Tag: blog tour

Blog Tour: Celia J Anderson- The Importance of Writing Buddies

On July 14, 2015

It’s lovely to be here on the second day of my blog tour celebrating the launch of Living the Dream and talking about the importance of writing buddies. This is my third book (fourth if you count the anthology with The Romaniacs) and every time I say that I have to skip round the room a few laps to calm down.

It only seems like five minutes since I met the other Romaniacs (Sue Fortin, Laura E James, Debbie Fuller-White, Vanessa Savage, Lucie Wheeler, Jan Brigden and Catherine Miller) at the 2011 Festival of Romance in Watford. Since then we’ve propped each other up through numerous writing and life hiccups, made each other laugh until we cry, howled at each others’ rejection slips and celebrated all the milestones in our new lives as ‘proper writers’.

The best advice I could ever give to anyone who’s at the beginning of this journey is to get yourself a gang like these ladies. We were all unpublished when we met, and none of us could have predicted what happened next. There have been competition wins, awards, publishing contracts, wine by the bucketful and so much cake you could build a bridge over the channel. But it’s the laughs that have kept us going. On your own you’re in danger off taking the bad times to heart and beating yourself with a big stick. Together, naff as it sounds, we are strong.

Excerpt:

I rummaged in the drawer for a plaster to put on my bleeding toe and imagined my husband lying on a hospital slab – cold, lifeless, and waiting for the knife. We locked glances as he swung the mirror round again, my wide green eyes meeting the familiar blue and beady gaze head on. I watched as he tossed back his curls. They were long, grey, and slightly greasy. I wondered how soon medical science could be persuaded to have his body.

‘I need to go,’ I muttered, looking away before he could see the depth of my loathing and the treacherous angry tears that were starting to prickle my eyelids. ‘We’ve got a heavy day today.’

‘Actually, Vita, you did manage to get that message across. You’ve been wittering about it for the last week. Why don’t you just come right out with the truth? You’re bored with your job and you’re jealous because I can work from home, aren’t you?’

Work? When was the last time any of that had happened in this house? Not this month, for sure. I took a deep breath. I badly wanted to get a few things off my chest but a morning row always makes my day go sour, however good it feels to shout at Ronan.

‘No, that’s not the problem – you’re putting words into my mouth again. It’s just that it’s going to be a really long day. We’ve all three got back-to-back counselling sessions, Jack and Fliss are just as busy as me, so I won’t be home until at least seven o’clock. Could you maybe sort dinner out tonight?’ I tried not to sound grovelling, but heard myself adding, ‘Please?’

‘Bloody hell, you want me to cook again? What’s it going to be?’

‘Anything you like. There’s nothing in the fridge, and the freezer’s practically empty, too.’

‘I can’t believe you’re asking me to go shopping, especially after what happened last time. I haven’t been able to go back into Sainsbury’s since…’ He shuddered and raised the volume a notch. ‘You know I’ve got a deadline for my edits. The books don’t write themselves, you know. They say crime doesn’t pay, and crime fiction certainly doesn’t.’

This was an old joke of Ronan’s and I didn’t even try to force a smile as he continued, ‘You’re not trying to tell me that your job’s enough to make ends meet if I don’t churn the books out? Why can’t you go out in your lunch hour?’

‘I’m not getting one today. Jack had to cover for me on Friday while I went to the bank to see about the loan. Fliss said it was okay but I’ve got to pay the time back.’

‘Right, so basically you’re blaming me for making you lose your lunch break? Because we need a top-up loan?’

‘No, I…’

‘Actually, Vita, if you didn’t spend so much on clothes, we might be able to manage.’

I felt my jaw drop. That was so unfair. I have never been preoccupied with the way I look. Dressing in low-key clothes for work helps people to relax, and my hair’s tied back in a ponytail most of the time. A pair of black framed spectacles helps. I put them on if I’m seeing clients who might reckon I look too dizzy and blond to be a counsellor – no-one knows they’re plain glass. Ronan used to like me to go out in tight jeans and little crop tops, but he never seems to notice what I put on lately. I faced up to him, all five feet two inches of me.

‘When did I last spend money on things for myself?’

He snorted and rolled his eyes. ‘Well, that’s obvious. I always think it’s a shame when a woman lets herself go.’

‘Hey, come on. Either I splash out on clothes or I don’t bother with how I look. You can’t have it both ways, Ronan.’

