking at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ted slipped onto the pages as he slept in my office because I knew this
was the last book I would ever write with him at my side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the emotion I felt coursed from my heart,
down my arm, through the keyboard, onto the screen. My dog became an integral
part of the story, as he had been an integral part of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I have never had a book that flowed so easily
from me. And that is why he is on the back cover - because he is weaved into the fabric of my story.</span><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUrj5zKTHWz6j-g_K4rlHbQa-f_QybAnX_gUCQGlglR7-z7nMn6edejDk8K7xrs7KKFOYmxtMqYxusBy41ujbmB-P8VsAIbhywapd8Xyv0dXlvzoWuxz9zmgDS2NzBYn_OQchmleQlTfSG/s1600/ted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUrj5zKTHWz6j-g_K4rlHbQa-f_QybAnX_gUCQGlglR7-z7nMn6edejDk8K7xrs7KKFOYmxtMqYxusBy41ujbmB-P8VsAIbhywapd8Xyv0dXlvzoWuxz9zmgDS2NzBYn_OQchmleQlTfSG/s320/ted.jpg" width="306" /></a></span></div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Ted loved the local
park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My other half Pete and I made sure
he went there every day for a bounce around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One day I was feeling particularly tender as it was just me and Ted and
being alone with my thoughts wasn’t doing me any good. As he took a wee and his
whole body crunched over, I felt a woman on a scooter behind me, watching
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Aren’t you going to pick that up?’
she snapped at me, when we started to move off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘He hasn’t done anything,’ I replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She gave me a look of such disgust that I screamed at her that he had
bladder cancer and that’s why he took ages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Oh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Poor thing,’ she relented as
I shook two handfuls of black bags at her, like a loon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tears were streaming down my face and
they didn’t stop for weeks. I went on anti-depressants and they didn’t even
make a hole in my sadness.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The cancer was growing
in Teddy’s big beautiful body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He became
more and more incontinent, leaking like a rusty tap and constantly needed towelling dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a rainbow over the house and the
carpets weren’t even fit for the skip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every
night I put down four double sheets for him to sleep on, every morning I washed
them. Sometimes he had good walks, sometimes his bladder refused to tell his
brain it had emptied and he was crunched over in discomfort until we found a
way to distract him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes he looked
so tired that we thought we would wake up in the morning to find him gone, only
to find him pert and bright and ready for the park. His appetite was decreasing
and the vet put him on steroids to make him hungry. But the days of dog food
were long gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wasn’t interested in
his normal diet at all and our days were defined by trying to get him to eat
anything to keep up his strength, which consisted of everything that he
shouldn’t eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took a liking to fried
fish, then he developed a passion for bacon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then tins of Pek chopped pork, then kippers, then chicken goujons but
only with a sprinkle of Mexican spices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then it was cream doughnuts, then sirloin steak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a month he had two griddled sirloins per
day but only if he was hand-fed them chunk by chunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the only way he would eat them was if my
partner Pete balanced a piece on his foot and pretended to give it to him but
telling him to leave it, then snatched it away at the last minute – at which
point Ted would dive on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
exhausting. Often there were five or more choices of food in various plates for
him because it was a constant guessing game what his tastebuds demanded on the
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then they began to demand nothing
at all and we were reduced to mixing up powdered ‘Complan for dogs’ and feeding
it to him via a syringe, which he hated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I only had to pick up the whisk and he’d run up the stairs out of the
way, but it was keeping him alive so we had to persist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was running on almost empty and getting so
thin, but he was like an ox and continued to race around the park, taking a
surprising interest in finding conkers like the young boy he was.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Meanwhile Big Dogs was
taking shape in the garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took
mental respite in searching for things on the internet to decorate it with:
metal wall signs, old pictures of 50s film stars eating, a sofa, a chair,
chequered flooring, a bubble gum machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We wanted to complete it for my son’s 18<sup>th</sup> birthday
celebrations, always hoping that Ted would be there with us to see it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With Ted trotting at our side from house to
summer house, we filled it with balloons, bunting, decorations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We set the popcorn machine going, filled the
giant ice bucket with Bud, switched the retro radiator on full and had an
amazing fun-filled, warm, family celebration with Ted in the middle of the
festivities, just as he always had been.</span><br />
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Then the next morning
we took him to his favourite place – the park – and he bounced around like a
pup, chasing a ball that didn’t belong to him – something he rarely did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then suddenly he looked exhausted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stood on top of the hill and Pete and I
watched him just survey the whole vista and I thought ‘he’s saying goodbye to
everything he loves here.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t say
it aloud because it sounded mawkish and dramatically sentimental.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we got to the car and Pete, who is
grounded and sensible, said ‘did you see the way he looked at everything?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as if he was saying goodbye to the
park.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we knew we were coming to the
end.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The next day – dad’s
84<sup>th</sup> birthday (Ted loved dad as much as he loved Ted) Ted was very tired. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first time, after visiting my parents,
we had to lift him into the car when we left. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All we had ever wanted was to know was when
the time was right to let him go, and we knew without any doubt that he’d had
enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was very sick, very limp and
yet when the postman arrived at the door, he still leapt up to bark, to guard
the family he loved from a possible intruder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We slept on the floor with him that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We told him that it was okay to leave us
before the pain really set in, but he wouldn’t desert us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His young heart kept pumping, kept him with
us. He’d hung around for the grand unveiling of Big Dogs – the place we’d built
with him, for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hours of the clock
crawled around to the time when we knew we’d have to say goodbye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the worst kind of torture. It is a
terrible responsibility to free something you love from suffering, a right
thing but so very painful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we were
all in no doubt that the time had come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At least we had that comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There was no way that
when we let him go that it wouldn’t be in his home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was weak in his basket when the vet came (eventually
after the silly woman on the reception desk gave him the wrong address miles away,
which I can’t forgive, and I just can’t go back there) and it took barely no
anaesthetic at all to send him on his way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He flopped backwards into my arms and there his head grew heavy and yet
still his lungs seemed to try to pull in breaths, determined not let us down
and go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He lay in my arms soft and warm
and huge like the great big teddy bear he was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The man from the pet
crematorium took him away when he was still warm because I couldn’t bear to
feel him grow cold. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took both him and Pete
to carry Ted to his van in a lovely big basket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was kindness itself, gentle, reverent – I’d recommend him to anyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His ashes came back to us the next day, they
weighed a ton. They are at the side of my bed and there they'll stay. One day when I'm sprinkled to a breeze, he'll be with me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Don't do what I did at the beginning and grieve your pets before they've gone or you'll lose them many times - and once is enough.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The more you love
something, the deeper the crater they leave and my Big Dog scooped out my
innards and left me hollow. We will move on, because we have to, because this
is life and it is its nature to end and those of us who are left, grieve and attempt
to rebuild. But I miss everything about him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I miss the ways his ears pricked up when the word ‘Park’ or ‘Ride’ was
mentioned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I miss how he squeezed out of
the front door when we opened it to force us not to leave him behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I miss how he pressed himself into you when
you wanted some love and how his bottom sashayed like Marilyn Monroe’s when he
trotted over grass as he searched for things to urinate upon – his favourite
hobby. I miss his night patrols when I would sense his nose near mine, sniffing
my breath to make sure I was still alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I miss how he rushed at us to greet us when we returned home, smiling,
happy that we were safely back in his territory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I miss his bulk on my feet as he lay down
with us in the evenings around the TV and the way his big brown eyes looked at
me as if I was the most special person that God had ever made. A new pup is on its way, but he will be his own man - not a replacement, because Ted is irreplaceable. But we are rebuilding, around the shape of him that he has left in our
lives, because our beautiful daft lad, our big dog is – and will always remain – part of us.
