SECRETS WE KEEP by Faith Hogan ~ #extract #promo #giveaway

Faith Hogan

SECRETS we keep

by

Faith Hogan

 

Faith HoganGenre: Women’s Fiction

Release Date: February  2017

Publisher: Aria Fiction – Head of Zeus

Two distant relatives, drawn together in companionship are forced to confront their pasts and learn that some people are good at keeping secrets and some secrets are never meant to be kept…

A bittersweet story of love, loss and life. Perfect for fans of Patricia Scanlan, Adele Parks and Rosamunde Pilcher.

The beautiful old Bath House in Ballytokeep has lain empty and abandoned for decades. For devoted pensioners Archie and Iris, it holds too many conflicting memories of their adolescent dalliances and tragic consequences – sometimes it’s better to leave the past where it belongs.

For highflying, top London divorce lawyer Kate Hunt, it’s a fresh start – maybe even her future. On a winter visit to see her estranged Aunt Iris she falls in love with the Bath House. Inspired, she moves to Ballytokeep leaving her past heartache 600 miles away – but can you ever escape your past or your destiny?

Extract from Secrets We Keep by Faith Hogan

‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Kate said. It was her first thought as they turned down the cove and saw the bathhouse snuggled into the cliff face. It was a turreted, stocky grown-ups sandcastle. ‘It could have been emptied from a child’s bucket,’ was her first reaction. It had been painted, white with a light blue trim once, then the waves and the spray had all but washed that away. It still sat proudly, if shabbily, on a huge flat rock, that upturned in a lip over the sea. It was a plate, large enough for any giant.

‘Genesis Rock – it’s a metamorphic rock, probably over a thousand million years old,’ Rita said. ‘Sorry, did I mention I taught geography and home economics, once upon a time.’

‘No, but I probably should have guessed.’

‘I don’t remember the bathhouse even being open. I could imagine that I’d have spent all my days here if I had.’ Rita looked at the washed white walls that reached high into the cliff face.

‘Well, Archie said they ran it for a few years, but he didn’t say when it shut.’ This place probably held sadness for Archie, if his brother died here. Kate couldn’t feel it. Instead, it made her feel energized, as though the sea was spraying something like an invitation deep into her lungs. It made her heart pound with an expectation she hadn’t felt in years. Even the deserted castle keep that loomed up in grey stone at the tip of the headland seemed to carry a hopeful secret in its towers.

‘It must have been lovely once. Even now, you can see.’ Rita rested her hands on the thick window ledge, her nose pressed firmly to the cold glass of the windows. ‘It looks like they just closed up one evening and never came back.’

Kate walked to the back of the bathhouse; it dug into the cliff face, as though the construction of one depended on the other. Alongside the building, a small narrow road clung to the cliff for a couple of hundred yards before it feathered off onto what counted as a main road in these parts. Far below, the waves lapped serenely against the stone. It was low tide now; Kate wondered how close the water actually came to the rock. ‘I’d love to get a look inside.’ Rita followed her round to the front of the bathhouse. They peered through a sea sprayed window for a few minutes. Inside, Kate could see there were tables and chairs, a small stove and an old-fashioned counter where once someone had taken orders for afternoon tea. ‘It’s a little café, wouldn’t it be lovely if it was open for coffee?’ Kate mused, it was so much more than just a bathhouse.

BUY LINKS

Amazon.com:

Secrets We Keep – Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

Secrets We Keep – Amazon.UK

Kobo:

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Nook:

Secrets We Keep – Nook

GooglePlay

Secrets We Keep – Googleplay

iBooks

Secrets We Keep – iBooks

 

ABOUT FAITH HOGAN

Faith Hogan

Already an international best seller, Faith Hogan is an original voice in women’s fiction, she has been hailed as a Maeve Binchey for a new generation. Her stories are warm and rooted in a contemporary Irish landscape which has lost none of its wit or emotion thanks to its modern vibe.

Faith Hogan was born in Ireland.  She gained an Honours Degree in English Literature and Psychology from Dublin City University and a Postgraduate Degree from University College, Galway.  She has worked as a fashion model, an event’s organiser and in the intellectual disability and mental health sector.

She was a winner in the 2014 Irish Writers Centre Novel Fair – an international competition for emerging writers.

‘Secrets We Keep,’ is her second novel published with Aria Fiction. Her first, My Husbands Wives has been a top ten best seller and is currently available in paperback.

