Showing posts with label simon and schuster. Show all posts
Showing posts with label simon and schuster. Show all posts

Friday, 27 January 2017

Day 5 - Special Effects with Perdita and Honour Cargill

As part of the Waiting For Call Back - Take Two blog tour, I'm so pleased to welcome Honor and Perdita Cargill onto the blog. 
It’s Day Five and we’re up to Special Effects on our Take Two tour a.k.a all things art and design. Just setting the scene we’re writing this two days before Hon goes back to Uni a little bit as an excuse so she doesn’t have to keep revising all things Ancient Greece for the exam that she’ll face on her first day back… 

P: I’m putting you on the spot - favourite cover?
H: That is like asking me to choose a favourite child. And you’re just getting in that question before I can. Both, obviously. They’re glossy and embossed *takes a minute to swoon over the little blue stars- they feel like presents… OK, maybe the Take Two cover by the tiniest of margins.

P: Not least because you got your own way and they went for blue. 

H: I like blue, especially neon blue and - don’t judge me - but it works with my Instagram. 
OK, it’s the Archie factor. Helping Jenny (Jenny Richards, the art director at Simon & Schuster) cast the cover model was a high point - even if there was something borderline creepy about sitting alone in my tiny Uni bedroom scrolling the male model details she’d mailed over…
He has a good Archie vibe and the deciding factor was that his name in real life is Carlo (spelled differently but still!). Given the author/character love triangle that I’m very much enjoying, that was A SIGN. 

P: Jenny Richards is a genius. I love them both too (the covers not Archie and Carlo because that would be weird). The pink and silver is really pretty but I think the second one is even stronger. And we’ve got art-work inside too and now we can talk about it because the book’s out! It wasn’t just that we wanted it to look as fab inside as out, we wanted to break up the text not just with our lists but with other ‘special features’. For example, we’ve got Bizz.com articles reporting on the unfolding on-set sagas in their own upbeat borderline tasteless style all the way through the book and they look fab. 
H: And SandS get a lot of points for not melting down when we casually asked for a story board to illustrate Elektra’s first day filming on Straker even though our ‘directions’ were hopelessly vague and of the can-we-have-something-that-looks-great-not-sure-what-and-we-can’t-draw variety. Thank you Jack Noel - we’re not quite sure how you managed to pull it off but you so did! I always like books where the text is broken up every now and again in some way (maybe it’s got something to do with my dyslexia?) and I love illustrations in books - more teen books should have them. 
P: The London to Transylvania map is a bit closer to what you sketched though Hon - I’m still not sure if the *these are the only countries I know annotation was you or Elektra speaking.
H: Both. Occasionally we just mind meld. Let’s end with a tiny detail from the Wrap Party invite because I love it and because it’s always good to end with an invitation. 

And yes, (drum roll, exclusive reveal) the Wrap Party will feature in Book Three. It’s shaping up to be an epic scene and that is all I can tell you.
P & H: Thank you Vivienne for having us to visit! Tomorrow we’ll be over on Alix’s blog Delightful Book Reviews chatting about Post-Production (confessing to what goes on back-stage during edits!).
Summary
Elektra has finally landed a part in a film. It's the dream. Well ...until she works out that Straker is a movie so dystopian that within weeks most of the cast and all of the crew wish that the world had actually ended (preferably in scene one). And while it's obviously great news that she's moved from the friend-zone with Archie to become his almost-girlfriend, it would be better if he hadn't immediately relocated to Transylvania to play a vampire hunter surrounded by 'maidens of peerless beauty'.

To find out more about Perdita and Honour Cargill:
Twitter / Instagram / Facebook  / Website



Friday, 13 January 2017

How Not To Disappear by Clare Furniss


‘Our memories are what make us who we are. Some are real. Some are made up. But they are the stories that tell us who we are. Without them we are nobody.’

Published by Simon and Schuster, 14th July 2016 
416 pages in paperback.
Cover Silhouette © Shutterstock
Cover Design by Leo Nickolls

