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The Season of the Witch
Autumn has arrived. While the sun is still warm, the garden thirsty for rain, there is the promise of change on the wind. The leaves on the trees are waiting....
The Season of the Witch
Autumn has arrived. While the sun is still warm, the garden thirsty for rain, there is the promise of change on the wind. The leaves on the trees are waiting....
Five misbeliefs that held back my author career
It took me more than a decade to write my first novel. Why so long? Here I unpack the five misbeliefs that held me back. Do you recognise any?
Five misbeliefs that held back my author career
It took me more than a decade to write my first novel. Why so long? Here I unpack the five misbeliefs that held me back. Do you recognise any?
Why there always needs to be a next book
How the need to finish my first novel helped me through the darkest of times.
Why there always needs to be a next book
How the need to finish my first novel helped me through the darkest of times.
Today, I picked blueberries in the rain
Today is my half birthday. Exactly six months ago, I turned fifty, an age that seems impossibly old and yet, at the same time, is a number that I'm delighted...
Today, I picked blueberries in the rain
Today is my half birthday. Exactly six months ago, I turned fifty, an age that seems impossibly old and yet, at the same time, is a number that I'm delighted...
All the Fun of the Fair
This time last week I was prepping for my first ever book fair. The idea struck me last October while I was up a ladder, paintbrush in hand. A quick social...
All the Fun of the Fair
This time last week I was prepping for my first ever book fair. The idea struck me last October while I was up a ladder, paintbrush in hand. A quick social...
The Breath of Writing
Writing is like breathing, I've decided. The inbreath is the writing itself—a golden light that races through my veins, recharging my batteries like a solar cell in the sun.
The Breath of Writing
Writing is like breathing, I've decided. The inbreath is the writing itself—a golden light that races through my veins, recharging my batteries like a solar cell in the sun.