Facebook:   https://www.facebook.com/faithhoganauthor

Twitter: @gerhogan

Goodreads Author Page:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15109450.Faith_Hogan

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/faithhoganauthor/

Website: https://faithhogan.com

STOP PRESS!!!

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 2nd – 13th October?

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A SHAPE ON THE AIR by Julia Ibbotson ~#guestpost #timeslip #giveaway

Julia IbbotsonA Shape on the Air

by

Julia Ibbotson

Julia IbbotsonGenre: historical time slip romance

Release Date: 28th July 2017

Publisher: Endeavour Press

Buy link: AMAZON

Two women 1500 years apart. One need: to save the world they know. Can they help each other to achieve their greatest desire? And what if that world they want is not the one that’s best for them?  University lecturer in medieval studies, Dr Viv Dulac, is devastated when her partner walks out (and with her best friend too!) and threatens her home.  Drunk and desperate, her world quite literally turns upside down and she finds herself in the body of the fifth century Lady Vivianne, who is struggling with the shifting values of the Dark Ages and her forced betrothal to the brutish Sir Pelleas who is implicated in the death of her parents. Haunted by both Lady Vivianne and by Viv’s own parents’ death and legacy, can Viv unravel the web of mystery that surrounds and connects their two lives, and bring peace to them both? A haunting story of lives intertwining across the ages, of the triumph of the human spirit and of dreams lost and found.

EXTRACT

God, why did it all have to happen now, when she needed to be on top form. Oh, why did it have to happen at all. Everything in her life was crumbling away. Pete, what have you done to us …

Again, a movement behind her, a parting of the rushes. The sense of a dark figure at her back. She swung round. Nothing. Then she turned back to the mere. A shadow on the water. She stared at the ripples but the image diffused and disappeared. Hardly daring to look she glanced round again. Nobody. She was alone.

Viv shuddered, her eyes fixed on the water in front of her. She must get out of here, get safely home, but somehow she couldn’t move. She was transfixed and held against her will, as if her body was bound with invisible ropes. The mere and the world around her juddered, swept away and then returned, misty and echoing in her head.

She felt herself cry out. But it was a cry, not for help, but of despair.

Then a hand planted firmly on her back, pushing her. She staggered but felt the inexorable push towards the dark murky water. As she fell, she had the odd sensation of someone breathing on her neck, falling with her. Her hand reached out to save herself, to grasp anything that might halt her tumble. She scrabbled wildly at the undergrowth but felt the branches break as she tried to clutch hold of them.

The cold water rose to meet her and there was no longer firm ground beneath her. She flailed about but it was hopeless; the cold stole her breath and her strength. Something was pulling her downwards, sucking her into the murky depths of the mere.

My little Lady Vivianne.

She was sinking, as if there was someone below her who was grasping her ankles and pulling her down. The water covered her head and, even at the last, when she managed to struggle her head above the surface she saw that she was much further away from the bank than she had imagined. She could no longer fight, and with that realisation, the water covered her head for the last time.

 *    *    *

A deep male voice came faintly from far away and slowly entered her consciousness.

“Lady Vivianne!”

Viv felt a strong arm grip her waist and then she was floating, being drawn gently through the water. She gasped for breath as she rose, and her mouth filled with balmy air, sweet and fragrant. Oddly, it was light, and the sun was just starting to sink into dusk.

“What …? In heaven’s name …?”  Viv spluttered, as the man lifted her up and over his broad shoulder and, splashing through the shallows, carried her to the bank. The world swirled around her and she found it hard to focus. She tried to draw in her breath but her chest felt too tight. She was trapped against him. Her body felt strange, her dripping sleeves seemed wider than they should be, her jeans somehow flapping against her legs. She was soaked through but yet the mere seemed to be calling her back again. She tried to twist round to it but the man only held her tighter. She grabbed hard at his shoulder and a piece of wet cloth tore away in her hand. It felt strange, not a fabric she was familiar with, thick and closely woven, but not rough.

He lowered her to her feet and grinned down at her. His eyes were dark like smoke, skin olive and exotic, and he ruffled his long dark curly hair to flick away the water that soaked it. She stared at his large wide mouth and the dark shadow that swept his chin and upper lip. His smile was intimate as if they shared a secret. For a moment, Viv felt her brain somersault. Her mind was drifting in and out of consciousness.