‘Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you, Vita? Sooooo sharp.’

I could feel myself building up for the sort of explosion that would blow us apart once and for all. Breathe, Vita, breathe, I told myself. There’s no time for a showdown today even if I would love to shout and rant at the chauvinist pig with his endless jibes and digs. More and more lately I’ve been biting my tongue – swallowing the fierce responses I want to fire back at him. Arguing with my husband is pointless. He always wins. But then again, nobody can have a winning streak that lasts forever, can they?

Blurb:

When dreams and reality crash and mingle, escape can be the hardest challenge of all.

Longing to get away from her troubled marriage, the opportunity to cross America by train seems like a dream come true for Vita Craythorne. But charismatic travel agent Moriarty Miles has other ideas; by replacing her friend Jack on the trip, Vita has unwittingly set herself up as a guinea pig for Moriarty’s mind-blowing and potentially dangerous new virtual-holiday project. His idea is to give clients the holiday of a lifetime without ever having to leave the comfort of their favourite chair. It’s exciting. It’s innovative. It could be just what Vita needs. That is, if she can avoid becoming trapped inside her own, miraculous dream world.

Here are my buy links:

http://celiajanderson.co.uk/books/living-the-dream/

Author Bio:

Celia J Anderson is passionate about writing, cake, wine and long walks in the Quantock hills or on random beaches. She is very proud to be the assistant head at a Catholic primary school in the Midlands and divides her time between walking off the cake, inventing imaginary worlds and teaching English and drama.

http://celiajanderson.co.uk

https://www.facebook.com/CeliaJAndersonAuthor

http://www.twitter.com/celiaanderson1

GIVEAWAY!

Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/celia-j-anderson-3/

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Thank you for visiting today Celia! I wish you a very successful tour.

Don’t forget to enter that giveaway everyone!

Happy reading,

Jenny x

Guest Blog from Lorna Peel: Life in Ireland during World War Two

By Jenny Kane

On May 20, 2015

In Blog, Contemporary Romantic Fiction, Fiction

I’m delighted to welcome Lorna Peel to my blog today, as part of the blog tour for her brand new book, Into the Unknown.

Over to you Lorna…

The Irish Free State remained neutral during ‘The Emergency’, as the Second World War was called in Ireland – the only member of the British Commonwealth to do so. An estimated seventy thousand men and women served in the British armed forces, including almost five thousand members of the Irish Defence Forces who deserted to fight.

Kate’s father, mother and grandmother lived in Co Galway on the west coast of Ireland. Kate’s father was a solicitor and despite having a good job, they couldn’t afford to be extravagant. He had a car but with petrol priced one shilling and sixpence per gallon and rationed, the car was only used to get him to and from work. By 1942, petrol was so scarce that most private cars were off the road.

During The Emergency, every person was issued with a ration book. Goods rationed included tobacco, butter, tea, sugar, flour, soap and clothing. Inside each ration book were several pages of instructions in both Irish and English followed by pages of numbered squares, either marked by the product name (Flour, Tea, etc.) or containing a letter to be used for different purchases. Space was also provided for keeping details of when, where and what was bought.

Kate’s mother had approximately four pounds per weeks for housekeeping. She cooked on a rather antiquated solid fuel range which was powered by a turf (peat) as coal was no longer available for domestic use. Overall, the Sheridans did not fare too badly as, unlike in the United Kingdom, eggs and meat were not rationed as most people had their own animals to provide these necessities. Mrs Sheridan kept chickens to produce eggs and for eating and any surplus eggs would be bartered for other commodities at the local shop, where she also bought flour for baking in eight-stone bags. In January 1941, the tea ration was two ounces per person per week, but by April it was reduced to once ounce. Like in the United Kingdom, rationing continued long after the end of the war.

Censorship of the press was rigid. Critical commentary was not allowed and no weather reports were printed so, apart from letters which were read and censored, the Sheridans would have known relatively little about the war and Kate’s part in it.

BOOK GIVEAWAY!

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Excerpt:

“You don’t know much about my family, do you?” She frowned. “I’ll tell you, seeing as we’re stuck here for the time being. My father is a solicitor in Galway but he met Mummy at a wedding here in London. They live a few miles outside Galway now, beside the sea. Granny Barbara can’t stand him and makes no secret of the fact that she thinks Mummy married beneath her. Daddy and Granny Norah are Catholic but Mummy is Church of England, and when Mummy announced she wanted to marry Daddy there was uproar. Granny Barbara and Granddad Thomas were completely against it, but Mummy and Daddy were completely for it.”