Summary from Amazon:
Hattie's summer isn't going as planned. Her two best friends have abandoned her: Reuben has run off to Europe to 'find himself" and Kat is in Edinburgh with her new girlfriend. Meanwhile Hattie is stuck babysitting her twin siblings and dealing with endless drama around her mum's wedding. Oh, and she's also just discovered that she's pregnant with Reuben's baby…Then Gloria, Hattie's great-aunt who no one even knew existed, comes crashing into her life. Gloria's fiercely independent, rather too fond of a gin sling and is in the early stages of dementia. Together the two of them set out on a road trip of self-discovery - Gloria to finally confront the secrets of her past before they are erased from her memory forever and Hattie to face the hard choices that will determine her future…
Non Pratt's Trouble meets Thelma and Louise with a touch of Elizabeth is Missing by Emma Healey, Clare Furniss' remarkable How Not To Disappear is an emotional rollercoaster of a novel that will make you laugh and break your heart.
*****
Review
How Not to Disappear is a contemporary YA read that’s funny, bittersweet and thought provoking. Told from two different perspectives, Hattie and Gloria are beautifully drawn characters whose past and present intertwine and drive the story towards the shocking revelation of Gloria’s biggest secret and Hattie’s ultimate decision. 
The idea of ‘disappearing’ runs throughout the book: whether that’s running away from your family or simply taking a little breathing space, the death of a parent or the loss of memory that comes hand in hand with Alzheimer’s and dementia. Then there’s the idea of choice and the difference in attitudes then and now towards young mothers, as well as the options available to them. 
This is a book about family relationships and it handles the sensitive subjects of teen pregnancy and dementia deftly with honesty and humour. Both Hattie and Gloria struggle with denial of their respective situations and it’s only through trust that they discover strength, self-awareness and a true friendship that helps them both come to terms with reality.
How Not to Disappear is an emotional and very moving read. I couldn’t put it down and I warn you, I cried at the end.

Sarah Baker is a children’s author. Her novel for 8-12 year olds, Through the Mirror Door, is available now.
Website: bysarahbaker.com 
Twitter: @bysarahbaker
Instagram: @bysarahbaker
Pinterest: pinterest.com/bysarahbaker

Wednesday, 9 November 2016

My Writing Space By Lynne Barrett-Lee

As part of the blog tour for Able Seacat Simon, I'm pleased to welcome author, Lynne Barratt-Lee onto the blog, to tell us about where she writes. 
Nothing to see here... Tools of the trade for the 21st century. A laptop, a pair of reading glasses, and a double plug socket.

I’ve wanted to be an author for as long as I can remember, and along with that came a very clear vision of where I’d write. Though I read many books in which people wrote in secret, magical places -nooks in elderly oak trees, in wardrobes, while stowed away at sea - my own vision was rather more grand.

As a child, I would write in exercise books, at the kitchen table, and sometimes I’d dream of being a proper writer, and how, when I was, I would write where a proper writer would. I would write in a big house, set high over parkland (I was reading a lot of Jane Austen), and would pick out my words on a kick-ass, hefty typewriter (they hadn’t invented computers yet, of course) which would sit in the centre of an enormous mahogany desk. This, in turn, would be situated on a suitably thick carpet, in the centre of an elegant high-ceilinged room, which looked out - via French doors, where gauzy floor-length panels billowed, obviously - onto a wide expanse of perfect emerald lawn. Beyond the lawn would stand conifers, pointing skywards, like pencils, and the only sounds, bar my tapping, would be birdsong and bees.

And in my imaginings, I would be quite, quite alone. Bar an elderly gardener who‘d rumble past on a ride-on lawnmower from time to time, it would simply be me; me and my imagination, the contents of it constantly bubbling over. 

I'm not sure where such lofty aspirations came from. My writing, as a teenager (the time when I first seriously sought to make my writing dream come true), took place mostly either in bed, with a trusty feint-and-margin A4 pad, or, when my father gave me his ancient Brother typewriter, at the old kitchen table that for a while served as my rather bulky bedside one. Where there should have been a pair of stately Regency French windows, mine was the standard issue suburban bay one, which was dressed much more simply, with a set of busy floral curtains from Brentford Nylons. And far from the glorious creative solitude of my imaginings, I was constantly under siege; from my elder sister, who shared the bedroom, the family dog (who would occasionally eat my words), my hamster, my younger siblings and, more often than was strictly conducive to fame and fortune, either the caterwauling of Alice Cooper or David Bowie from my record player, or the current boyfriend - more often than not both.

Still, as time passed, and once life had delivered me of a husband, three children, and a rather alarming mortgage, I set about doing the one thing that I knew would seal my writing future: making a proper, work-like writing space to call my own.