She was aware of movement around her and she tore her eyes away from him. There were people, men, their figures moving out of focus behind him, their voices echoing as if from far away. There were trees that she didn’t remember being around the mere. It seemed wilder than it should have been.  Yet everything within a few feet of her was exceptionally bright and clear, the light picking out all detail: the veins on the leaves, the knobbles and crevices of the tree bark starkly sharpened in high relief. Beyond that, all she saw was misty and swirling.

As she clenched her hands into fists she realised that she still held the torn fragment of cloth, and made to thrust it into the pocket of her jeans. The pocket was no longer there. She looked down and saw that she wore a long skirt, the dark wet fabric clinging to her legs. Good god, what was happening?

Viv looked back at the tall figure before her. He was dressed in some kind of loose cream tunic, dripping with lake water, with a brown leather belt that was finely tooled in gold, and as she stared he pulled on his boots that he had left at the water’s edge.

She looked wildly around her. The other men were dressed likewise in tunics, though not so fine.  There were horses higher up on the bank-top; she could hear their loud snorting and feel the juddering of the earth as they stamped their hooves. What was this?  What was going on? Her brain didn’t seem to be working properly; she felt confused, dull-witted. The sun was sinking behind the trees, leaving a trail of bloody streaks, red and orange, in the sky. Yet she had stumbled into the lake in the dark. She remembered staggering, a hand on her back, clutching for the branches to halt her fall into the water, floundering, or being pushed? Her clothes … her peculiar-feeling body … these people.

Her hand found a pouch hanging from her waist within the folds of her soaking skirt and she thrust the fabric into it, hiding it, though she had no idea why she needed to.

“Sir Roland,” murmured one of the men, holding out to the dark-eyed man a  large heavily embroidered crimson cloak which her rescuer swept around his shoulders and pinned with a huge gold brooch, covering the torn seam. As he did so, he glanced at Viv and smiled intimately again, his glance insolently drifting down to the clinging folds of her skirt and the pouch where the fragment of cloth nestled. His eyes found hers.  Embarrassed, she turned away.

Research and the time-slip novel

I love the historic novels of Philippa Gregory. I’ve learned much of my knowledge of the Tudor period from her work. Even though I know they are novels and not non-fiction academic texts, I still trust that they are reasonably accurate albeit a fictionalised ‘take’ on characters of history. I do know that she has done her research, even though you may disagree with some of her interpretations!

All the authors I know do a lot of research before and during writing their novel, but it’s especially vital if you are writing about a historical period, or a location or a concept, because you have to get it right! There are, believe me, many readers waiting to jump on the slightest inaccuracy – and that’s understandable. Readers want to see the novel, even if it’s a fictionalised account of the time or place, as an authority.

For A Shape on the Air, I needed to research theories of time and update my research on the early medieval period. Both of these are areas I love to read about, so it was no hardship. I’d studied medieval language, literature and history at university and was fascinated by the Dark Ages (after the Romans rule ended) and the early Anglo-Saxon settlements. There isn’t very much researched and written about the Dark Ages, which is where it got its name, not because it was violent and barbaric (which is what many people think) but because of the lack (darkness) of evidence in archaeology and documents. In some ways I had to use my deductive powers to assess what might have been retained from the earlier Roman period and what might be developing forward into the Anglo-Saxon period. More evidence is now appearing, such as from the ‘dig’ at Lyminge in Kent, England, where a fifth century feasting hall has recently been unearthed. So there was a fair amount of both evidence and informed imagination at work as I wrote A Shape on the Air.

My research into time-slip was also fascinating. I looked again at the scientific theories of quantum mechanics, which sounds a bit like something from Dr Who, the Einstein-Rosen Bridge, and worm-holes, all basically ideas about space-time portals through which you could slip from one layer of the universe into another, or from one historic period into another. Fascinating, especially for all those who like fantasy and the paranormal, and yet these are real scientific theories of the concept of time, albeit unlikely to be tested by experiment! It sounds insane, and of course Viv (in the present day) wonders if she’s going mad when she thinks she’s had a dream but brings back a real golden key from 499 AD! And her ‘dream’ is so real she begins to wonder if she’s taken on the identity of Lady Vivianne, her counterpart in the Dark Ages. How do they fit together? Why are their lives becoming intertwined? Why do they need to reach out to each other across the centuries? Read it and see …!