“So what happened?” Charlie asked.

“Granddad Thomas and Daddy came to an arrangement. Mummy could marry Daddy, but any children they had who were born in Ireland would be brought up Church of England, not Catholic. It’s always amazed me that Daddy agreed, but Granddad Thomas was quite frightening, from what very little I remember of him. He died when I was five, a few months after Mummy, Daddy and I were here on a visit.”

“He was,” Charlie smiled, “very Victorian in his outlook. He used to frighten the life out of me. He caught me smoking in the garden once. I was about fifteen and I can remember him bellowing at me, ‘Are you smoking a cigarette, boy? A gentleman smokes a cigar.’ He gave me a cigar and the thing almost gave me bronchitis, so I stayed with cigarettes.” He laughed. “So were you brought up Church of England?”

“I was baptised Church of Ireland, which is Anglican, too. Apparently, Daddy stood outside the church and refused to go in.” She sighed. “They really needn’t have bothered because I’ve no time for religion. Poor Mummy, she tries so hard. She’s on every committee there is, but means well, even if the locals do still call her the ‘blow-in’ after twenty-two years.”

“Why?”

“She sounds exactly like Helen and Granny Barbara—that very posh English accent—and it rubs some people up the wrong way because they think she’s putting it on. Poor Mummy; she’ll never fit in, no matter how hard she tries. Daddy’s only brother, Michael, fought in the Irish War of Independence against the British. He got shot shortly before the Truce in 1921 but didn’t die for a long, long time. Daddy paid for him to be looked after in a nursing home. I was about four when he died. That’s why Daddy is a bit, you know, about Britain. There’s no reasoning with him. Everything is all Britain’s fault, according to him, but he’s not involved in anything. I know you were wondering, Charlie,” she finished softly.

***

Blurb

London on 3 September 1939 is in upheaval. War is inevitable. Into this turmoil steps Kate Sheridan, newly arrived from Ireland to live with her aunt and uncle, and look for work. When she meets Flight Lieutenant Charlie Butler sparks fly, but he is a notorious womaniser. Should she ignore all the warnings and get involved with a ladies man whose life will be in daily danger?

Charlie Butler has no intention of getting involved with a woman. But when he meets Kate his resolve is shattered. Should he allow his heart to rule his head and fall for a nineteen-year-old Irish girl while there is a war to fight?

Private conflicts and personal doubts are soon overshadowed. Will the horrors of war bring Kate and Charlie together or tear them apart?

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Buy Links

Amazon UK – http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00UAY719Y

Amazon US – http://amzn.com/B00UAY719Y

iBooks UK – https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/id974054282?mt=11

iBooks US – https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/into-the-unknown/id974054282

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/525040

Kobo – https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/into-the-unknown-10

Nook UK – http://www.nook.com/gb/ebooks/into-the-unknown-by-lorna-peel/2940046616323

Barnes and Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1121346684

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Author Bio and Links

Lorna Peel is an author of contemporary and historical romantic fiction. She has had work published in three Irish magazines – historical articles on The Stone of Scone in ‘Ireland’s Own’, on The Irish Potato Famine in the ‘Leitrim Guardian’ – and Lucy’s Lesson, a contemporary short story in ‘Woman’s Way’.

Her first novel, Only You, a contemporary romance, was published in 2014. Into The Unknown, an historical novel set during WWII, will be published on 5 May 2015.

Lorna was born in England and lived in North Wales until her family moved to Ireland to become farmers, which is a book in itself! She lives in rural Ireland, where she write, researches her family history, and grows fruit and vegetables. She also keeps chickens (and a Guinea Hen who now thinks she’s a chicken!).

http://lornapeel.com

http://twitter.com/PeelLorna

http://www.facebook.com/LornaPeelAuthor

http://pinterest.com/lornapeel

http://www.goodreads.com/LornaPeel

http://www.tsu.co/lornapeelauthor

https://plus.google.com/+LornaPeel

Thank you for hosting me, Jenny!