And, to my satisfaction (I’d been banging on about needing a proper space for years by now) I wrote my first paid-for piece in a study. A very small study, admittedly, tucked away under the stairs and which, as it needed to double up as a guest bedroom, was mostly taken up by a green sofa-bed. Still, such space as I had, I accessorized with zeal. With a computer (they’d now happened, even if the internet hadn’t) a wheezy printer, lots of stationery (lots of stationery was my middle name then) and the dozens of necessary books I’d amassed over the years. These included two thesauri ( I still refuse to pluralise it differently), three dictionaries, several ‘how to write a brilliant novel without even trying’ type paperbacks, a slang dictionary, a book of idioms… (I could go on and on here), and the megalithic, magnificent Oxford Dictionary of Quotations - in readiness for the plethora of important novels I planned to write, which would of course need to be graced with witty and/or profound and/or deeply pretentious quotes. No matter that that first piece was a scant 400 words on being a mature student teacher (my Plan B), it seemed proof positive that to take yourself seriously as an author it was necessary to be sure you looked the part. 

We moved house then and - joy! - I had had a novel published. So it seemed only sensible to requisition the posh dining room in the next one. After all, it made sense because a) we weren’t posh and b) we never ate in our previous dining room ever, except on Christmas day and Boxing day (to make it an ‘occasion’) or on the occasion of holding some terrible, fractious dinner party, and we’d sensibly long since given up on doing those. 
A room full of authorly essentials. Not. Though I do miss having the odd swivel...
My new ‘office’ (I was published; it could no longer be called a study) had no French doors, no oak desk, no deeply piled carpet, but it did have a ceiling rose and sufficient square footage to house about 8 million books, a random dining chair, a bigger sofa, a stray ottoman and a giant bean bag, and while there weren’t any elderly gardeners in the immediate vicinity, it did give me a view of the hedge across the drive and, every day (excepting Sundays and UK public holidays) I could at least wave to the postman.

Several more books were written here, and all sorts of other stuff. I graduated from the wheezy printer, which had developed emphysema, to a sleek HP laser-powered jet-liner of a thing. It would hum constantly, as would my ridiculously large monitor, my modem (the internet age was now upon us), the spiders going about their business behind the leaning towers of reference books, the bulb in the banker’s lamp that burned constantly beside me, and presumably - I never found it under the mountains of stuff I’d now amassed - the XXXL pot of midnight oil. 

I was finally - no doubt about it - a proper writer. As you’d readily see. Well, if you could locate me among it all, that was. 

And then something happened. I bought a laptop. And though this again was as a bolt-on must-have authorly accessory (the better to write on the hoof while engaged in the important business of travelling hopefully, to visit various publishers) I started to find myself not being quite where I ought to be. I began, strangely, straying from my desk. 

It happened by stealth. And in increasingly regular increments. The odd session while perched on the sofa. The odd, impromptu chapter on the train. The odd ‘must get this down’ stint in the early or the wee hours. The odd bit of editing while in Cornwall, or Malaga. The odd ‘I’ll just do this in my nightie’ at the kitchen table quickie, before I have breakfast, get showered and dressed, and Go Into My Office, To Do My Proper Work. 

Because, seriously, how can a proper writer do proper work, sitting in a nightie, at the kitchen table?

Yet that, for the past five years, is exactly where I have done it. Sometimes with a pair of woolly socks on, sometimes not. Sometimes with the cats beside me. Sometimes alone. Sometimes punctuated by visits from the DPD delivery man (I have a terrible online shopping habit) who, to the best of my knowledge, has never seen me wearing clothes - just a selection of creased knee-length T shirts. 

My office is still in place, and still houses the current printer. And the books. So many reference books, none of which I now use. It stores account books, and a card box, and a wrapping paper corner. When the door is opened, several dozen very important bits of paper wave gaily at me, from the push-pins that still affix them to my proper-writer’s felt boards. I give the spiders free rein - I’ve always been nice to spiders - and once a year or so I stand in there and think ‘I really should sort this’, and then go back out again and close the door.

And go back to being a writer. At the kitchen table. 
Published by Simon and Schuster in November 2016

Summary
When an orphaned kitten is discovered in the Hong Kong docks in 1948 by a British sailor, he has no idea of the journey that awaits him. Smuggled onto HMS Amethyst and named 'Simon' by his new friends, the little cat quickly gets used to life on the seas and appoints himself chief rat-catcher.
When tragedy strikes, Seacat Simon keeps spirits up - but it's a long and dangerous journey back to England for the heroic kitten and his crewmates . . .
Inspired by real events, this is the story of 'Able Seacat' Simon's adventures and heroics in dangerous wartime seas, as told by the cat himself!

To find out more about Lynne Barrett-Lee:
Website / Twitter


Wednesday, 26 October 2016

Sleep Paralysis...Or Paranormal Encounter by Michelle Harrison.