About Julia Ibbotson

Julia IbbotsonAward winning author Julia Ibbotson lives with her second husband in the heart of England in a renovated Victorian rectory, and, their four children having grown up, she is now suffering from empty nest syndrome. She is obsessed with the medieval world and concepts of time travel (and chocolate) (and cakes …).  She read English at Keele University (after a turbulent but exciting gap year in Ghana) specialising in medieval studies. She wrote her first novel at 10 years of age, but life (and later the need to earn a living as a single mother) intruded and she became a school teacher, and then, on gaining her PhD as a (very) mature student, a university lecturer. Julia has written a memoir The Old Rectory: escape to a Country Kitchen (with recipes) and a children’s book S.C.A.R.S (a fantasy medieval time slip), before embarking on her Drumbeats trilogy (which begins in Ghana).  Her latest novel, A Shape on the Air, is a historical (medieval) time slip romance. Clearly, she is obsessed …  Apart from insatiable reading, she loves travelling the world, singing in choirs, swimming, yoga, baking, and walking in the English countryside.

Author page on Amazon:  http://www.amazon.co.uk/Julia-Ibbotson/e/B0095XG11U/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1377188346&sr=1-2-ent

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Julia-Ibbotson-author/163085897119236

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/JuliaIbbotson

Goodreads Author Page:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6017965.Julia_Ibbotson

LinkedIn:   https://www.linkedin.com/in/dr-julia-ibbotson

Blog:   http://www.juliaibbotsonauthor.com

Pinterest:  http://pinterest.com/juliai1/

GIVEAWAY

An e-copy of either The Old Rectory or Drumbeats (outside UK) Or paperback (UK only) if you sign up to Julia Ibbotson’s newsletter mailing list on her website.

Julia IbbotsonJulie Ibbotson

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ETHAN’S DAUGHTER by Rachel Brimble #romanticsuspense #giveaway

Ethan's DaughterEthan’s Daughter

by

Rachel Brimble

Ethan's DaughterSeries: Templeton Cove Stories # 7 (can be read as a standalone)

Genre: Romantic suspense

Release Date: August 1st 2017

Publisher: Harlequin Superromance

There’s safety in solitude…isn’t there? 

Single dad and best-selling thriller writer Ethan James has no problem being Templeton Cove’s most famous recluse…until a surprise visit from the past plunges him into a real-life crime drama just as feisty nurse Leah Dixon barges her way into his world.

Ethan’s first priority is to protect his daughter. His second priority is to keep Leah out of this dark web—and that means out of his bed. Except Leah isn’t going anywhere; she’s afraid little Daisy is in danger. Ethan couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to Leah…but pushing her away may be even harder..

 

EXTRACT

On the other side of the front door, the kitchen/dining room stretched from the front to the back of the house. Even though it was in semi-darkness, Leah could see straight through to some French doors at the back, the only illumination coming from the overhead light of the stove as it glinted on steel toward the center of the room.

Snapping her gaze to Daisy, Leah’s opinions on personal tastes flew to the wayside. The little girl’s eyes were wide as she chewed her bottom lip. Leah frowned. “Are you all right, sweetheart? Do you want me to knock?”

Daisy nodded and raised her arms toward Leah as though asking to be picked up. “Yes, please. Daddy might be mad.”

“Oh, Daddy won’t be mad.” Leah bent down and picked her up, hitching her onto her hip as Daisy’s arms wound around her shoulders. “If Daddy’s mad, I’ll show him how to calm himself down real quick. Don’t you worry about that.” Leah lifted the brass knocker and let it fall a little harder than necessary.

No answer.

Narrowing her eyes, she knocked again.

She was readying to knock a third time when the door swung open.

“I told you to get the hell out of here and not come back.” The man’s dark hair sprouted from every angle, his raging eyes bulging and his right hand swathed in a blue and white­­––and bloodied––dishtowel. His gaze held Leah’s for a split-second before he snapped his attention to Daisy. “My God, Daisy. What are you…” He cupped Daisy under her armpits, wincing slightly as he pulled her from Leah’s arms to hold her close. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, his raging eyes hidden behind his closed lids.

Leah stared, completely stunned by this flannel-shirted, blue jeaned, incredibly good-looking man…despite the bulging eyes. She coughed in a bid to find her voice. “Mr. James?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re Daisy’s father, I presume?”