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Many thanks for dropping by today Lorna,

Good luck on your blog tour,

Jenny xx

Guest Post from Jennifer Young: Looking For Charlotte Blog Tour

By Jenny Kane

On May 5, 2015

In Blog, Contemporary Romantic Fiction, Fiction

I’m delighted to be able to welcome Jennifer Young to my site today, as part of her blog tour for her new release, Looking For Charlotte.

Over to you Jennifer…

About the Journey: Looking For Charlotte

They say there are only seven basic plots. I have a book about that, in fact, but as it’s almost 700 pages long and I’m time-poor I haven’t yet got round to reading it. But everyone who has (well done, by the way) tells me that it’s true and there’s nothing original in this world.

I didn’t deliberately set out to pick one of those seven, though I have done in the past. As it happens, though, my latest book, Looking For Charlotte, fits more closely to an obvious plot device than anything I’ve ever attempted, even the variations-on-a-theme-by-Shakespeare trilogy that I’m working on (the theme is Romeo and Juliet, since you ask).

The clue is in the name. Looking For Charlotte is a journey or, as it’s referred to in the book, a quest. ‘Quest’ is a wonderful, evocative word, old-fashioned to the point of medieval, bringing to mind knights on noble steeds undertaking challenges set for them by mistresses or magicians, with the ultimate objective (in which they pretty much always succeed) of winning the hand of a fair lady.

The quest which my very modern heroine, Flora, undertakes isn’t one laid on her by a wicked witch, or even something she has to do to save her relationship, win promotion or achieve fame (all of which are perfectly worthy objectives). It’s much deeper than that, and it’s also entirely self-imposed.

When Flora sees on the news the story of a toddler abducted and almost certainly murdered by her father (who then killed himself) her reaction is to take up the search for the child where the police have given up. No-one makes her do it. No-one forces her to go out looking for a lonely grave, puts the spade in the boot of the car and hands her the key, points a dramatic finger and says to her: ‘Go’.

So why does she go? It’s partly to absolve her own guilt at mistakes she’s made in the past. It’s partly to do good to someone else, a stranger. Personally she has nothing not gain from it but yet she goes, undertaking a journey which is both physical and emotional. And when it ends, on a moor in the wild north-east of Scotland on a wild-weather day to the accompaniment of birdsong, the story ends.

In success, or in failure? That’s for me to know and you, if you wish, to find out. Read on…

Excerpt

They parted just beyond the bridge across the Ness, Grace heading up the pedestrian streets and Flora cutting across to the library, fronted by the long line of cars full of Saturday shoppers manoeuvering towards the car parks. She wasn’t a regular library user, but once the idea had taken her she remembered that there was something she wanted to check.

In the reference section, she stood for a moment before selecting the Ordnance Survey map that covered the area south of Ullapool. She knew it quite well. When the children were young they’d gone walking there regularly, able to reach the open spaces without pushing the slowest (usually Amelia, though Beth was the youngest) too hard. They’d graduated to more difficult walks, then stopped walking altogether. Eventually she had developed a fondness for the slightly less bleak terrain to the south of Inverness, where she went occasionally with Philip and his brother, or with a colleague from work. She hadn’t been out all year, not since before Christmas, in fact, and even then they’d been rained off not very far in and driven back to the comfort of a tea shop in Grantown-on-Spey.

A nostalgic yearning for a good long walk swept over her as she unfolded the map and smoothed it out across one of the desks. She and Danny used to look at maps together plotting their routes. His stubby forefinger, with its bitten nails, had traced the most challenging route to start, sliding along the steep and craggy ridges until he remembered the children and reluctantly redrew, shorter, safer.

She thought she knew the place where Alastair Anderson had left his car, and found it easily enough. Under her fingers the map was a flat web of never-parallel lines, of ugly pock-marking that told of steep, loose rocks and inhospitable terrain, just the type of place they used to walk. Somewhere up here, Charlotte Anderson was buried. Carried there, already dead? Or walked there and then killed? Surely neither was realistic; surely they would have found her, with their dogs and their mountain rescue helicopters scouring the ground for new scars, and all the rest of the equipment they had at their disposal.

Looking at the map had been a mistake. It was obvious now. Besides, she couldn’t see it any more; all she could see was the image of Suzanne Beauchamp, that beautiful face with the cold façade, like a wax death mask from Madame Tussauds. More poignant, of course, since it must hide a struggle, a struggle to conceal or to suppress a deadly mixture of grief and guilt.

