THE NATURE OF TREES: FRIEND OR FOE?
It had been a long time since Christina neglected to pay her faerie toll when traveling through the woods so, for a moment, she dithered, unsure of how effective her new ring of invisibility was. Passing by the Toll Tree, she became a young girl with all her old fears, at the very birth of her quest. All the battles and triumphs between then and now seemed suddenly irrelevant, for this… this was the Black Wood, and home to Gallus, whose memory still turned Christina’s very core into an icicle. Continue reading
The previous post – ‘First Day Nerves’ is connected to this one. Both come from the same story, which will probably be called APPLEHEART.
It will be a long time before I can call it a book, and, to be honest, it’s already been stewing for a good number of years. Checking back, I wrote the Appleheart excerpt in 2014, and First Day Nerves is from 2016. It’s now almost 2018 and I have the best part of four chapters. Four years to write four chapters!?
This is what I like to call a ‘slow-cook book’, and they’re often the best. I’ll keep adding to it, and all sorts of ideas will get mixed in along the way. It should make for lots of flavour, just like a long-simmered stew!
My mother said I would regret choosing art as a career. My father couldn’t care less what I chose. He was, however, worried about Ned and drama. If he’d ever seen any of Ned’s acting; if he’d bothered to go to the school plays or the drama group productions like I had, he wouldn’t have been so worried. My brother was a natural. We were still in nappies when he began to people his world with characters from his imagination. They occasionally took him over so that he became someone else entirely. Many times, over the years, his acting made me laugh so hard I was sick, or cry until I had a headache.
As kids, we would sit together in a tent pitched in the middle of the room we shared. It was like a wigwam, but one we’d made by haphazardly stitching old sheets together and stealing bamboo canes out of the garden. Only we two were allowed in. No family. No friends. Because, inside that tent, was our own little world. A stage for Ned, a studio for me. We would sit together for hours, forgetting empty tummies and full bladders and all the boring routines of life. I had my drawing pad and my coloured pencils on my knee. Ned told me all about the people in his world. I drew them for him.
“Draw an apple for Murphy. He loves apples more than anything.”
I drew an apple for Murphy and tilted the pad.
“No. He only likes red apples. Not green ones.”
I rubbed out the apple, picked up the red pencil, and started again. “What about Mia Emilia? What does she like best?”
“Mia Emilia doesn’t like anything anymore. She’s always sad. She has a face like this.” He pulled the saddest face I’d ever seen. “And she only ever talks in a whisper.” Continue reading
Mab was so pleased to see Silas that she grabbed his hands and told him the story at great speed. Continue reading
Christina realised her chances of getting away unscathed were hideously low without some kind of brilliant intervention, but her mind was so busy being terrified it couldn’t think of anything brilliant. So, instead, she settled for the oldest trick in the book which, at that point of time, was not very old at all.
What if the medieval folklore of old was based in truth? And what if just one girl was charged with the task of destroying it?
Adventure, swordfights, love, loss, faeries, battles… and magic. All in one book.
Coming out in November in paperback and for Kindle. Suitable for ages 10 to 100.
To read more about Blackwood, head this way!
With what has to be one of the most inspired titles ever, ‘The Diving Bell and the Butterfly’ is truly a book with a difference.
The author did not use his hands or feet to write it.
He didn’t use his mouth and tongue to dictate the words.
He used the only thing he could move in his entire body – his left eyelid! (Okay, I know I gave that away in the title, but it’s been a long day 😀 )
Jean-Dominique Bauby was editor-in-chief for French fashion mag ‘Elle’. He had everything a man could want. And he lost it all after suffering a severe stroke, including the use of his whole body. After waking from a 20-day coma, Jean-Dominique found that he couldn’t move but he could hear and understand everything going on around him. As you can imagine, it took a long time to communicate that he was still very much awake and functioning. And then it took a very long time for someone to realise he had an awful lot to say.
So, how on earth did he do it? Continue reading
OUT TODAY! ‘The Curtain-Twitcher’s Handbook’ (Kindle version). A young adult love story with the odd ghost and some very petulant curtains.
For more information on The Curtain Twitcher’s Handbook, head over to the book page here.
‘When it Might be Time to Change your Curtains’ by Daisy May
Your own personal God of Curtain-Twitching should only provide advice on the subject of curtains. If he starts to interfere in other aspects of your life you should be wary and seek independent advice. In extreme circumstances it may be wise to change your curtains.
Standing back, I checked the mirror. I’d chosen a white. long-sleeved shirt with a conservatively-striped tank top over it, and some black cords. We always had to look smart for Gramps, Mum and I. He couldn’t abide scruffy dressing, coming from an era when people donned their best hat just to fetch the milk off the doorstep. I’d once worn jeans, and Gramps spent the entire visit looking me up and down and muttering under his breath. I wish I’d thought to tell Will. He’d probably have jeans on, and his hair would be all over the place.
I wound my own hair into a rough bun and clipped it up. With this outfit it made me look about forty. I pulled it out and stuck it in a ponytail instead. It was very hard to try and look good to both Gramps and Will at the same time. Maybe I could get away with clean trainers.
“I don’t think so,” commented the god with a snort.
‘Since when are you such a fashion expert?’ I bit back, keeping my words carefully in my head. I wasn’t about to start conversing with my curtains out loud. That would be crazy.
“Look at my multi-coloured spots. I am the king of fashion,” he said.
Taken from The Curtain-Twitcher’s Handbook, in which Daisy discovers the dying art of curtain-twitching is not just for old, nosy people.
The Curtain Twitcher’s Handbook on Amazon.co.uk
The Curtain Twitcher’s Handbook on Amazon.com