His family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37JCe3BBzt8mkR_sfdA5ENG9bH02YPA-_gq1wMKzgezgyxFpMcwY80hDU7uPKyK9JITpokqCT5AKGxXzekTGJB0vXyVxJuUQabFOGC9yQCN5POZOgxGsEWK1_yQ_1h00K5bPm4px2a74j/s1600/IMG_2972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj37JCe3BBzt8mkR_sfdA5ENG9bH02YPA-_gq1wMKzgezgyxFpMcwY80hDU7uPKyK9JITpokqCT5AKGxXzekTGJB0vXyVxJuUQabFOGC9yQCN5POZOgxGsEWK1_yQ_1h00K5bPm4px2a74j/s640/IMG_2972.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-38804890317095689102017-04-12T15:54:00.001+01:002017-06-03T12:56:14.682+01:00LADY WHO LAUNCHESWell here we are again, gearing up for yet another launch. This will be my last one like this though. Always good to have a change and for all sorts of reasons, we do need a bit of a different format to keep things fresh. I don't want to be known as the woman with the begging bowl constantly out so it will be a good one, a big one, but the last of its kind like this.<br />
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It's also the last of its kind because my lovely friend and the BEST supporter any author could have, Jill Craven, died on 19th April. Jill was always in charge of cutting up the cake. And doing any organising that needed to be done. It just won't be the same without her. We shall ALL miss her terribly. We shall make sure she is with us in spirit because we shall talk about her on the day and send her a bouquet of applause. I just wish she would be here to receive it in person.<br />
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But I'm so incredibly well supported by people to fund Yorkshire Cat Rescue and The Well and the prizes are starting to come in. So here is a massive shout out to all the lovely people who have sent things so far. The list will keep getting updated. And if you see anything you like, please get in touch with the people and give them a bit of trade.<br />
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Books are available on the night - OF COURSE - and they are supplied this year by <a href="https://www.jrnicholls.com/">JR Nicholls</a> in Denby Dale, which is one of those lovely PROPER bookshops.<br />
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In no order at all - here are what people who come to the launch are in for.<br />
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From the wonderful <a href="http://www.masquephotography.co.uk/" target="_blank">Masque Photography -</a> a boudoir make up and photography session (with or without the bump). Ladies who have had this experience have told me it is amazing and has given them an injection of confidence they didn't think possible. These experiences make fabulous presents. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpALAbhJkwqfkZmaQ3VOsEBrtWGR4MgdK4yWyz6EwKMgrPtr_cxyPml7yr9yEkSDoIB56kyK9AIuNK7YvH43vLedmfT9sGHJJR-5cs6Uk0_lyDi6LXWTgkzgt_rKG_iaJ_C0FCB7jmi8Iv/s1600/FullSizeRender-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpALAbhJkwqfkZmaQ3VOsEBrtWGR4MgdK4yWyz6EwKMgrPtr_cxyPml7yr9yEkSDoIB56kyK9AIuNK7YvH43vLedmfT9sGHJJR-5cs6Uk0_lyDi6LXWTgkzgt_rKG_iaJ_C0FCB7jmi8Iv/s400/FullSizeRender-5.jpg" width="346" /></a></div>
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And this wonderful bundle from my gorgeous friend <a href="http://www.carolematthews.com/" target="_blank">CAROLE MATTHEWS</a>. If you haven't signed up to her newsletter then you really should. You can win all sorts of goodies. I've been a fan of Carole's for many years - in and out of book world. </div>
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Our friends at <a href="https://www.candleberrylane.co.uk/">Candleberry Lane </a>(which is the world's most gorgeous shop) down the Victoria Arcade have donate a lovely bathy basket! I can't wait to try out my Himalayan salt lamp that I got from them earlier today!</div>
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SUNDAY LUNCH for 4 at our wonderful <a href="https://www.ihg.com/holidayinn/hotels/gb/en/barnsley/szdbr/hoteldetail" target="_blank">Holiday Inn</a> up the road.</div>
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Tea and Cake for two by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/EadieQs/?fref=mentions">Eadie -Q </a>at Shut up and Eat the sweet little cafe half-way along Agnes . Eadie Q makes vegan and vegetarian friendly fare and it's absolutely delicious. </div>
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Two fabulous books by the lovely <a href="http://www.debbieviggiano.co.uk/" target="_blank">Debbie Viggiano. </a> She is a wonderful read!</div>
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Bavingtons/">THE SWEET SHACK </a> - Jenny has so kindly donated this gorgeous box of yesteryear sweets that will whizz you back to childhood. There are loads of tiny shops outside Strawbridges Garden Centre and a lovely coffee shop which I need to check out! </div>
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There are lip scrubs and balms from the wonderful <a href="http://www.puracosmetics.co.uk/product-category/limited-editions/">PURA COSMETICS</a> who have just launched their COCKTAIL RANGE. Gin and Tonic, Mojito, Strawberry Daiquiri... These balms and scrubs are suitable for vegans and they haven't been tested on any animals. Including the Bonita Banana ones (all will become clear if you read the book) </div>
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There's a beautiful stamped necklace from <a href="https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/DormouseandTheTeapot">Dormouse and the Teapot - </a>I hope someone from Yorkshire wins it, because I know we have a few Lancs coming ;) x<br />
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<a href="http://www.ardasnails.co.uk/">'Ard as Nails </a>have sent a lovely product hamper - apparently the cuticle nail oil is superb, so fans of their goods tell me! </div>
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This pic doesn't do this wall hanging justice. It's absolutely exquisite! Thank you Cal Green!</div>
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And this is a framed paper cut rainbow from Donna. It's so fragile and lovely. A paper cut picture would make a lovely present for someone. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/papercutsbydonna/">Papercuts by Donna</a> can be found here</div>
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We have a voucher for flowers from Andrea Graham. Treat yourself if you win - we don't think of ourselves enough sometimes. </div>
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This gorgeous agate bracelet arrived from Gina. It's really pretty. She has an interesting Facebook page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ItsMysticstorm/?pnref=lhc" target="_blank">here</a></div>
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I could do with this one! A chiropody session - get all those corns off so your feet are beach ready! Thank you Carmen (who can be reached on 01226 759660. </div>
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This glass bowl is so pretty - my rubbish pics don't do it justice. But do have a look at <a href="http://pamgoodisonglass.co.uk/" target="_blank">Pam's website </a>where she makes the most beautiful things. And with proper photography to show it off. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ2lovOirsi4khhiZOKxIrNpIMtG2tHb_RejQlSbWzoR3TeKRlkhPMWrSxK6YYt2PY1SWIDJrHzcmWoLEA2gvKDvJ9nzKUdyqphBX-derwvArvzEOlZHjZN_jToEKhruZuBhcZ0i0oDCuv/s1600/IMG_4555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ2lovOirsi4khhiZOKxIrNpIMtG2tHb_RejQlSbWzoR3TeKRlkhPMWrSxK6YYt2PY1SWIDJrHzcmWoLEA2gvKDvJ9nzKUdyqphBX-derwvArvzEOlZHjZN_jToEKhruZuBhcZ0i0oDCuv/s400/IMG_4555.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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There was a huge bundle of handcrafted cards, brooches and wallhangings from the very talented <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Ruth-Zanoni-279796625409372/" target="_blank">Ruth Zanoni. </a>Beautiful mermaids (big fan of mermaids me!) </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF5Cu1Llp_fGDH0wzVuOnQkqIjZM6hdPU57nKFOY3R8Z3qMK7iDosk_MAOavrUq_9cta8k21y2KQ3GwxmX-FHYG8TR12aPoIm_185B-H3mmjq7N_KOZw3bIkyTFxZaZwQM0GHMiN262hOT/s1600/IMG_4556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF5Cu1Llp_fGDH0wzVuOnQkqIjZM6hdPU57nKFOY3R8Z3qMK7iDosk_MAOavrUq_9cta8k21y2KQ3GwxmX-FHYG8TR12aPoIm_185B-H3mmjq7N_KOZw3bIkyTFxZaZwQM0GHMiN262hOT/s320/IMG_4556.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Everyone who comes to my event will be given some <a href="http://mytrustyskincare.co.uk/" target="_blank">MY TRUSTY SKINCARE </a>oil. I use it everyday and I want the world to know how good it is. You can buy online or at Tesco and Superdrug now too. </div>
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The TEA has arrived from Yorkshire Tea and the Walkers Shortbread AND the Bahlsen biscuits so the goody bags will be nice and full. </div>
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We have books by the fabulous <a href="http://www.debbiejohnsonauthor.com/" target="_blank">DEBBIE JOHNSON </a>. If you haven't read her, do - and the A -Z of everything is her finest yet. She will take you through every emotion you have... and some you didn't know you had as well!</div>
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Jewellery by the ever supportive Ruth at <a href="http://www.streten.co.uk/" target="_blank">Streton</a> - beautiful hand-crafted goods which are just special<br />
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Vouchers for an amazing day out at <a href="https://www.falconrycentre.co.uk/" target="_blank">Thirsk Birds of Prey Centre -</a> and I can't tell you how fabulous this prize is because I'd live there if I could. Amazing. And these vouchers would be fabulous as presents.<br />
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There's a slap up dinner for 2 at <a href="http://www.shawlane.com/" target="_blank">Shaw Lane sports club! </a></div>
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There's a lovely hand-crafted blanket from Rachy Penny!</div>
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And LOADS of things from my friends at <a href="http://www.hot-h.co.uk/">Hothouse</a> - including some great <a href="http://www.stmoriz.co.uk/">St Moriz</a> tanning products - which have romped home with the best awards beating those 'more expensive' names!<br />
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A gorgeous tea hamper from Maggie at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/magnificentmecoaching/?ref=br_rs">Magnificent Me</a>! The pic doesn't do it justice! Maggie is a hypnotherapist and also works a lot with victims of abuse to get them free of their past experiences. And she has also been my friend for 35 years.</div>
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Themed jewellery (keep your hands off the necklace with the rainbow and the pot of gold on it, because it's mine. Steph always makes my book launch jewellery!) Steph makes the most beautiful jewellery - you should ask her for some white rose jewellery for Yorkshire Day. Mine always comes out then! Steph's Crafty Bits Facebook page can be <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Stephs-Crafty-Bits-129626537105362/" target="_blank">found here. </a><br />
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On the ENORMOUS box of Walkers Shortbread are some local history DVDs of Barnsley from the delectable <a href="https://www.facebook.com/dave.cherry.31" target="_blank">Dave Cherry</a> (Facebook page) who is a one man machine. Musician, historian, raconteur, all round great bloke and master fund raiser. His films can be found on youtube and for local people especially are of real interest. Thank goodness we have him doing his bit for posterity! </div>
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We also have a £50 voucher for the lovely lovely <a href="http://spencerarms.co.uk/" target="_blank">Spencer Arms in Cawthorne </a>and we all know what a fantastic place that is to eat at. And drink in - and just linger in. A real treat for someone!</div>
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We have pens! thank you to <a href="http://www.steel-city.co.uk/" target="_blank">Steel City Marketing</a> who have supplied them for me this year - and the lovely goody bags!</div>
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There are also vouchers off Jenny-Lou Make up and Beauty. You can have Gelish nails, manicures, pedicures, make-up application, facials, hair pin-ups. You can find more info <a href="https://www.facebook.com/JennysBeautyTreatments/" target="_blank">here on Facebook! </a></div>
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There is also a ZUMBA fitness class with Hannah at <a href="http://www.hmelitefitness.co.uk/">www.hmelitefitness.co.uk</a>. Check out their site for all the other classes too. I really need to start pilates. Really!! </div>
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We have a lovely Yankee Candle gift set from Rob, my friend at <a href="http://www.computerrepaircompanies.co.uk/company/computer-problems-of-barnsley/">Computer Problems of Barnsley. </a>Once upon a time - book 1 - I lost the lot because I hadn't backed up my computer. Guess who found it for me - and guess who has had my business servicing all the family pcs and macs ever since. He's a great bloke and doesn't charge daft prices for proper jobs.<br />
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My lovely friends at <a href="http://www.computerrepaircompanies.co.uk/company/computer-problems-of-barnsley/">My Trusty skincare </a>have sent this gorgeous raffle prize - as well as oils for everyone at the launch. I am a convert. Their stuff is fabulous and very very good for people with sensitive skins. Read all about them here and what they do - and why they don't make a profit! Well they do... but how it all gets ploughed back into the NHS!<br />
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I received some gorgeous mugs from <a href="http://www.directprintuk.co.uk/">Direct Print and Promotions. </a>They were so good, I ordered a load more ... and some special gifts for the night which I hope will make you smile!<br />
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This beautiful bracelet arrived from <a href="http://www.libertycharms.co.uk/">Liberty Charms</a>. It's so pretty. Do have a look at their website.</div>
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The lovely Carnevale Family - our friends and Barnsley Kardashians - have given two big fat hampers.<br />
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And as if a chocolate-filled diabetic-coma-inducing hamper wasn't enough from the lovely Amanda Clayton... she'd gone and shoved another couple of boxes in as well!!!</div>
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My lovely writer friends Victoria Howard and Lynda Stacey have given me some perfumed drawer liners, some quirky bookmarks and the bonniest umbrella ever. We are all great mates and they writer romantic suspense... and they do it very well too.<br />
<a href="http://www.victoriahoward.co.uk/">Victoria </a>has written some belters which will have you gnawing your nails and <a href="http://www.lyndastacey.co.uk/">Lynda </a>has her second book out now and is receiving rave reviews. Give them a read if you like some drama as well as love in your stories!<br />
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We have a lovely relaxing Shiatu from Katie Cadwell, who works at my affiliated Charity - THE WELL. Katie is a therapist for cancer patients and is a top bird!</div>
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And book buyers will be able to benefit from £1 vouchers off Aunt Bessie's stuff... who make everything these days. And if you haven't tried their apple pies and crumbles - oh boy are you missing a trick!!!</div>
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And last but not least... the BIG ROB ROYD FARMHOUSE HAMPER!!! Some lucky bugger is going to walk away with that!!!</div>
Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-12141056887930782872016-12-31T11:37:00.001+00:002017-01-02T13:31:30.660+00:00My Love Affair with the Brontes - and Haworth<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-GB">Did you see 'To Walk Invisible'? I loved it. And it made me reflective about my years living in Haworth. And I mean <i>living. </i>I've never written it down before... so here you go. My love affair with the Brontes - and Haworth. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">My love affair with Haworth and the Brontes
began at the perfect time to cultivate a breeding ground of angst and passions
in my schoolgirl heart, fertilised with burgeoning sex hormones and longings to
snog someone handsome (at that time it was a bloke called Keith with a blonde
perm who caught the same bus as me in the mornings).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jane Eyre was one of our set texts at
school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the moment I encountered
Rochester I was in love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That book had
everything for me – fabulous house: check, I’ll have my own Thornfield one day,
I always said to myself. A heroine I could identify with: small, plain but
bloody clever (2 out of 3), a hero I wanted to snog the face off and love
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh and the beautiful love rival who
doesn’t get a look in. Jog on Blanche. Everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to have written that book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend Gillian and I used to have
write-offs in the school playground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hers were jaw-droppingly good, mine were the desperate efforts of someone
who wanted to be that good and tried too hard. Skipping forward to the end, I
wanted it so bad I made it happen, Gillian took another route and makes
historical costumes also to jaw-dropping standard (talented bitch) <a href="https://www.facebook.com/people/Gillian-Taylor/100004439568738">https://www.facebook.com/people/Gillian-Taylor/100004439568738</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those years, that book, they were very
influential to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I have seen every version of Wuthering
Heights on the TV (including the Cliff Richard one) and read the book so many
times but it never affected me in the way that Jane Eyre did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even picturing Timothy Dalton as Heathcliff
(my perfect casting) I couldn’t raise a sweat for him. I couldn’t get behind
Cathy as a heroine and when Heathcliff hangs the dog, well, we were finished.