‘Go away!’ she said softly to this mirage of a grieving woman, a little afraid of its power. ‘Go away!’ And then, in the only defence left to her, she began to fold the map away…

****

Blurb

Divorced and lonely, Flora Wilson is distraught when she hears news of the death of little Charlotte Anderson. Charlotte’s father killed her and then himself, and although he left a letter with clues to her grave, his two-year-old daughter still hasn’t been found. Convinced that she failed her own children, now grown up and seldom at home, Flora embarks on a quest to find Charlotte’s body to give the child’s mother closure, believing that by doing so she can somehow atone for her own failings.

As she hunts in winter through the remote moors of the Scottish Highlands, her obsession comes to challenge the very fabric of her life — her job, her friendship with her colleague Philip Metcalfe, and her relationships with her three children.

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GIVEAWAY!

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Buy Links

Tirgearr Publishing

http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Young_Jennifer/looking-for-charlotte.htm

Amazon UK

http://amzn.to/1D7pNY6

Amazon US

http://amzn.to/1JmAwBR

Smashwords

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/526032?ref=cw1985

Author bio

I live in Edinburgh and I write romance and contemporary women’s fiction. I’ve been writing all my life and my first book was published in February 2014, though I’ve had short stories published before then. The thing that runs through all my writing is an interest in the world around me. I love travel and geography and the locations of my stories is always important to me. And of course I love reading — anything and everything.

Links

Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/jenniferyoungauthor

Twitter

@JYnovelist

Website

http://www.jenniferyoungauthor.com/

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Many thanks for visiting today Jennifer. Good luck with the rest of the tour!!

Don’t forget the giveaway folks!!

Happy reading,

Jenny xx

Guest Post from Celia J Anderson: Starting Again

By Jenny Kane

On November 17, 2014

In Blog, Contemporary Romantic Fiction, News

I’m delighted to welcome Celia J Anderson back to my site today on Day 7 of her blog tour, celebrating her brand new novel, Little Boxes.

Over to you Celia…

Today’s theme is starting again. In Little Boxes, Molly is faced with the challenge of making a new life and getting to grips (in more ways than one) with a brand new man. Tom knows he’s the right one for Molly, but she finds it very hard to leave her past behind.

Here’s the story of my own fresh start:

The man stood in the doorway of the restaurant. Breakfast time in San Francisco – crisp winter sunshine, trays of fresh fruit, snowy linen cloths and a woman by his side, for a change. He had left England under a thick blanket of snow, the February skies mournful and grey. Here, the cold was sparkling, clean and energising and the Golden Gate Bridge soared high over the sea. Following him to a table by the wide window overlooking the bay, the woman said ‘I’m sorry; I’m not very hungry, are you?’

He smiled, picking up one of the enormous menus. ‘No, but that’s not a problem – we’ll just order the smallest thing we can find. What about French toast and fruit; is that ok? Do you like French toast?’ Signalling to the waiter, he realised with a stab of alarm that he knew next to nothing about her.

‘I like everything! It’s just that I still get a weird lump in my throat sometimes when I try to eat, even after all these months. And this week, coming over here to a strange place, especially to go to Matt’s wedding – well, it’s hard, isn’t it?’

The man nodded. He’d never talked about his grief to anyone before, ‘Sometimes I just feel guilty for still being alive, to be able to eat great food and drink chilled wine and see the sunset, and go out walking.’

‘And go to new places, and meet people, and make new friends…’ she agreed. Her eyes were suddenly full of tears and the man blinked in sympathy. There was a silence, and he tentatively reached for her hand. ‘I know, it’s a bugger, isn’t it?’

The waiter brought their order and they laughed, breaking the tension. The plates were so loaded that the toast spilled over the edges, and the enormous slices of watermelon dwarfed the heaps of strawberries and kiwi. He looked at her and felt a sharp pang when he saw green eyes instead of blue. He didn’t know that she was seeing blue eyes when she had half expected green.

‘So much for a light breakfast,’ he said.

Later, as they wandered along the boardwalk, a street trader stopped them in their tracks, holding out a handful of black t-shirts hopefully. The man shook his head, ‘Sorry, we don’t need anything today.’

‘Hey, you got no choice, dude – you gotta pay the forfeit.’

‘Forfeit?’

‘That’s what I said, didn’t I? You’re out here, in the most beautiful bay in the world, on the most romantic day of the year, and you ain’t holdin’ the lady’s hand. That’ll be ten dollars, and the t-shirt’s free.’