Today on the blog, I have one of my favourite authors, Michelle Harrison, who is sharing the most frightening things to ever happen to her. 
The two most frightening things that have ever happened to me are similar experiences, and both occurred when I was in a place where I should have felt safest: at home in bed. 
The first was when I was aged twenty, at college and living away from home for the first time. I'd just moved into a new flat with a couple of friends with whom I worked at a local nightclub, and the flat happened to be the upstairs of an old pub - The Bear and Pheasant in Stafford. I'd only been there a week when I was woken one morning by the feeling of something hitting the end of the bed repeatedly. As I was sleeping alone and there should have been no one else in the room, I was instantly struck with fear and the thought that this had to be a supernatural presence. I can only describe it as being like the weight of a fist pounding the bedclothes by my feet. It went on for about twenty seconds, during which I kept my eyes tightly closed, too frightened to move, but convinced I was awake. When I finally plucked up the courage to move my foot the tiniest amount, the pounding stopped. Convinced the place was haunted, I got dressed and stayed out of the flat for the entire day, eventually moving out the following week. I later heard a story that the room had once belonged to an elderly couple who ran the pub. The woman had been very ill for a while, and supposedly her husband used to go in and wake her every morning to make sure she hadn't died in her sleep. Whether this part is true, I'm unsure, as I only heard it from one (dubious) source . . . 

The second time it happened was in a different bed and a different house, more than ten years later. This time was more terrifying than the first. Again, I was alone, and stirred from sleep by the sound of footsteps - like an old person wearing slippers shuffling slowly round the bed away from me. And again, I was instantly afraid, knowing that there was no one in the house but me. I became even more terrified when I realised I was paralysed with fear (or so I thought) and couldn't move a muscle. It was at this point the footsteps paused halfway round the bed, then came running back round to me at a crazy speed, then whoomph! The side of the bed sank down with a heavy weight, like a person had thrown themselves next to me. When I finally managed to wake up properly I was screaming, but once I'd calmed down the sense of terror didn't last. 

The reason for this was that in between these two experiences, I'd written a book called Unrest, based on my sister's experiences which were similar to the two I've just described. In the book, the main character, Elliott, has frequent bouts of what's called sleep paralysis, or sleep apnea, during which he believes ghosts are making contact with him. Having done some research into sleep paralysis, I'd learned that it's surprisingly common, and most people experience it at least once. 

It takes place during REM sleep, when the body's muscles naturally go into paralysis (to stop us acting out our dreams and harming ourselves) but when our minds are in the dreaming phase. Sometimes, the mind partially wakes up, projecting our dreams into our everyday surroundings, but because our bodies are still paralysed, we go into panic mode and the dream hallucinations turn threatening. Most often, this takes the form of a malevolent figure approaching us, with many accounts of the victim feeling a crushing weight on their chest and struggling to breathe. Because of this, sleep paralysis is believed to be responsible for the vast number of supernatural/alien/ghostly encounters that people experience, as it feels so incredibly real and scary - even when you understand what's happening, as I did the second time round. 

What research fails to explain is why this hallucinated threat so consistently manifests as a shadowy, human-like figure or presence . . . 
Happy Halloween!
Published by Simon & Schuster
Summary
What happens when a tale with real magic, that was supposed to be finished, never was? This is a story about one of those stories . . . 
Midge loves riddles, his cat, Twitch, and ‒ most of all ‒ stories. Especially because he’s grown up being read to by his sister Alice, a brilliant writer.
When Alice goes missing and a talking cat turns up in her bedroom, Midge searches Alice’s stories for a clue. Soon he discovers that her secret book, The Museum of Unfinished Stories, is much more than just a story. In fact, he finds two of its characters wandering around town.
But every tale has its villains ‒ and with them leaping off the page, Midge, Gypsy and Piper must use all their wits and cunning to work out how the story ends and find Alice. If they fail, a more sinister finale threatens them all ...
****
To find out more about Michelle Harrison:
Website / Twitter

Wednesday, 5 October 2016

Until Friday Night by Abbi Glines

This wasn't home. Nothing ever would be again. And besides, I didn't want a home - the word came with memories too painful to think about.