He opened his eyes and Leah stepped back.

Apparently when his eyes had softened and were filled with regret rather than rage, they looked good. Really good.

She stilled. Oh, good Lord. Be damned if those weren’t the eyes of Templeton’s reclusive novelist, Ethan James.

 

BUY LINKS

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01NAMY53H/ref=series_rw_dp_sw

Amazon UK:

http://amzn.eu/eYGTixj

Barnes & Noble:

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/ethans-daughter-rachel-brimble/1125531674?ean=9781488017186

Kobo:

https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/ethan-s-daughter-mills-boon-superromance-templeton-cove-stories-book-7

 

Top 5 Books To Help Writers…by Rachel Brimble

 

There are so many great ‘How To’ or inspirational books out there for aspiring and experienced writers, it’s hard for me to choose just five, but here goes:

  • Write Naked by Jennifer Probst

I only recently read this book and literally devoured it from cover to cover – I cannot recommend it highly enough if you are looking for motivation or have lost your belief that you will make it one day. Jennifer offers some fabulous insight into her journey and how success happened for her despite the doubts, the fear and bouts of wanting to hide away. Peppered with knowledge from other bestselling authors, this book is a must read.

  • On Writing by Stephen King

There is, and always will be, only one Stephen King. The master storyteller not only shares his own experiences and journey in the pages of this writer’s bible, but also gives great tips on plotting, dialogue and trusting your instinct. A truly useful and inspirational book.

  • Goal, Motivation & Conflict by Debra Dixon

I believe you’d be hard pushed not to find a novelist who doesn’t have a copy of this book on their shelves or at least read it at some point during their career. Ms. Dixon breaks down the vital ingredients to creating great goals, motivations and conflicts for your characters and how to apply them in the telling of your unique story. GMC is the hardest thing, in my opinion, to crack as a writer but this book will definitely help break the concept down.

  • Creating Character Arcs by K M Weiland

I read this book while tackling the final draft of my twenty-first novel – even with all the experience I have, my work in progress was missing something I couldn’t pinpoint. I needed help. As often happens, I was trawling through the internet and fate intervened when this book flashed up. I downloaded it and was entirely engrossed within the first few pages. A wonderful addition to any writer’s bookshelf for really nailing your characters and their journeys.

  • The Positive Trait Thesaurus/The Negative Trait Thesaurus

These two books are handy volumes to have nearby when you first start creating your characters and thinking about the type of hero and heroine you need to make that plot idea come alive on the page. Broken down into lists of character virtues and traits, these books are a great reference to get the creative juices flowing and identifying characteristics that will cause the most conflict between your protagonists and why.

Happy reading…and writing!

 

ABOUT RACHEL BRIMBLE

Ethan's Daughter

Rachel lives with her husband and two teenage daughters in a small town near Bath in the UK. After having several novels published by small US presses, she secured agent representation in 2011. Since 2013, she has had seven books published by Harlequin Superromance (Templeton Cove Stories) and an eight coming in Feb 2018. She also has four Victorian romances with eKensington/Lyrical Press.

Rachel is a member of the Romantic Novelists Association and Romance Writers of America, and was selected to mentor the Superromance finalist of So You Think You Can Write 2014 contest. When she isn’t writing, you’ll find Rachel with her head in a book or walking the beautiful English countryside with her family. Her dream place to live is Bourton-on-the-Water in South West England.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rachelbrimbleauthor/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/RachelBrimble & https://twitter.com/TempletonCove

Goodreads Author Page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1806411.Rachel_Brimble

Blog: http://rachelbrimble.blogspot.co.uk/

Website: http://rachelbrimble.com/

GIVEAWAY

Signed copy of Ethan’s Daughter & tote bag (open internationally)

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THE HOUSE WITH OLD FURNITURE by Helen Lewis #fiction #giveaway

house

The House with Old Furniture

by

Helen Lewis

house

Genre: Contemporary Fiction

Release Date: 20 July 2017

Publisher: Honno Press

The ghosts of a century’s worth of secrets and betrayals are coming home to Pengarrow…

Evie has lost her eldest son, Jesse, to gang violence. Leaving the house he grew up in is pulling apart the few strings left holding her heart together. Only the desire to be there for her younger boy, Finn, impels Evie to West Wales and the ancient house her husband is sure will heal their wounds.