The man and the woman exchanged sheepish glances, both blushing. ‘But…I don’t really know her,’ he stuttered.

‘Yeah, right – who you tryin’ to kid? Gimme the ten dollars, and you got a deal.’

Grinning, the man dug out a note from his wallet, and handed the t-shirt to the woman. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ he said.

They were married in December, 2008. Neither of them ever wore the t-shirt.

Extract:

After the day of the capsized chair, Tom began to feel seriously disappointed if he didn’t bump into Molly at least once a week. Sometimes she waved, but usually she was too preoccupied with trying to hold on to Max.

Tom thought she was absolutely beautiful. He often wondered what sort of man would be lucky enough to live with his Lady in Red. Maybe she was married to someone who worked away, or had a job with unsociable hours? Or maybe she was on her own with the children, struggling to make ends meet? He speculated as he painted, watching for Molly out of the corner of his eye, ready to look busy whenever she appeared, but aware of her every move.

But then one day in June, just when Tom had decided that Molly must be a single parent waiting for a new partner to come along and sweep her off her feet, Tom spotted Theo, Hattie and Max walking along the promenade with a gangly, spiky-haired man. He was urging them forwards with quick movements of his hands, frowning at Theo who stuck her tongue out at him and hissed something under her breath. They all laughed at this, and Tom heard the man shout, ‘Theo – your mum’ll go mad when she hears what you just said.’

‘But you won’t tell, will you, Daddy?’ said the little boy, catching hold of the man’s hand and swinging it to get his attention.

‘No, don’t, Dad – she didn’t mean it. She’s in enough trouble already this week,’ Hattie chipped in.

‘Well, whose fault’s that? She should never have got that tattoo. You knew how your mum felt about it, didn’t you, Theo? After last time, I thought you’d have had more sense.’

‘It’s only a little dragonfly. She loves dragonflies. I didn’t think she’d mind.’

The man sniffed. ‘Come on, Mum’ll be waiting for us at the restaurant by now so we can eat together for once. She won’t like being kept hanging around, will she?’

Tom hadn’t painted that day, but had been sitting looking out over the sea thinking about the future. He turned his wheelchair and kept within earshot of the family, feeling uncomfortably like a stalker but following at a discreet distance until they came to a doorway under a striped awning.

Blurb:

Suddenly bereaved, Molly White realises that she has never really known her feisty husband Jake when random boxes begin to appear through the post, each one containing a tantalising clue to the secrets of Jake and Molly’s past. Someone who knows them both well, for reasons of their own, has planned a trail of discovery. The clues seem to be designed to change Molly’s life completely, leading her around Britain and then onwards to rural France and deepest Bavaria.

Meanwhile, waiting in the wings is Tom, a charismatic artist who runs a gallery in the same town. Strong, independent and wheelchair-bound from the age of fifteen, he leads a solitary life and has no idea how devastatingly attractive he is to women. When Tom meets curvy, beautiful and funny Molly, he knows that she is his dream woman, but she seems way out of his orbit until the boxes start to weave their spell and the two of them are thrown right out of their comfort zones.

Little Boxes is a story of love in a variety of guises – mother-love, unrequited passion, infatuation and the shadow-love held in memories that refuse to go away.

Buy links: http://celiajanderson.co.uk/books/little-boxes/

Author Bio:

Celia J Anderson spends most of her spare time writing in as many different genres as possible, including children’s fiction. In her other life, she’s Assistant Headteacher at a small Catholic primary school in the Midlands and loves teaching literature (now comfortingly called English again but still the best subject in the world.)

She tried a variety of random jobs before discovering that the careers advisor at secondary school was right, including running crèches, childminding, teaching children to ride bikes (having omitted to mention she couldn’t do it herself) and a stint in mental health care. All these were ideal preparation for the classroom and provided huge amounts of copy for the books that were to come.

Celia enjoys cooking and eating in equal measures, and thinks life without wine would be a sad thing indeed. She is married, with two grown up daughters who have defected to the seaside. One day she plans to scoop up husband and cats and join them there.

Links:

http://celiajanderson.co.uk

http://theromaniacgroup.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/CeliaJAndersonAuthor

http://www.twitter.com/CeliaAnderson1

GIVEAWAY!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Many thanks for dropping by today Celia.

Happy reading everyone,

Jenny xx