Published by Simon and Schuster in August 2015
Pages - 336
Summary
To everyone who knows him, West Ashby has always been that guy: the cocky, popular, way-too-handsome-for-his-own-good football god who led Lawton High to the state championships. But while West may be Big Man on Campus on the outside, on the inside he’s battling the grief that comes with watching his father slowly die of cancer.
Two years ago, Maggie Carleton’s life fell apart when her father murdered her mother. And after she told the police what happened, she stopped speaking and hasn’t spoken since. Even the move to Lawton, Alabama, couldn’t draw Maggie back out. So she stayed quiet, keeping her sorrow and her fractured heart hidden away.
As West’s pain becomes too much to handle, he knows he needs to talk to someone about his father—so in the dark shadows of a post-game party, he opens up to the one girl who he knows won’t tell anyone else.
West expected that talking about his dad would bring some relief, or at least a flood of emotions he couldn’t control. But he never expected the quiet new girl to reply, to reveal a pain even deeper than his own—or for them to form a connection so strong that he couldn’t ever let her go…
****
I know this book received  mixed reviews, but I really enjoyed it. To be honest, I've never come across an Abbi Glines book that I didn't like. 
This has all the ingredients that makes Abbi Gline's books so popular. OK, West is a bit of   douche bag, in fact, he is a lot of a douche bag, but it isn't like these characters don't exist in real life. And girls are often attracted to them. West is hot headed and uses to girl's to make him feel better. He knows it's wrong, but he is dealing with so much emotional stress from home, he doesn't care. 

Maggie makes West better. I loved Maggie!  Maggie may be silent, but she is strong and pulls him through a difficult time in his life, making him realise what a jerk he has been. She has seen so much worse than he ever will and is still standing tall. Her strength of character is phenomenal. 

I loved the setting of this book. The high school football ground has a homely feel to it. Everyone keeps saying how it reminds them of Friday Night Lights, which I've never seen, but will be watching on Netflix very soon. 

I think it's brilliant how Abbi sets up the next book, by introducing the characters into the previous story. Willa and Brady both featured in this book and their story is featured in Under The Lights. 

If you love classic Abbi Glines, with bad boys being tamed by girls, then you will love this one too. This is the first book in the series and I can't wait to head into the next one, Under the Lights.



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Thursday, 4 August 2016

The Book Cycle with Michelle Harrison

I am always excited to have Michelle Harrison on the blog, as she is one of my favourite authors. Michelle's latest Middle Grade novel, The Other Alice was published last week. Here is my review. The Other Alice is also my Book of the Month for August. 
Each book I've written has been a different experience, mainly due to whatever else is going on in my life but also because, six books in, I know more about my strengths and weaknesses as a writer. My first book, Thirteen Treasures, was written at a leisurely pace and then redrafted over several years as I searched for an agent. Everything I've written since has been much faster due to having deadlines - usually about 18 months from start to publication.

The starting point is usually a question, or a recurring thought. I don't remember the exact moment I began thinking about all the unfinished stories in the world, but it's something I've thought about often: all these characters and worlds unfinished, waiting for an ending that never comes. Many of these stories are probably average or terrible (I can speak for myself, here) but undoubtedly, there are gems with real promise. What if the characters' desire for an ending were enough to bring them to life? That's how The Other Alice began.

My stories are driven by plot first, characters second. The plot I have to puzzle over, whereas the characters tend to arrive in my head, often unexpectedly. The first thing I do is write an outline. I call this an 'extended blurb', because it's a longer version of what you'd see on the back of the book. I don't give away many answers at this stage, because I don't know them myself. This gives me a framework so my editor and I know roughly where I'm headed, and usually it has enough detail for the cover to be briefed. 

Once complete I'll have questions that'll determine the plot and the characters. For The Other Alice, these were: What would trigger the characters stepping off the page into the real world? What control would the author have then? How does the author cope? Who is going to figure out the ending? Who is the villain? And what would each of these characters do once they find out they're just a figment of someone else's imagination?
I'm pretty old-fashioned - I use Word and write each chapter as a separate file, piecing it together at the end. I use notebooks (always pretty ones) for character profiles, plot points and brainstorms. Sometimes I jot these on post its so they can be moved around. I'll also list potential character names and place names, mix and matching until I get the right one. One of the characters, Gypsy, lives on a narrowboat that I couldn't quite pin down, so I held a competition for my fans to name the boat. Sure enough, the perfect name - Elsewhere - came up. In addition I keep track of my chapter titles (I love thinking these up) and their word counts so I can watch them grow.
My notebooks also contain information that never materialises within the book. One of my favourite features of The Other Alice is the set of fortune cards (similar to tarot cards) that Midge finds in his mother's room. Each set is individual to the owner, and these were based on fairy tales. I spent a few happy hours thinking about the entire deck of cards and what their meanings could be, but only a few are actually mentioned in the story.
I struggle hugely with first drafts, and I'm slow. That's where the bulk of my time goes. That said, this was a tough book to write as it was the first since becoming a mother, and with only ten hours a week paid childcare, the rest I have to get done in naptimes, after bedtime, and with the help of family. My first drafts are overwritten with pointless tangents where I've changed direction. I resist editing on the go; I just don't have time and it's more productive to keep going until the end, then fix it after. Distancing yourself from a chapter or scene makes it easier to see faults when you come back to it. It's hard to get that if you're constantly rereading. 
I much prefer the redrafting stage. Besides Thirteen Treasures, The Other Alice was my most chaotic first draft. I'd gone too 'meta' with the 'story within a story' concept, and my editor told me I'd blow my young readers' minds - not in a good way. This all needed cutting back and simplifying. Other problems were characterisation and voice. My protagonist, Midge, needed aging down and in that first draft he and Alice had another sister, Cleo. I ended up cutting Cleo out as there was little to differentiate her from Midge. She didn't do much, except act allow Midge to voice his thoughts. I got round this by internalising some of these thoughts, and playing up the role of Tabitha, the talking cat. It was a lot of work but the right decision. 