But I fell in love with the main character in that book – the moors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to go there so much and see if they
were as wild and windy as Kate Bush said they were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emily’s poetry was her main attraction for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t even try and emulate
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gillian did and came out with some
fabulous stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just read and enjoyed
and sighed at its gorgeousness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">There were, however, a couple of sequels to
Wuthering Heights that Gillian and I sucked up like a sponge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Return to Wuthering Heights by Anna L’Estrange
hit the spot for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We LOVED that
book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not so much Heathcliff by Jeffrey
Caine, a conflicting story and the first time I ever came across the word ‘pizzle’
so there were some lessons to be learned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Talking of books written around the Bronte
works… please don’t even mention The Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not want any book that gives all the sympathy
to the Mason family and makes Rochester out to be an unfeeling bastard, thank
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I digress…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The first time I actually went to Haworth
my head blew off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I didn’t expect it to look like the
pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t expect the main road
to be so cobbley, I didn’t expect the moors to look as if they went on forever.
I didn’t imagine the churchyard to be so tumbledown and eerie and the parsonage
to look so beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to live
there in the village so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
never in doubt that I would.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It happened when I was in my early
twenties. I had the world’s shittiest job in a building society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Numbers and me are not friends so whatever
possessed me to become a trainee accountant, God only knows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe had it not been so dire, I wouldn’t
have burst out of my confines like a nuclear powered jack-in-the-box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to skive off work and go to Haworth
for the day, usually when it was mid-week and wintery. That’s when Haworth is
at its bleakest, foggiest, eeriest best, as if time has rolled back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a craft shop down the hill which I
liked to visit and a café cum bookshop at the bottom which sold the best Caerphilly
and onion sandwiches on the planet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
even applied for a job at the Bronte museum, telling them they would get no one
more passionate about the place than I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I received a letter back saying more or less: ‘meh’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It was the 80s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Total madness to uproot and buy a place there
when the mortgage rates were ridiculously high, especially when I had no
job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I did it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Myself and my trusty sheepdog Molly wangled a
mortgage somehow and moved to a 400 year old cottage just outside the village,
which became the location for the Anne, Emily and Charlotte cottages in White
Wedding. I found a job working in an antique and furniture place ‘Moor Lodge’
which the owner had beaten Roger Moore to buying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There I worked with 3 wonderful older ladies
who were to give me my inspiration for the cross generational friendship in Summer
Fling. It took me five minutes to get to work on a road where barn owls would
fly at the side of the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The road was
high above the valley bowl and mist would fill it and swirl – the inspiration
for Sunshine over Wildflower Cottage. I hopped from job to job during my years
in Haworth: working in a mill, a plastic injection moulding firm, a cruise company
in Skipton who sacked me for ‘having an accent better suited to the textile
industry where I came from.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I vowed
there and then that any book I ever wrote would be stuffed so full of Yorkshire
it would ooze onion gravy. But as crap as all the jobs were, the mates I picked
up en route were the toppest birds you could ever meet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Romance-wise, I hooked up with a lad I
worked with whose family lived in the house opposite the parsonage as his
granny looked after the church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr
Nicholls lived there and sometimes when I stayed I wondered if I’d bump<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>into his ghost en route to the loo. We never
did pass in the hall though. We bought a derelict cottage at the top of Main
Street:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heathcliff Cottage it was called
and was the world’s smallest B & B.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I gutted it along with my boyfriend’s uncle. I was always handy with a
Black and Decker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even made clocks and
sold my woodwork in one of the gift shops in the village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My boyfriend was more like Branwell than
Rochester.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was in the Black Bull more
than the landlord was. It wasn’t a good romance, but angst is always great for
writing books and when he moved onto a leggy blonde, I had a wonderful fling
with an incredibly handsome Keighley Cougar. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Village life was interesting, rich, funny,
wonderful and very colourful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loved
going to the quizzes on Sunday night, the sunny afternoons watching the village
cricketers, traipsing en masse down to the Haworth Tandoori for a post-booze-up
curry. I laughed a lot in those years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In quieter contemplative times I would take my dog up on the moors,
which were as wild and windy as Kate Bush said, but also very beautiful and
quite another world. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are millions
of bilberries growing with the heather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remember spending all morning picking them and gathering enough to only
make a Mr Kipling size mini pie. There is a hidden lagoon up there too where
people once went swimming. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Top Withens
is a wreck but there is NO doubt about it, it IS Wuthering Heights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The heather bursts into purple flame in
August across the moors and is more beautiful than any photo can portray.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">My mum and nan used to love to come to
Haworth and visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their favourite place
was The Carousel, an ice-cream parlour half way down Main Street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone who has read my books, might see a
point of inspiration there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">The one thing I didn’t have in common with
Gillian and other girls at school is that they were horse-mad and used to leap
about pretending to be silver brumbies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My heart was never in that nonsense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But once in Haworth, I would see people on horseback taking hacks on the
moors and so I paid for private riding lessons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My work wage was rubbish but I had a second job up at the Edinburgh
Woollen Mill folding jumpers for 6 hours on Sundays dressed in a blue kilt
(kill me now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I did get a great
discount on clootie dumplings which everyone got for Christmas).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I became a barmaid at The Royal Oak by
the railway station, Wednesdays and Sundays and the family who ran it were
fantastic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the best fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That paid for my riding lessons and soon
myself and Duke, the biggest, dopiest and sweetest Cleveland Bay in the world,
and I were moseying over the moors for hours on Sunday mornings – bliss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">My husband was a Haworth boy. His mum
worked at ‘Villette’ the coffee shop down the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His dad was an ex-quarry worker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was he, when we were courting, who told me
that Stan the nice bearded bloke I’d known to say hello to was the god that is
Stan Barstow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our English teachers at
school had three major passions: The Brontes, Thomas Hardy and Stan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t make a difference, although I did
become suddenly awe-struck and had to force myself to talk normally to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never told him I wanted to be a writer, I
didn’t want him thinking I spoke to him for any other reason than he was a nice
friendly villager, though years later, when I got my first book published I did
write to him (he’d moved away then) and confess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And he wrote me the most wonderful encouraging
and fond letter back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He came to my
wedding and my old schoolfriends couldn’t believe it was him, writer of our set
texts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent more time with them and
Stan on my wedding day than I did my new husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We were blasted! </span>It was a good call. They were much better
company.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB">It was whilst living in Haworth when I met
the friends at work who became pregnant the same time that I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After years of trying to crack writing a
book, I started to write The Yorkshire Pudding Club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never looked back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">My marriage crumbled and I moved back to
Barnsley needing the support of my family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I never divorced myself from my in-laws and I go back to Haworth to
see them, and my friends – one of my dearest being the woman who introduced me
to the joy of cats and I became patron of Haworth Cat Rescue, now Yorkshire Cat
Rescue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Haworth will always be part of
me, and I will always be part of Haworth – my own son is a Haworth boy. And I
still take the hour drive there sometimes, alone, just to walk up the Main
Street, see all the changes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stroll
through the churchyard, visit the parsonage, see my old house (which will be
worth a fortune now!), venture onto the moors and just look at its greatness,
which changes every day, reflecting the mood of the clouds above it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no place quite like the moors of
Haworth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I cut my teeth on life in Haworth. My years there were as rich as a ripe peach. There were hard, rough experiences as well as good ones - I won't lie, but that's life. The bad stuff pushes your boundaries, builds up your stamina, it's a gym workout for the spirit. For instance I nearly died when cricket ball came whizzing full speed at my head. Luckily it missed my temple, a woman the next week would die from such an accident (not in Haworth - it isn't a cricket accident black pot). Unluckily it landed in my gob, sent my teeth the same shape as the graves in the churchyard and split both lips totally. I had to have them glued, an experience which put childbirth in second place on the pain scale. It took years and years of corrective procedures - I had the last one in March last year. I have a smashing silver scar traversing both lips to show for that. And I had a boyfriend there that dragged my heart over razor blades. And I had some very lean years. I remember one new year being too skint to put petrol in my car to drive to Barnsley for New Year, so myself and my cat shared a tandoori chicken breast in front of the fire. But on the other side of the scales there were mad, times: a whole pub erupting into singing 'Shiny Haworth People' to REM's Shiny Happy People at New Year, where the whole town turned out every year in fancy dress. I excelled myself that year with a full Japanese costume (made out of mum's old shiny Barnsley curtains). I even made a massive bun wig which weighed a ton. And one of the villagers took a fancy to me, an old bloke who had come back to the fold after living in South Africa for years until he left quickly after his wife was strangled, some said - by himself. He bought me a scarf. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I laughed a hell of a lot in Haworth and had great pals, two of my favourites being the local gay pub landlords Patrick and Irish Martin. Martin would drag me out on the moors with my sheepdog and his Yorkshire Terriers when he felt I needed air in my lungs. Martin walked like Usain Bolt, I needed a defibrillator after a walk with him. They were kind, lovely, mad, wonderful men. Physically I was at my best in Haworth - a 23" waist thanks to hours of hula-hooping, bum-length hair. Nothing wobbled when I brushed my teeth. And I had a fantastic arse in my riding jodhpurs. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I moved there to be smitten by the Brontes,