Days later, Andrew is gone – rushing back to his ‘important’ job in government, abandoning his grieving wife and son. Finn finds solace in the horse his father buys by way of apology. As does his evasive and fearful new friend, Nye, the one who reminds him and Evie of Jesse… Evie loses herself in a dusty 19th century journal and glasses of homemade wine left by the mysterious housekeeper.

As Evie’s grasp on reality slides, Andrew’s parents ride to the rescue. It is clear that this is a house they know. They seem to think they own it, and begin making changes nobody wants, least of all Alys and her son, Nye, the terrified youth who looks so like Jesse.

BUY LINKS

http://www.honno.co.uk/dangos.php?ISBN=9781909983663

https://www.amazon.co.uk/House-Old-Furniture-Helen-Lewis/dp/1909983667/

https://www.amazon.com/House-Old-Furniture-Helen-Lewis/dp/1909983667

Shhh, I’ve got a writing secret…

 

Nobody could be more amazed than me, to be sitting here with my still slightly warm, novel resting on my knees, well apart from, perhaps, Mrs Holliwell. A wonderful (patient) woman, who’s unenviable task it was, every Tuesday and Thursday morning to drag the Remedial Reading Group through the basics of the English language. Whilst the rest of Orchard Junior school fidgeted through Mr Beckwith’s assembly, my mate Paula Spitter and I tried to remember what the magic E did and where the I went, before or after if a C was involved.

So, here’s a big secret, that only took me another 32 years to find out (please don’t let my children read this) – you don’t have to be able to spell to be able to write (I still get a thrill when I fox the spell checker, when Mr Word informs me there are “No matches” for my enthusiastic attempt at r-i-th-m-i-cal). Or even know which way up a semi colon goes. If in doubt, stick in a dash and make up a word (it worked for Roald Dahl). It helps a lot to shove in the odd paragraph break, if nothing else it uses up a few more lines, and a good sprinkling of dialogue, real, not 1950’s BBC, works wonders but don’t ask me where you stick the capital letters, all I know is the 66 speech mark goes at the beginning and the 99 one at the end. That about covers my dialogue punctuation knowledge. What every writer really needs is a dear and patient friend, with an everlasting red mark-up pen and a deep pot of comma’s. Bingo, Bob’s your uncle, your, story, now, makes, sense.

Writing isn’t (as the BFG would say) a set of ‘biffsquiggling’ rules, I’ve found absolutely no use for cursive handwriting, a nice sharp pencil, or 12pt Times, I’m more of an Optima person, drawn to 1.5 line-spacing. The lines of my story look all lonely and separated when forced doubly apart. Indents look messy and drop caps are for show-offs. And let’s not start on header and footers, just don’t go there, but always, always, never leave home without page numbers, if you’re clumsy like me, a bit of a tripper-upper, a spiller of pages, then they are your safety net, a rock to cling to in the snow storm of your manuscript.

Time-lines and spider diagrams might float your plot. You might like to write the last line then look down at the vertiginous drop that is the rest of your tale. Whether you prefer to rough it, handwrite it, dive straight in and first draft it, the only thing we all have to worry about is how we say it. How that story that’s been rolling around your head keeping you awake at night, making you talk to yourself around the supermarket sounds on paper. We want to hear how you, with all your individuality, see the world in your own quirky way. Writing isn’t a top ten of tips it’s about ideas and imagination and originality.

Am I sounding soap-boxy, here let me get down? Ignore me, what would I know anyway, I’m a “natterbox’ as the BFG would say, a someone who talks a lot usually about nothing in particular.

ABOUT HELEN LEWIS

house

Helen was born in 1967 in the New Forest. She spent her childhood dreaming of becoming a ballerina and doodling in the margin. She graduated from Southampton Faculty of Art and Design (so long ago now, that the place doesn’t even exist!) and worked as a professional Doodler of Margins (Graphic Designer) for twenty years. In 2006 She moved to Pembrokeshire with her family and lives in the middle of nowhere where she reads, writes, and runs.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/helenlewisauthor

Twitter:  @hedlew

Blog: http://www.helen-lewis.co.uk/blog

Website: www.helen-lewis.co.uk

GIVEAWAY

3 ebooks (open internationally)

3 paperbacks (UK only)

 

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