Making the manuscript shine with the smaller details during the edits is my favourite part. I love nipping out anything that's extraneous, adding in more clues, and getting rid of ideas that never fully developed. The finished product thrills me more than the journey - perhaps it's the whole theme of unfinished stories and unfulfilled characters coming into play in my subconscious . . .
Published on 28th July 2016 by Simon and Schuster 
Summary
What happens when a tale with real magic, that was supposed to be finished, never was? This is a story about one of those stories . . . 
Midge loves riddles, his cat, Twitch, and ‒ most of all ‒ stories. Especially because he’s grown up being read to by his sister Alice, a brilliant writer.
When Alice goes missing and a talking cat turns up in her bedroom, Midge searches Alice’s stories for a clue. Soon he discovers that her secret book, The Museum of Unfinished Stories, is much more than just a story. In fact, he finds two of its characters wandering around town.
But every tale has its villains ‒ and with them leaping off the page, Midge, Gypsy and Piper must use all their wits and cunning to work out how the story ends and find Alice. If they fail, a more sinister finale threatens them all...

Thursday, 21 July 2016

The Other Alice by Michelle Harrison

Alice Silver had never met anyone who had killed before, but that changed on the day Dorothy Grimes walked past the window of Alice's favourite coffee shop. 

Published by Simon and Schuster on 28th July 2016
Pages -352
Summary
What happens when a tale with real magic, that was supposed to be finished, never was? This is a story about one of those stories . . . 
Midge loves riddles, his cat, Twitch, and ‒ most of all ‒ stories. Especially because he’s grown up being read to by his sister Alice, a brilliant writer.
When Alice goes missing and a talking cat turns up in her bedroom, Midge searches Alice’s stories for a clue. Soon he discovers that her secret book, The Museum of Unfinished Stories, is much more than just a story. In fact, he finds two of its characters wandering around town.
But every tale has its villains ‒ and with them leaping off the page, Midge, Gypsy and Piper must use all their wits and cunning to work out how the story ends and find Alice. If they fail, a more sinister finale threatens them all...
*****
I may be completely biased, because I love everything Michelle Harrison writes. Ever since reading The Thirteen Treasures, I've hailed Michelle as the new Enid Blyton and I still stand by my words. She weaves fantasy with ease into a contemporary setting. 
This book is pure magic! I love that there is a book within the book! This tale brings to life, Alice's characters from her stories. Some are lovely but many are menacing and out to get what they want. For them to return to the story, Alice must finish writing it. When Alice disappears, Midge, Alice's younger brother, struggles to search for and save his sister. He must help her to return the characters back to the fictional world. 
The characters effortlessly spill out of the story into real life. I thought it was excellent how they believed themselves to be alive and really felt their shock  and fear on realising they were just characters from a story. I loved Tabitha, the talking cat, who loves a good cup of tea.
There is a real darkness to this tale, which is very much a signature of Michelle Harrison's style of writing. Her characters are never sweet or innocent. Dorothy Grimes is seriously scary!
The prose is intricately plotted and bursting with descriptive passages. I am in awe of Michelle's plotting abilities. 
The book reminded me how much I loved Inkheart by Cornelia Funke. If you are a fan of Inkheart, you will really enjoy this book.  

Sunday, 10 July 2016

When I Was Growing Up by Steve Cole ( Holiday Ha, Ha, Ha!)

As part of the Holiday Ha, Ha, Ha! blog tour, I'm pleased to welcome author, Steve Cole onto the blog, to talk about his holiday experience as a child. 
When I was growing up, a holiday wasn’t a holiday unless my big sister had some sort of medical mishap. 