to be visited by their dead spirits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All
that romantic crap you come up with when you’re pretentious and young.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t confess that I ever awoke with
Charlotte whispering plots in my ears, but Haworth worked its magic on me. My
years there gave me enough material to write volumes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Brontes fired me up, inspired me, started
my brain thinking, ‘I want to write books.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Jane Eyre remains my constant favourite book, I never tire of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went there searching for magic and, with 13
books behind me, I think maybe I found it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-11001133689776979202016-06-23T15:55:00.005+01:002016-06-24T10:40:13.542+01:00The Big LaunchI had the most amazing book launch party on Monday - at my usual venue, Mapplewell Village Hall. Nearly 250 people were there to help me celebrate... and the sun came out in force. I have never had a book launch there when there has been less than scorching weather and I thought this might have been a first - but no!<br />
<br />
Oh and a collection for Claire Throssell raised £157.78!!!<br />
The total for the raffle was totted up on the night at £1106... but I bagged it all up and found £1234.00 - always better when it's up rather than down. So that is split between Yorkshire Cat Rescue and The Well. x<br />
<br />
It's a family affair setting everything up. There are a LOT of goody bags to fill... with loads of stuff kindly donated by Yorkshire Tea, My Trusty sunflower cream, Aunt Bessie, Bahlsen Biscuits, Walkers Shortbread... then we have pens and pads (stationery - compulsory) the wonderful bags themselves and some great Tea t-owls. It was owl-heavy...<br />
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The staff at the hall are amazing. The buffet is to die for. The scones are the best in known universe... and the enormous cakes by Staniforths... more than up to standard with the owls, love-in-a-mist, sunshines and Wildflower Cottage itself.<br />
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Here are the wonderful Sandra and Caroline who run the hall hard at work... as always<br />
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The raffle prize table was heaving with hampers and presents from Pellers (my Ice Wine which the winner had to wrestle from my hand) and Kiss Air Candles, gorgeously themed scented things from Wax Lyrical<br />
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And the WH Smith girls had even bedecked the bookshop table with owls too!</div>
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and my lovely Team Milly ladies gave me a beautiful owl mug and the MOST GORGEOUS BROLLY EVER... with owls on it also. And a cheque for the Claire Throssell fund.</div>
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Here are some pictures from the night. Lots of people contributed to Claire's bucket and we raised £1109.00 for Yorkshire Cat Rescue and The Well, which is a therapy centre for cancer patients in Barnsley. It was the best launch yet. The raffle does go on a bit, but there is a lot to get through. I couldn't do it without my team of ladies...</div>
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This gorgeous trio are my essentials - Isabelle, Phyllis and Amelia - they're fabulous.</div>
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Someone sent me this...4 launch years... 4 hairdos!</div>
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So here's the gallery... we had a great time, I think it shows.</div>
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Mum caught up with someone she used to work with!<br />
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Someone couldn't wait to get into the goody bag...<br />
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Adopted daughters for the evening! They both used to be knee height to me!!!<br />
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The raffle is what they all come for... and the buffet. I'm just the person they have to sit through to get to it.<br />
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Until next year, folks! Thank you all xxxxx</div>
Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-60268066489205514842016-06-05T18:02:00.005+01:002016-06-14T19:49:37.062+01:00What you can win if you 1) go to my launch 2) read my social media posts!I am gearing up for the big launch - and as usual, people have been so generous. There are some great and quirky things out there... and the great and the good should have a bit of advertising as a thank you... so here is a list of all the people who are supporting my launch, who have donated gifts to help me raise money for my charities as we celebrate - <a href="http://www.yorkshirecatrescue.org/" target="_blank">Yorkshire Cat Rescue</a> and THE WELL. And there will be a bucket for Claire available on the launch night just in case anyone wants to contribute to the fund for her.<br />
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Some of these, however, will be competition prizes for anyone to win... so do watch out!<br />
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And please, give a bit back to these people. Support their businesses, have a look at their sites. KARMA!<br />
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THANKS TO...<br />
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<b>Christa Ackroyd</b></div>
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Anyone want to stay at Christa's beautiful holiday home <a href="http://www.brookhouseyorkshire.com/" target="_blank">Brook House</a> in beautiful Bronte Country. A night's bed and breakfast in this gorgeous place is up for grabs!</div>
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<b>Aunt Bessies</b></div>
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As always a HUGE thank you to Aunt Bessie herself for supplying all my goody bags with £1 off vouchers. Which are NEVER wasted, because we all buy something from <a href="http://www.auntbessies.co.uk/" target="_blank">AB </a>don't we? </div>
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<b>Bahlsen</b></div>
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Who make brilliant biscuits (don't get me started on the joys of their orange cake Messino biscuits) and are supremely generous at supplying my goody bags. And they also have a <a href="http://bahlsen uk" target="_blank">great site </a>with recipes and competitions. AND a book club!!!</div>
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<b>BIDBI</b></div>
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My bags are the perfect size... everyone at the launch will get one, but also, there will be lots given away as prizes. They're local to South Yorkshire... and here i<a href="http://www.bidbi.co.uk/" target="_blank">http://www.bidbi.co.uk</a> is their link. </div>
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They're used a lot for beach bags... so watch out for a competition to see who can send me the best pic of their bag on a beach!<br />
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<b>Blink</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.blinkpreston.co.uk/" target="_blank">Blink of Preston </a>made me my bookmarks this year. They did my artwork, because I am rubbish at it, and got the bookmarks to me at a record price and in record time and I would flaming love to recommend them to you.</div>
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<b>Bonheur Brooches</b></div>
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Here is a wonderful idea... Bonheur Brooches take a favourite piece of clothing from your baby's favourite baby-gro to your grandmothers best blouse and make custom brooches from it. I know the proprietor and everything she touches is so beautifully well-crafted. </div>
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<b>Bridget's Boutique</b></div>
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What a gorgeous place to shop for clothes, accessories, lingerie... here at <a href="https://bridgetsboutique.co.uk/" target="_blank">Bridget's Boutique</a>... and I have a £50 voucher to spend her for some lucky person. Pop by and look, it's beautiful!<br />
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<b>Body Revive</b><br />
My friend Karen has donated a back, neck and shoulder massage for one lucky winner. I always go to her. Even Kate, the masseur at The Well goes to her, so you know she's good. She's perfect actually. Her room is in the tower at the Pot House Hamlet. Lovely relaxing place and she'll sort out your achy breaky back for you. Tell her I'll see her soon!<br />
<a href="http://www.bodyrevivesportsmassage.co.uk/">http://www.bodyrevivesportsmassage.co.uk</a><br />
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<b>Jake Bellamy</b><br />
I am the world's worst dieter and exerciser... so I thought I'd book a personal trainer and this guy is brilliant. I will not lie and say that I am not glad when every session is over, BUT I am fitter and stronger and I'm starting to actually (and this is the miracle part of all this) look forward to going because of the effect it is having on me.<br />
So... Jake is offering a keep fit session for the winner plus unto another 5 of their mates at Honeywell sports centre. It may be that you've wanted to start the gym and just want to take the first step... and this will force you hand. Jake will tailor it to what you think you'd need.<br />
And he's great!!! Knows what he's talking about, can advise you on nutrition as well as what's the best way to exercise... and he's a really easy bloke to get on. But he's not soft!<br />
<a href="http://www.jakebellamy.co.uk/personal-training-by-jake-bellamy/">http://www.jakebellamy.co.uk/personal-training-by-jake-bellamy/</a><br />
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<b>Moyra Blayney</b><br />
Artwork all the way from the beautiful Emerald Isle. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MoyraBlayneyArt/?pnref=story">https://www.facebook.com/MoyraBlayneyArt/?pnref=story</a> Aren't Moyra's paintings serene and restful?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMSQ2Y1iEPs052lB_FJCtbOReIbM7eJcZAnDPk7b1Vt2UodQMReZ6O0KVPMXuZSZKSWRy7dJLLfmwLfWTq7kxGCvmVgkZohh9u0-Ebse_dGzYlisi9FFU7_vSy8HWsza1twah4-LKUqfU/s1600/13321741_389897811134114_5991038418589517853_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMSQ2Y1iEPs052lB_FJCtbOReIbM7eJcZAnDPk7b1Vt2UodQMReZ6O0KVPMXuZSZKSWRy7dJLLfmwLfWTq7kxGCvmVgkZohh9u0-Ebse_dGzYlisi9FFU7_vSy8HWsza1twah4-LKUqfU/s320/13321741_389897811134114_5991038418589517853_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Cafe Creme</b><br />
The gorgeous little pearl of a cafe in Penistone Cafe Creme -<a href="http://www.thecafecreme.co.uk/" target="_blank"> http://www.thecafecreme.co.uk</a> - are donating a breakfast for 2! (I'd park myself for an hour or two after eating and have a cake as well... all homemade...sigh!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiadAdG3FHo2qmthUbq5-VCme4f2GKoS-GZ2sO-Y_xAHV4E48hioMSrFQNa2sN22H9dqjmBiBp-Mpf8sbSOCCx3fz7-djtaNExtwV-ktViHnsiuAsJkpjS-v7JFYVqQHKzZerv3kFmde7/s1600/2013-09-18-13.01.45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiadAdG3FHo2qmthUbq5-VCme4f2GKoS-GZ2sO-Y_xAHV4E48hioMSrFQNa2sN22H9dqjmBiBp-Mpf8sbSOCCx3fz7-djtaNExtwV-ktViHnsiuAsJkpjS-v7JFYVqQHKzZerv3kFmde7/s320/2013-09-18-13.01.45.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<b>Denise's Boxes</b><br />
Oh oh oh... I have one of these cuties up for grabs. Check out the page <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Denises-Boxes-Denise-McDowell-Art-285622514836058/?hc_location=ufi">https://www.facebook.com/Denises-Boxes-Denise-McDowell-Art-285622514836058/?hc_location=ufi</a> I love these and I want one and I want one now! <br />
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<b>Flutterby Lashes</b><br />
A lovely set of nail gel overlays for someone from Flutterby! Check them out on their Facebook page here... <a href="https://www.facebook.com/flutterby.lashes.9/?hc_location=ufi">https://www.facebook.com/flutterby.lashes.9/?hc_location=ufi</a></div>
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<b>Hair Shack</b></div>
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/HairShackWombwell/" target="_blank">The Hair Shack</a> is on Park Street in Wombwell and they've donated a cut and finish for some lucky person. My favourite thing is to get a hairdo... so hope whoever wins this... enjoys the pamper.</div>
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Facebook link: https://www.facebook.com/HairShackWombwell/</div>
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<b>Holiday Inn Barnsley</b></div>
The lovely people up at the old Brooklands have donated Sunday Lunch for 4 people for a good lunchtime scoff.<br />
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<b>Hothouse</b><br />
My pals at Hothouse <a href="http://www.hot-h.co.uk/" target="_blank">(http://www.hot-h.co.uk)</a> are behind some amazing brands... including the fabulous St Moriz self tanning stuff... and if you haven't tried it, you should really give it a go. It's a fraction of the price of the 'posh stuff' yet it sweeps the boards at award ceremonies. And they've given me a box of these little beauties.<br />
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<b>Victoria Howard</b></div>
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My lovely friend and fellow novelist, Victoria, is giving me something special. She writes 'romantic suspense' and is rather good at it :) Her website is here... <a href="http://www.victoriahoward.co.uk/">http://www.victoriahoward.co.uk</a></div>
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<b>Debbie Johnson</b></div>
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My great and funny friend (no relation - and what a bummer that is) is donating a signed book. I guarantee you will be converted to her stuff if you read it... she is bloody brilliant and a perfect pick-me-up because she's a hoot! Read about her <a href="http://www.debbiejohnsonauthor.com/" target="_blank">here</a><br />
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<b>Thomas Masters</b><br />
If you are moving house... you have to use this firm - <a href="http://www.thomasmasters.co.uk/">http://www.thomasmasters.co.uk</a> When I moved, I asked around and everyone gave me this firm's name so I went with them - and they were fabulous. Although I did give them all a migraine when they came to reassemble my four-poster (I forgot to give them the holding screws) Some of them are still in therapy today. They are the best and when I move to my mansion, they'll be the ones I ring. They'll be delighted by that but I expect they'll ask for a 'no-fixy-uppy-bed' clause.<br />
These kind people have donated a £50 M & S voucher. Personally I would spend all that on their Sherry Trifle 'Baileys'. Oh my...<br />
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<b>Perfect Pout by Pura Cosmetics</b><br />
Pure (<a href="http://www.puracosmetics.co.uk/">http://www.puracosmetics.co.uk</a>) was set up by two amazing girls who have won awards for their cracking little duo of lip products - a scrub and a balm and I personally swear by them (a much nicer way to sort out your lips than a scrub with a toothbrush and slap of vaseline) They now have an online shop and as far as I'm concerned, it's something I make sure I don't run out of.<br />
I have three beautifully packaged lip balm sets that I'm giving away... that should keep your lips lovely and plump for the summer!<br />
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<b>Pretty Things</b><br />
There's a lovely shop in Penistone Market Street (18a) called Pretty Things that supplies handmade baby clothes and jewellery and handbags and fairy art and they've sent me a beautiful handmade bag featuring wildflowers. It's summery and gorgeous and I want it. But I have to give it away!!!<br />
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<b>Novel Creations</b><br />
Someone is going to win one of <a href="https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/NovelCreations?ref=shop_sugg" target="_blank">Novel Creations</a> beautiful hand-crafted book bags in an online competition. These come from America so you won't be able to find them easily here. I have LOADS of them. They are gorgeous. <br />
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<b>Magnificent Me!</b><br />
From the magnificent Maggie (FB - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/magnificentmecoaching/" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/magnificentmecoaching/ </a>) chocs and a £30 voucher! Maggie is a very experienced hypnotherapist and life coach who also helps victims of abuse. Full details of her work are <a href="http://magnificentme.co.uk/about/" target="_blank">here </a>on her website<br />
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<b>Mainstream Print</b><br />
I have to have post-it notes - stationery is obligatory with every book launch so thanks to my friends at <a href="http://mainstreamprint.co.uk/" target="_blank">Mainstream</a> who give me a great price and fab delivery on mine.<br />
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<b>Munkibeads</b><br />
My lovely clever friend at MUNKIBEADS <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Munkibeads/?hc_location=ufi">https://www.facebook.com/Munkibeads/?hc_location=ufi</a><br />
is giving me a prize too. Her work is so gorgeous !<br />
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<b>Papercuts</b><br />
The wonderful Donna, who is a very talented paper artist, is giving me one of her wares. They are <a href="https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=papercuts" target="_blank">amazing. https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=papercuts</a> . She must have the patience of a saint.<br />
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<b>Steel City </b><br />
and my official pen makers... are <a href="http://www.steel-city.co.uk/" target="_blank">Steel City in Sheffield</a>. You can't have notepads without pens!! Never let me down (and I came to them after someone REALLY let me down at the last minute. In stepped SC so I stuck with them)<br />
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Here's the bookmarks, pen, postcards, post-it</div>
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<b>iRent</b></div>
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the wonderful Claire at iRent properties has donated the yummiest prize...Afternoon Tea for Two at the <a href="http://www.thespicedpearhepworth.co.uk/" target="_blank">Spiced Pear in Hepworth. </a> Oh my - it is gorgeous there (and they do a gentleman's tea for two as well... have one of each!) </div>
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<a href="https://porkypenguin.co.uk/" target="_blank">Porky Penguin</a></div>
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They supply fabulous quirky jewellery, prints & pressies... I have a pair of owl earrings up for grabs from them!<br />
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<b>Power Plate at Seven</b></div>
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in Wilthorpe have donated 2 x personal training sessions... check them out on Facebook. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Power-Plate-at-Seven-1741843166042316/">https://www.facebook.com/Power-Plate-at-Seven-1741843166042316/</a></div>
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Win it and use it to begin the new you. </div>
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<b>Sisters...</b></div>
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/girlsw0rld/permalink/1809711309257764/?sale_post_id=1809711309257764&pnref=story.unseen-section" target="_blank">the Ladies Fashion Chainstore Clothes stall </a>in the upstairs market, unit 20, have donated.... get this... £50 to spend on their goods.</div>
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It's a brill stall, loads of clothes you'd find in the high street shops but at very different prices. Check out their photos for new stock.</div>
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Facebook address... </div>
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https://www.facebook.com/groups/girlsw0rld/permalink/1809711309257764/?sale_post_id=1809711309257764&pnref=story.unseen-section</div>
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<b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/Stephs-Crafty-Bits-129626537105362/" target="_blank">Steph Saward</a></b></div>
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(facebook page - https://www.facebook.com/Stephs-Crafty-Bits-129626537105362/)</div>
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Steph always makes my themed jewellery for my launches - wildflowers this year, of course. She has also made me a beautiful white rose for Yorkshire Day and my sunflower jewellery for last year. </div>
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There are quite a few wonderful owls and wildflowers up for grabs. Steph makes custom made jewellery (as I can testify!)<br />
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<b>Kiss-Air Candles</b><br />
I couldn't have a book launch about beautiful scents without including Kiss-Air (<a href="http://www.kiss-air.com/" target="_blank">http://www.kiss-air.com)</a> Their candles are absolutely gorgeous. You'll want to eat them rather than light them... I have candles for some lucky winners! They make great presents because they smell divine and are packaged GORGEOUSLY!!!<br />
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<b>Margaret Smith Designs</b></div>
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https://www.facebook.com/margaret.smith.14855?fref=nf</div>
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Last year Margaret gave me bookart... this year it's one of these fairylight beauties. Aren't they gorgeous? </div>
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<b>MORRISONS</b><br />
...have given me one of the star prizes... a giant hamper. It was too big for the trolley so I hope whoever wins it has a car!!!<br />
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<b>Stressfreeprint</b></div>
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<b>...</b>are always brilliant, easy to deal with, make my job a lot easier and sorted me out with a load of promo postcards. Again, a printing firm that I really like dealing with especially when you can go to them with the world's crappiest drawings of what you want... and they give them to proper arty people and make what was in your head the whole time. Heartily recommended! And you can find them... <a href="http://www.stressfreeprint.co.uk/" target="_blank">here </a><br />
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<b>Thirsk Falcony Centre</b><br />
I couldn't have written my book without the people at this fabulous place. I've had some wonderful hours <a href="http://www.falconrycentre.co.uk/" target="_blank">here </a><a href="http://www.falconrycentre.co.uk/" target="_blank">(http://www.falconrycentre.co.uk) </a>and I'll keep going back and having more.<br />
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This is 'Ursula' in my book... in real life he is Avalanche. And he's gorgeous. A day spent up there with the birds (and the lovely family whose centre it is) is a JOY. And I'm going back with 4 winners of a competition to be held. Don't enter it if you don't want to go because this is a lovely day out and we will make sure you have some fabulous photos to take home.<br />
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<b>My Trusty</b></div>
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...make the loveliest products from sunflower oil. They're part of Salisbury NHS and all profit goes back into the health service. I discovered them last year when I was doing the sunflower book, though it might be a nice gimmick, starting using their stuff after they sent me a tester... and now I've got EVERYONE using it. It's beautiful. The oil is my particular favourite</div>
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And ...shhh... they've given me a special offer for my readers.<br />
<b>If you take a look at their <a href="http://mytrusty.co.uk/" target="_blank">website</a> and you like what you see... email them on <a href="mailto:sunflowercream@salisbury.nhs.uk">sunflowercream@salisbury.nhs.uk</a>, giving your telephone number, they'll take the order over the phone and give you 50% off! </b></div>
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Everyone who comes to the launch will be able to try a sample of the cream.</div>
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<b>Debbie Viggiano</b></div>
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My lovely friend <a href="http://debbieviggiano.com/index.html" target="_blank">Debbie</a> has given me one of her lovely signed books - great fun to read. Love her books!<br />
<br />
<b>Russell Eaton</b><br />
I've been going to Jesse here at <a href="http://www.russelleatonhair.com/">http://www.russelleatonhair.com</a> YEARS... and I love him. Everyone loves him and going to this salon is a proper treat. Neck and shoulder massage, magazines, refreshments... and a gorgeous cut and blow from my favourite man. </div>
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<b>Technically Speaking...</b></div>
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My friends at 'Technically Speaking' who mend my iMac and my PCs and my sons' PCs and all our friends PCs (and they found my first book deeeeeep inside my computer after my PC crashed and lost the lot!) have given me a SPY DRONE. It's worth a few bob and you can have great fun with it... or spy on the neighbours/kids/dog's antics. </div>
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And if you need Rob's services - and he is a wonder with computers, and very well priced too...</div>
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<a href="http://technicallyspeaking.co.uk/" target="_blank">Here's t</a>he link to reach him</div>
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<b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/knittinggiraffe/?fref=photo" target="_blank">The Knitting Giraffe</a></b></div>
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https://www.facebook.com/knittinggiraffe/?fref=photo</div>
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has made this wonderful, gorgeous giraffe. It's so pretty. And she can make you a giraffe too... check out her lovely Facebook page! </div>
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<b>Vets for Pets</b></div>
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Our wonderful - and I mean wonderful... I'll tell you about it someday... local pets have given me a voucher for a vaccine for life for a dog, cat or rabbit in the family. This prize is worth a hefty amount (come on, vet's bills... need I say more). I can't recommend them enough. All my animals are with them and I couldn't wish for a better service for them. </div>
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<b>Walkers Shortbread.</b></div>
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Have been with me from the beginning and are my good luck charm. No launch would be complete without their contribution!</div>
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<b>Wax Lyrical</b></div>
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I buy a lot of <a href="http://www.wax-lyrical.com/" target="_blank">Wax Lyrical </a>stuff... it smells exactly as it is supposed to and their Bluebell oil inspired me to make my heroine a 'nose' (you'll see what I mean if you read the book). I was so scared they'd run out of it, I bought a whole box full and have one on my desk when I'm working at all times. They make the most beautiful things. Totally worth paying an extra pound or two for because they last. </div>