Each summer we’d drive from Bedford to a campsite in the south of France, the caravan bumping along behind - three days there, two days back and at least a fortnight taking every conceivable wrong turn in Paris.

Fate always looked forward to our arrival, and would start busily planning the next health disaster to befall my sister, Natalie. One year she developed an abscess and we had to find an emergency dentist. Another year she came down with a bug that made the caravan an even more horrifying prison than usual.

But when I was 10, fate pulled its masterstroke.

A storm had blown over Cannes in the night, but the sun returned the next day. The warm Mediterranean was filled with seaweed; my dad and I would stand in the sea, claim a piece, call it a ‘soggy’ and throw it at each other (these were the dark days before apps). Nat preferred to take out an inflatable tyre and float about in it in the gentle waves, and that sunny day she offered to tow me out to one of the large rafts tethered offshore. 

Normally these were filled with happy bathers but today, the atmosphere was tense, and suntanned faces were frowned with foreboding. ‘Medusa!’ came the whispered word. 

Jellyfish!

The storm had washed them in like the seaweed, and there were apparently dozens of the squashy bags of nightmare gathered here, shading themselves from the sun beneath the raft. 

Nat was now on a mission to get her little brother safely back to shore. I kicked my legs inside the ring, while Nat bravely swam along beside with one arm hooked over the rubber. We stopped for a rest once Nat’s feet could touch bottom. There were Mum and Dad on the beach, happily sunbathing. Nat raised an arm and waved. They didn’t see her. She let her hand splash back down.

Right on top of the pale, pulsating jellyfish waving back beside her. 

Nat’s wail was like a deranged foghorn. ‘I’ve been stung! Stephen - TOW ME TO SHORE!’ 
It was my time to shine. I, the useless little brother, would come to my sister’s aid in her moment of crisis! Unfortunately, she grabbed onto the back of the rubber ring, which raised the front end up over my face and lifted my arms completely out of the water. I was left treading water vertically, hands flailing in the air, towing my sister precisely nowhere. ‘Hold on!’ I cried valiantly. ‘Hold on!’ I must’ve made a truly pathetic sight. The jellyfish just sat there, baffled. 
‘Oh, FORGET IT!’ Nat spat at me at last. Mum and dad couldn’t miss her waving by now - her hand had swollen up like a cow’s udder and she waded off in tears to their sympathetic arms. I managed to outswim the jellyfish (not hard since it had probably ruptured its jelly laughing) and reached the beach unharmed, in time for us all to spend the rest of the day trying to find an emergency doctor who’d agree to see a slightly damp English girl with a spectacular rash on her hand and a poisonous look in her eye. 

Ahhh, those were the days! Holiday? Ha, ha, ha!
*****
Steve Cole Biography
Steve Cole is the author of Young Bond, Astrosaurs, Cows In Action, Astrosaurs Academy, Slime Squad, Z. Rex, Magic Ink, Aliens Stink!, Stop Those Monsters! and many other books (including several original Doctor Who stories). Steve lives in Buckinghamshire.
To find out more about Steve Cole: 
@SteveColeBooks
Holiday Ha Ha Ha!
Published on June 30th 2016 by Simon and Schuster
Summary
From amazing aliens and strange superheroes to fantastic forests and crazy creatures; from ghoulish ghost tours and tiresome traffic jams to super spies and terrible talent shows - you’ll be laughing all summer with these eight summer sillies!

Tuesday, 31 May 2016

Secret Serendipity Seven with CJ Flood

To celebrate the publication of Nightwanders, I'm pleased to welcome the author, C.J. Flood onto the blog to tell us seven secrets about herself and her book. 
Okay, here are some secrets about me and my new book, Nightwanderers. Some are pretty embarrassing, so enjoy…

1)Nightwanderers was inspired by a situation from my life, in which a friend was expelled from school after a teacher said she had threatened to stab her (my friend promises that she didn’t). We began a petition to get our friend back into school, which was quashed by our Head of Year. It all ended well though as my friend went on to be very successful as a gymnast and contortionist, and is now one of the top poledancers in the UK! I don’t know what became of the teacher… 

2)Ti stepping in a metal dog bowl during a nightwander in the book is also from real life. My friend and I accidentally did this, disturbing the man of the house who claimed to be a policeman (though was in pyjamas at the time) and drove my brother and his friend home in his car. My friend and I escaped. We were very good at escaping (I still am). 