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They've given me a box of reed diffusers (I want the Summer Evening one SOOOO much) and candles... for 4 lucky winners!</div>
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<b>Yorkshire Blankets</b></div>
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<b>& Pauline Ogden</b></div>
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Pauline has made a beautiful heart shaped wreath out of Yorkshire Blankets and I have also 2 beautiful Yorkshire Blankets for the raffle.<br />
(on facebook here... https://www.facebook.com/yorkshireblankets/ )<br />
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And if you want to see the blankets in the flesh... go along to Cawthorne Antiques centre as there's a unit of them in there - they are beautiful, hard-wearing (obviously - they're YORKSHIRE BLANKETS) and made of PROPER WOOL. <br />
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<b>good old YORKSHIRE TEA</b><br />
Everyone who comes to my launch will be able to have a good old brew thanks to YT.<br />
<br />
<b>Zena Claire</b><br />
<b>...</b>taking the alphabetical last slot is the Colour Specialists Hairdressers on Summer Lane giving a cut and finish in their well established salon.<br />
Their Facebook page is <a href="https://www.facebook.com/search/352926221421393/local_search?surface=sist" target="_blank">here</a>!<br />
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( https://www.facebook.com/search/352926221421393/local_search?surface=sist )<br />
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I also have lovely brooches, wellies filled with chocolate, hampers of posh stuff and sunflower cream. There are ALL SORTS of things. It's like Christmas but in summer... and full of owls instead of robins!!<br />
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Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-78894502454820414702016-05-28T16:19:00.001+01:002016-05-28T22:44:14.277+01:00Girl on My Brain!!If you haven't heard of 'The Girl on the Train' you must have been in outer space with no internet or in a coma for the past year. I have been neither and I am being haunted by it. <br />
The cover...<br />
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is seared onto my retinas. When I close my eyes at night to sleep, any image I conjure up to help me drift off has those speed blurs fading off to the right. <br />
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The book is everywhere. When I go ANYWHERE, posters bark at me from the walls. When I go to the supermarket to buy my bottle of Hardys, the book is there at every turn. Advertisements in magazines, Facebook/Twitter... and even our trade magazine, The Bookseller has become 'The Paula Hawkins Fan Mag'. Every page gloats... look ' The Girl on the Train has knocked unknockable David Walliams into second place. It's even trounced all over JK Rowling. Which human being does that, FFS? None, because it is INhuman. Especially for a debut crime writer. Did I say FFS? I'll say it again then. I see spin-offs... GOTT the musical in the West End, GOTT wine bottles served on British Rail. If any country hasn't bought it to translate, it soon will. I hear publishers on Pluto are in a bidding war with those on Mercury for it.<br />
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What is more Paula Hawkins has the same agent as me. If Lizzy Kremer had not been such a great 'mother', I might have felt like the older sister who was more gauche, stupid, ugly, unsuccessful than my younger sibling who grabbed all the trophies for best arabesque in ballet classes, Head Girl award, Girl most likely to become God trophy... I have told 'my mother' that when my book comes out in 3 weeks time, I'd like her to kindly remove my younger sister's name from the top of the Sunday Times bestseller charts and give me a fighting chance. No wonder LK has just been voted Agent of the Year... she is up there on the top table of the success story of the year/decade/epoque.<br />
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The Train Girl is not Paula's first book. She was a jobbing romcom writer of 4 books then changed genre to crime at a time when the world seems extra thirsty for it. She produced one of those rare books that gives readers something they haven't had before... an extra-flawed heroine who self-medicates booze to help her get over the fact that her ex has moved onwards and upwards. She lies, she blacks out, she does everything she has promised herself she won't. A heroine who is almost an anti-heroine? Is that allowed? Is it now.<br />
<br />
Just when you think you have seen everything... some clever sod produces something new. And I love it. Where would any budding entrepreneur be without that chance to grab the world by the throat? The Holy Grail has been replicated and there are loads of them out there waiting to be found! Never let anyone tell you that the impossible is not possible.<br />
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You can tell how successful a book is by how many Amazon reviews there are. (I don't mention Goodreads. It's a horrible bitch-fest of a site... most of those reviews are written by people they breed on special farms). GOTT has about 12 million (slight exaggeration) comments. Not all of them good because success attracts green-eyed vitriol. One famous writer told me that if ever I get depressed about a crap review I've had, pick a book I love - a masterpiece - and see what reviews it has been given. How can anyone not say that Jane Eyre should be on a pedestal? Well... there's always an undiscovered genius pointing out 'unbelievable coincidences' (it is fiction, mate) and how lacking it is compared to Wuthering Heights. Then again, check out the slagging off of Thomas Hardy, Emily Bronte, Jane Austen... Dan Brown comes in for a fair amount of stick about how 'rubbish' his writing is (a book I devoured like a giant 12 foot eclair) and EL James and JK Rowling have their knockers too. I'm sure when they're working out how much monetary interest their book sales have earned them that day and how many 'ker-ching' sounds they've heard in the past half an hour, they spare a few moments to be totally gutted. <br />
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Paula's debut crime novel has been made into a film, it's a best seller in hardback, paperback, ebook, audio, braille, semaphore, Morse code... and the world is waiting for her next book which will no doubt be ripped from the shelves as soon as it is out. I have no idea how Paula sleeps knowing that Mr X of Tunbridge Wells guessed how the entire plot was going to play out after reading 2 pages and has therefore awarded her novel one star.<br />
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Don't get me wrong - I'm doing okay. I'm selling books, making a living... but the GOTT story is the stuff of dreams and all of us authors want it. With those sales, I could buy a mansion, not moan at the kids when they go over their phone allowance, have my eyebrows microbladed every 6 weeks, buy that Lulu Guinness handbag without having to wait for the 20% off sale. And - oh - to sit in a cinema with all my pals watching MY story on a massive screen (sitting next to Hugh Jackman, who was the love interest obviously) and having first pick of the Cornetto flavours when the ice-cream lady comes around in the half-time 'comfort break' well... it's something to aim for. And it could be mine... there is no reason to give up hope because it hasn't happened so far. I just need the zeitgeist to pick me up in its teeth and lift me on its thermal. A zeitgeist that recognises Yorkshire romcoms are the new black.<br />
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Flippancy apart, the real message of this post is that the fairytale does sometimes still occur. And though fledgling writers should remember that though this is the exception rather than the rule... it CAN happen to any scribe. No doubt Paula was disillusioned when she was writing her romcoms and ready for giving up because she wrote GOTT when she was skint. I bet she wouldn't have realised the monster (though nice friendly author-loving monster) she released when she sent off her book to MOTHER and said 'Okay then, what about this one instead? Is it a goer?'<br />
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Fellow authors might wish PH's story was theirs, but as well as, not <i>instead of</i> her success (there is a difference) because we're a sisterhood, a band of writers who protect other writers because they're OURS and represent books and enjoyment of stories and keeping the industry alive and everything we stand for. Writers are a good bunch, rivals and yet we manage to remain bezzies as well. We've seen another of us projected into the stratosphere with Jojo Moyes and her 'Me before You' which has just been made into a Hollywood film. Shit happens - but so does Sparkle/Glitter... or whatever the flip side to crap is. There are latent Cinderellas in our midst and we will rejoice with them, when the fairy godmother shakes that wand and the pumpkins start twitching. It shows us all that there is still a massive passion for stories in the world. That sort of news is very, very welcome to authors. A mild shade of green on the cheeks is permitted though, we are only flesh and blood.<br />
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Meanwhile, I'm just started my new novel... 'the Woman on the Plane'. Mr Spielberg, PM me if you think we should talk...<br />
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<b>Milly Johnson was not paid for this article. No shit Sherlock.</b><br />
<br />Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-41297112031184001402015-08-21T13:27:00.002+01:002015-08-22T10:18:14.530+01:00A Life on the Ocean Wave (well, a fortnight!)'Working on a cruise ship' is a bit like 'working testing chocolates'... it makes a lie of the word 'work' because it doesn't feel painful. I love cruises, I love books and I love performing - so it was perfect for me to jump onboard and talk novels and ship-missing and people-watching. I took my two teenage lads with me as, bitter-sweetly, this was the last planned holiday we would have as a family of 3 (their step-dad was at home feeding the animals. Food and 'not to each other' we hoped!) They're getting older and socialising with their friends is where they want to be at, not being dragged around ancient ruins with an ancient ruin so I wanted it to be special.<br />
<br />
A fourteen night Med cruise on <a href="http://www.pocruises.com/?utm_medium=cpc&utm_source=google&utm_campaign=second_summer_2015" target="_blank">P & O Cruises </a>Azura was ours then. A port-rich one - 8 in total - so not many sea-days which suits my big lad who prefers to be out and off, though I love my relaxing lazy sea-days. We take the Eavesway bus down to Southampton, they leave from all over the country and take you directly to the docks. No worries about getting stuck in traffic (which we always do) because these bad boys are allied to the cruise company and if it arrives late, the ship will wait for you - which it won't do if you're held up in your Fiat Punto. Once our bags are loaded on at Barnsley, we don't see them again until they are outside our cabins. Our holiday has begun.<br />
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We pull in at a service station where the lads have a rubbish burger and we are handed our change without a thank you. It always happens. We have come to look forward to the change which will happen within hours. Delicious cuisine and being called 'ma'am' (me, not the lads) And someone making my bed for me.<br />
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A hark back to my childhood when we got all excited about spotting Blackpool Tower on the horizon, we get the same feeling looking for the first view of the ship. I should have grown out of it by now - but I haven't.<br />
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Being on board as a half-passenger, half-guest means I get a nice big fat welcome.<br />
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Though it doesn't let you off having to do the lifeboat drill. Don't think I have much chance of drowning. I'm more likely to be suffocated by the life-belt being pushed upwards by my gazongas and cutting off my air-supply.<br />
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Not a bad view from the balcony. I can wave to the bridge. <br />
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...And we have set off. Despite the fact I could have got a free glass of champers at the sailing off party, I always find I just want to get the clothes hung up and then I can relaaaaax.<br />
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And though those bottles of champers were tempting... it is TRADITION that I have a glass of <a href="http://www.slurp.co.uk/wine-with-awards/other-awards/23994-peller-family-estates-ice-cuvee-sparkling-ros-nv/" target="_blank">Pellers Cuvee Rose</a> in my lovely Glass House. It tastes of holiday, ergo it is a must.<br />
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Oh boy did we sleep.<br />
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Seaday the next day - so we headed off to our wonderful Glass House for lunch/breakfast. What is it when you get up at 12.00? Tapas for me, fish for my big lad, steak for my little one (who is bigger than his brother - with me so far?)<br />
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And a Raspberry Creme Brulee cocktail. I'm on holiday so if I want one as a pudding, I'm flaming well having one.<br />
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It's traditionally a formal night on the second night. Bay of Biscay was sort of behaving - a cheeky little force 4/5 so we got tarted up ready for dinner. Ooh - what is that at the door - more champers and canapes. You do know how to spoil a girl, P & O!<br />
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We had club dining - same time every night (6.15pm) same table, same waiters: Linus and Dhana in our case - lovely boys!<br />
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And who was waiting outside the dining room to greet everyone - only flaming Marco Pierre White!<br />
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Okay - now here's a little story about this man. I first met his years ago when we were cruising together the summer after my second book came out. I wouldn't have asked ordinarily, but I ran into him on a staircase and we had a chat and I asked him if he minded that I was writing a story (A Spring Affair) and was planning to reference him in it.<br />
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I have spent the years between thinking that he must have thought me a right knob.<br />
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And I have been in his company a few times and never dared speak to him. <i>Hi remember me? That woman you thought might be trying to chat you up on the staircase using a ridiculous story about a novel?</i><br />
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But - A Spring Affair featured an Italian/Yorkshireman and a woman who loved cooking - I wasn't lying. How could I not put him in it? Sacrilege! Just after it came out, I did Come Dine with Me which featured an apron with that book on it and my sales went through the roof. It changed things for me and MPW was my good luck charm - and I'd always wanted to tell him that. And as we were posing for that pic, I did. And he was delighted and we had a right old natter - and it was one of the highlights of my holiday. And that long dark shadow of 'knobness' was at last lifted.<br />
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I ate my dinner with a knife and fork and a big smile. Lady Muck 'ere does like a bit of lobster!!<br />
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And so to the next day. Vigo. There is a fab beach there but we just plodded around for a bit. I had forgotten a pair of shoes but was rescued on finding a Clarks in the shopping centre. With a sale on. The kids, thirsty for WiFi were rescued also.<br />
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We didn't miss the ship.<br />
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Livery looks great on the ship doesn't it? (Forgive the photos. I don't think David Bailey is worried for his job)</div>
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And then we set sail for sunny Lisbon. Had a lovely day sitting in a (WiFi) cafe with a great lunch, soaking up the sunshine. Getting under the bridge as we leave is always a moment when you feel you need to bob your head.</div>
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Then off to Gibraltar for a poke around. There was a sale on in BHS and I bought a top. How's that for international shopping. The duty free prices, I noticed, were greatly reduced from what they usually are. I think Gib got a bit greedy and then realised that people just weren't buying anything. Mum and dad benefited from a £6 litre of Bells whisky on that trip.</div>
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And I was performing that night too. First talk - both sittings - about my books. People turned up. Including one great elderly guy who came to buy a book afterwards at my post-show signing. 'I hope you don't mind me saying,' he began, 'but I only stayed because I had some beer left in my glass. And I thought, what the bloody hell is this, when you first started talking...' Anyway, to cut a long story short, he stayed for the whole thing and turned up at my next talk too. Sold out of my entire stocks of <i><a href="http://millyjohnson.co.uk/the-books/here-come-the-girls/" target="_blank">Here Come The Girls</a></i> that night. </div>
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We had a day at sea then. Little lad was in the pool, big lad was doing something mysterious on his phone which had something to do with wifi no doubt. Lovely lazy day. I went for a massage in the spa - a 50 minute back, neck and shoulder massage with a Chinese masseuse called Grace. It was borderline abuse what she did to my spine with the points of her elbow - but strangely marvellous. I could have stayed there all day.</div>
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Then, the next day, we went to Monte Carlo which was boiling at 10.00am in the morning when we walked up the hill to the famous casino. I'm standing between Adam and Eve by the way. To look thin, stand between fatties.</div>
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Big lad at the casino with the Azura in the distance</div>
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Some VERY nice cars there and yachts. I wasn't greedy - a little one would have done. And obviously I practised a bit of french and partook of some local wine. French wasn't very good though, because I actually asked for a spag bol.</div>
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Oh then off to La Spezia - from where we would be transported to the delights of Pisa and Florence. This isn't an actual picture btw because the bus was going too fast to capture one BUT we passed fields and fields of dying sunflowers. I was actually moved to poetic thoughts to see them. They were all being loved to death by their beloved sun. They were drying out to make oil - millions of them. It must have been a real sight a month or so ago when they were in full bloom and I'll make a note to go back earlier in the year to see them. God I love sunflowers. Did you guess? </div>
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It was 42 degrees mid afternoon. Gorgeous.</div>
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Me and Dave</div>
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We had lasagne in a cafe that sprayed out water vapor, we had ice-cream, we were in a little bit of heaven. My big son found a Stone Island shop and took some great selfies (very important for teens). </div>
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Then for tea we went to the new Beach House (which used to be the Italian Verona) and sailing out of La Spezia was stunningly beautiful. Such a perfect day (cue: Lou Reed)</div>
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Now Rome, the next day, was an adventure and a half. 2 alarms set failed to go off, which meant that when I woke by chance at 7.45am, there was a mad dash on as our excursion was setting off at 7.50am. Benny Hill music started up and we - don't ask me how - made it. We had booked the Roma Express, a train into the city instead of the bus, and it was beautiful - like a mini Orient Express.</div>
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I need some training in how to take proper selfies apparently.<br />
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Circus Maximus - home of the chariot races<br />
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Alas the Trevi Fountain was under reconstruction so we had to console ourselves with massive ice-creams. BTW, the Hop-on, Hop-off bus was 18 euros each and definitely worth it.</div>
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It was HOT. Which forced us, conveniently, to park in a free WiFi cafe for a while, far more interesting to teenagers than a colosseum. And it was such a nice day we went back up to the Beach House for tea - cooking steaks on the lava stones so they were perfect for our tastes (a rare, a medium and a well done)</div>
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I knew I was getting lazy because this felt like self-catering!</div>
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Corsica the next day and more stunningly gorgeous yachts.</div>
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(WANT! - you listening, Santa?)</div>
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And my second talk - all about cruising. People-watching and Missed Ships. A worst nightmare for many people (missing the ship you cheeky thing, not my talk) And it was tropical night, hence the get-up. Hard to compete with that but I was pleasantly surprised that both talks were packed out. Someone even clapped.<br />
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At sea the next day.</div>
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I was on duty book signing - met some lovely lovely people!! Then went off to a posh lunch with the captain. Who is quite a contender for Nigel Ocean-Sea...</div>
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Formal night - so dress up time. Someone said we look as if we belong on a Martina Cole cover. I could live with that.</div>
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Cadiz the next day - Spanishy, sunshiney and so I Sangria-ed. I didn't expect him to bring me a flaming pint of it though.</div>
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I'm quite proud of this slice of sunshine shot... </div>
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Check out the swimming pool on the top layer!</div>
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Had a quick <i>Money Spider i</i>n the Glass House when we came back. Look how Olly Smith describes things. Don't you just want to dive in? He should write profiles for internet dating, you couldn't resist could you? </div>
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Great theatre shows on board, by the way - we saw something every night. Gary Barlow tribute act (brill) The Headliners theatre company (which was very Yorkshire-heavy. Even a Barnsley lad in there). We love the shows! Even big lad goes. Little lad retires to the cabin and orders a room service spag-bol. It's 'tradition' he says. Can't think where he has picked up such a ridiculous saying! </div>
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There was too much on to even make it to the lovely sea-screen which I love (sitting in the open air on a sun lounger with a blanket watching a film - cocktail obligatory). Anyone who thinks they will be bored onboard is out of their head.</div>
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Then it was a sea-day. So we had a lunch in the old Glass House. My son had a chocolate canneloni. We had to try the peanut butter ice-cream with caramelized bacon though. </div>
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Interesting... but I ended up picking off the bacon, have to be honest!</div>
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Atul Kochhar was on board too and he is the NICEST bloke ever. And very funny. He should do a standup routine about spices. His talk was packed out and quite rightly so. Very very interesting, and a proper inspirational story he had to tell in his own modest way - adorable man.</div>
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And then, sadly, it was onto packing. But holidays must come to an end and we were missing our family and pets a bit.<br />
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(incidentally - the dog greeted us as if we had died and come back to earth again. The cat looked at us in disgust as if we were complete strangers who had walked in covered in horse manure)<br />
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As is family tradition, we had a proper sit-down breakfast in the restaurant on the last morning. It's available every day but we don't have breakfast simply because we have to cut some meals out! Plus we are never up. The boat lulls you to sleep like a giant gently rocking cradle. I sleep like a baby on a cruise.</div>
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Sitting on a bus with the last look at the ship is a sad sight, however much we are looking forward to seeing the folks back home. This one was a bit teary for me because the likelihood is that I won't be sitting on the bus again with my boys (who were feasting on being back in the land of the internet again). But it's a new phase. Next time I'll be with the OH. I just hope that next time is sooner rather than later...</div>
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Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894364337349289507.post-56820479770057479492015-07-03T16:47:00.000+01:002015-07-07T19:24:26.123+01:00Why there will NEVER be an E.L.Johnson<div class="Body">