3) Rosie’s dad is a little bit based on my boyfriend who used to be a chef and rather likes Pulp. 

4) There used to be a whole subplot where Rosie, Kiaru and Alisha took over the stage during Grease and did a silly dance to show their disdain for the daft popularity hierarchies of Fairfields. It featured jazz hands and also a move called The Lobster, which I will show you for a large fee. 

5) Fairfields is based on Woodlands Community School, which I attended. I wish I could say I was like Kiaru and Alisha but I was more like Rosie and Ti, with a dash of Ophelia. 

6) The story Ti recounts of her expulsion is based on my own experience as I was asked to leave Sixth Form, and advised that College might be a better fit. My biggest crimes were not wearing the correct uniform (polyester suit with strangling neckerchief like a mini Apprentice-wannabe) and preferring to be at home with a chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle. My teacher was right, and I much preferred Art College, where I played with paint, clay and metal, and they barely kept a register. In spite of my rebellious years, I made it to university where I began to work hard and discovered the Brontés, and grew *a little bit* better at accepting authority. 

7) Embarrassing secret alert! I wish my first kiss had been as romantic as Rosie’s and Kiaru’s. Mine took place in front of a small audience in the netball courts at the back of youth club. Afterwards I discovered that the boy had done it for a bet, and even more wonderful than that - I had bitten him. You’re welcome!

Thank you C.J. for sharing some secrets with us! I love the last one. 
Nightwanderers is published by Simon & Scholastic in June 2016

Summary
It all started with a poo in a flowerbed. 
Rosie and Titania are as close as sisters - closer, in fact. While Rosie is shy, red-faced and passive, Ti is big, tough and daring. They shouldn't be friends, but they are. 
Creeping out at night, the girls love to secretly wander through their coastal town, exploring empty streets and sharing their frustrations about school and their different, but equally difficult, families. 
But when Rosie betrays Ti, the two girls run in different directions - making decisions that could do irreparable damage to both of their lives. As Rosie confronts harsh truths, she must find a way back to Ti, and to herself. 
Whenever I heard the word kindred I thought of me and Ti.

To find out more about C.J. Flood:
Twitter 




Tuesday, 8 March 2016

Where The Ideas Flow with Harriet Whitehorn


As part of the Violet and the Smugglers Blog Tour, I am pleased to welcome author, Harriet Whitehorn on to the blog to show us where she writes her books.
For me, there are three distinct stages of writing - the planning (both the whole book and individual scenes), the actual writing, and the editing. If I am planning, I find it best to get out of the house and I will go and work in a cafe nearby.  I do love all the fantastic independent cafes around me but I have to admit, a little sheepishly, that I find my local Starbucks the easiest place to work for the simple reason that it plays music. I am incurably nosy and the most terrible eavesdropper and if there is no music playing, I find it almost impossible not to listen to other people’s conversations.  
The actual writing and editing I do at home, in my study.  It’s tiny but it’s mine, and therefore the one place in the house, I am allowed to indulge my messiness.  I have cleared it up considerably for you. 
Above my computer, I have a  collection of postcards,  partly just to have something to look at and partly to inspire me.  This is a picture of the auditorium of La Fenice, the opera house in Venice, which features in Violet and the Smugglers.  
I am rather fascinated by this girl, with her direct blue eyes, who I picked up at an exhibition at the Royal Academy and I can feel working her way into a story. 
And this is Tatty who keeps me company.  
I love the idea of a strict routine - hence Violet’s timetable of extracurricular activities in the first book - and I know that for some people they are essential.  But I find that tackling whatever I am feeling most guilty about first thing in the morning works best for me! So that might be writing, sorting through my inbox, the food shopping or even walking Tatty. And then I just carry on according to my guilt levels until I feel I have done enough, which usually coincides with me having to cook supper.  

If I am feeling particularly obsessed with what I am writing (or particularly guilty) I will work in the evening too but normally I just collapse in front of the television like most people.
***
Thank you Harriet for showing us where you write. I definitely go by the guilt factor too when it comes to routine. 
Violet and the Smugglers is published by Simon and Schuster on the 10th of March.
Summary 
Meet Violet Remy-Robinson, an amateur Sherlock Holmes in the making...
Uncle Johnny has invited Violet and her friends to spend the summer with him on a sailing adventure around Europe and Violet couldn't be more excited! But when she suspects that the captain of a boat nearby might be up to no good, Violet needs to put her detective skills into action… could he be the head of a smuggling ring?

To find out more about Harriet Whitehorn:
Twitter / Website
To find out more about Becka Moor: 
Twitter / Website