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">It</span><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: FR;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">s a standing joke amongst us authors how many times we are asked this question: </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">‘</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I bet you wished you</span><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: FR;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">d written that 50 Shades of Grey, don</span><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: FR;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">t you?</span><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: FR;">’ </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">With an estimated wealth of </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">£</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">75 million, although that figure rises on a minute-to-minute basis, 647,000 sales in its first 3 days, number one position in the Top 10 charts </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">– it’s </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">an author</span><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: FR;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">s dream surely? My book is now number 5 in the best seller charts and my publishers are whooping at our 6,500 book sales in the same 2-day sales period. But to have sales figures like EL James, well, what wouldn</span><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: FR;">’</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">t you do for that?</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Just after the first 50 Shades hit the shelves, a few of my author friends who wrote racier books than mine, decided – or were encouraged by agents and publishers – to indulge their talents in the genre. There was obviously a hungry demand for this sort of book if the sales figures could be trusted. I waited for the call but it never happened. That ruffled my feathers, I can flaming tell you! I was editing my own book at the time and included, through sheer devilment, a graphic earthy sex scene between two of the characters, only for my editor to draw a red bracket around it and add the comment: ‘Ugh. Can we take this out please, Mill?’ Even my agent rang up, after she’d read it, to see if I was all right and needed a lie down.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My Yorkshire stubbornness rose to the fore. Determined to prove that yet another respectable-looking, middle-aged woman can break the mould, I thought I’d show the world just what I had in my literary store-cupboard. But, ever with an eye on a point of difference, I started to write a story from the wilder fetish world perspective. I intended to make EL James look vanilla with extra vanilla pod-seeds flavoured with vanilla extract from Madagascar by comparison.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">My plot 'Selene's moon', named after the Roman goddess of the moon, </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">was set in a small mysteriously-</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">childless hamlet </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">on the wild Bronte moors in the nineteeth century (no animals, no kids – my depravity had some limits). A young</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"> virginal servant</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> – </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">Rose </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">– joins the household of very rich landowner Sir Maximus Stone. Day to day</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"> everyone </span><span lang="DA" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: DA;">live</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">s </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">conventionally, except for the</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"> night of the full moon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> when the villagers succumb to ‘</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">specialist</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">’ </span><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: FR;">desires’</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">, six hours either side of midnight</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">. Barricading themselves in their houses, is an option should they wish not to partake of the feast of the moon goddess, Selene, but no one </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">wants to miss out. At six bells </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">any action must stop and never be referred to in v<i>anilla life. </i>‘Think Jane Eyre crossed with ‘The Purge’. Rose is an innocent, Maximus is</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">stunningly attractive, but older,</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> impotent and therefore he must give and receive his pleasures in alternative ways. The villagers are kind, respectable people but they have been raised in a village where deviance </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">has become </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">the norm</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">At the heart of the tale there is a love story between a younger woman and a much older man who are drawn together but know they will never be able to consummate their relationship 'traditionally.' Maximus has to satisfy Rose by proxy – with a selection of villagers and their wild ways. I won't go into too much detail but though Rose’s love for Maximus is initially pure, her body begins to crave the wildness of her sexual encounters with the villagers. Throw in an ideology that begins to sour as Rose's beauty begins to change the dynamics between the villagers... and there was my intended story, which I was rather proud of. It was a twisting, turning plot - and I liked the characters who could have been your neighbours. Who knows what goes on behind closed doors?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">So I plunged into the dark pages of the net, thinking that I was</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> quite worldly, but it appears not. I had to look up a few</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;"> activities</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> to see what they entailed. I didn’t think a lot of them were physically possible, if I’m honest. Then again, I’ve played Twister with a group of drunken pals, and you can bend quite a bit when you have to. I swallowed any prudery and </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">searched through the depravities, trying not to wince as unexpected close-ups popped up to put me off hot dogs for life.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Older women with young studs, biting, orgies, </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4666652679443px;">foot worship, watersports, glass coffee tables… I looked at a few things from behind a defensive cushion</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">. Still, I was determined to set a love story to this colourful, kinky backdrop. I quite fancied a Ferrari and a film-deal. I’d insist on Gerald Butler for the lead so I could meet him and have a joint selfie. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I started to type, I was into my story... then I got to the first gritty bit, where Rose walks in on lesbian orgy and I caught sight of myself in my bookshelf glass door to see I was tapping away at my keyboard wearing a grimace. I carried on. The toe-sucking farmer, the butcher who spent the whole feast night naked in stocks, taking whatever the villages threw at him - literally and metaphorically, the staid preacher’s wife with a taste for something very odd. Oh, you name it, I had them all in there with their feather dusters, Iron Maidens, nettles and strap-ons.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To cut a long story short – whereas I could laugh and cry and celebrate with the characters I created in my Romcom world, this alien landscape just didn’t do it for me. I wasn’t writing with conviction. I can write with enjoyment about a group of bantering birds, I’m in the story with them, but I felt emotionally unmoved describing a woman emptying her bladder on the mayor, however much he happened to be loving it. If I cry when I’m writing, I have a chance at bringing a lump to my readers’ throats, likewise if I laugh when I'm composing, I hope my readers will laugh with me. I wasn’t titillated writing about Rose’s adventures… and I think I’d be right in guessing then that I wouldn’t be turning on my readers if Selene's Moon went to print. Even despite the wide spectrum of perversity, it all began to feel very samey-samey. I could imagine readers, who had bought the book initially to read the mucky bits, soon skimming past the action-shots to get to the more interesting Halloween village fayre to discover who had grown the biggest pumpkin (not a euphemism).<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">EL James might not have realized what she started when she wrote 50 Shades. I’m sure that she never thought her little fan-fiction book in the footsteps of the Twilight Saga would have divided the world as it has. Yes 50 Shades is fundamentally a love story and the ‘activity’ takes place between consenting adults – it’s fiction, it’s a story. The villain Mrs Robinson is seen as a paedophile, not as a seductress, she is never pictured as being someone who acted responsibly. To some Christian is masterful – he only ever has Ana’s pleasure in his sight. Others see him as abusive – they see the stories as ‘normalising’ that controlling behavior. I knew, in my tale , that I was trying to cast a soft romantic glow on a pit of perversity – and doing quite a good job of it too. But still it wasn’t sitting well with me. I forecasted my book sitting on the shelves of Morrisons – wearing its classification of ‘romantic’ rather than ‘adult’ fiction (which wouldn’t have got past the supermarket buying censors.) There is no age limit to the books – teenagers are reading them. Are they being indoctrinated into thinking that BDSM is something they to indulge in to make themselves desirable to lads? If they read mine, would they think that everyone was into the extreme? One person’s ‘escapist erotica’ is another person’s ‘glorifying depravity.’ Where are the barriers? Could a story about a romance between a man and a five year old be classed as ‘escapist erotica’ then? After all they’re just words on a page too. See what I mean? Oh as writers we harness the power of words to tell stories, but we do influence…however much our first duty is just to tell stories and entertain.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This week EL James went live onto Twitter with #ASKELJAMES in a major PR disaster move as haters sprang to their keyboards to ask if she was proud of herself for romanticizing abuse? Others jumped to her defence ‘It’s a story – don’t read it if you don’t like it!’ Feelings on all sides were running very high. But would you care what people thought if you were earning the amount of cash that EL James does? Whatever the criticism, she continues to outsell us all and bank the very many cheques. I mused how I’d be in that position. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">#ASKELJOHNSON. Questions firing at me from all over the globe: <i>are you happy that teenage girls are picking up your books in Asda and thinking they need to indulge in group sex covered in jam in order to hook a man? What is your next book going to be? Goldenshowerylocks? </i><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">‘I couldn’t handle all that,’ I reported to my other half. ‘I could,’ he said, fantasizing about the private jet and mansion. ‘I really couldn’t,’ and I meant it. I like being liked too much. I realized that I didn’t want to write a book that might have brought me a fortune, but also would have made me so many enemies. The EL James story: the capitalist half of me that wants a mansion and to clear off my visa bill wishes it were mine, the soft half doesn’t. We will never know if I was on course for following in her footsteps of success as Rose and Maximus have been flushed from my recycle bin into the ether along with the birch and the big glove (don’t ask). Sex and danger just don’t go hand in hand for me. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> ‘Selling loads of books isn’t the same as being well liked’ someone wrote on Twitter about EL James and they’re right. I wish her, as a fellow writer, luck. She discovered a niche in the market and went for it and made a massive name and fortune for herself. But all that controversy… naw - it’s not for me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The lasting legacy for me though is that my PC is now bugged up to buggery with dodgy pop-ups from visiting porn sites and a least twice a day I have a new list of housewives up for it in my area and invitations to be a ‘f*** buddy’ Yesterday I was referred to as a Pussy Sensei, which I am presuming is nothing to do with my patronage of Yorkshire Cat Rescue. I’m even getting German spam (not meat. Well, not in the traditional sense.) And an invitation for some ‘hot anal punishing’ I’m figuring isn’t anything to do with a chicken phall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The worlds I create are feelgood and gentle. I connect with my readers – they see my stories as an extension of me and think of me as a friend, someone approachable that they can write to about my work and why it means so much to them because I’ve hit the spot for them (not the G one). They feel they know me and that I know them. It's a privilege to be so well thought of and that they trust me to take them on a journey of words and leave them with a big smile on their faces and a bittersweet temporary hole in their lives when a story they've been so involved ends. And I don't just mean me, but any writer whose work is loved by readers. What a compliment to give to us 'I don't know what to do now I've come to the end of the story. I feel lost.' You can't buy that. </span><br />
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<span lang="FR" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: FR;">I don</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">’t want to mass offend – and I enjoy being liked too much. Money really isn’t everything... I’d prefer ten smiling people at a book launch to a hundred with protest banners. Besides which, I don't know anyone who is rich enough to own a helicopter. (We have a helicopter chair in the garden though) The world of the rich and the bum-beaters is not mine and is best left to the sexperts to portray.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So, the mansion and his and hers Aston Martins will have to wait (sorry, Pete). The path to a Swiss bank account will be a much more laboured and uphill one for me. I may need heavy-duty crampons and a Sherpa. I’m now writing a book featuring owls, villages and candles (no wax dripped on skin though – they just sit on the mantelpiece and burn). There’s no gratuitous sex forced in (excuse pun), just tea, buns, birds romance, friendship and Yorkshire countryside. Number 5 on the best seller list though – I think I’m managing to do it okay my way. </span></div>
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Milly http://www.blogger.com/profile/15104768653528597112noreply@blogger.com4