While I’ve opted out of commemorating the day I was born, my book’s first birthday is another matter. The day itself sees me signing copies at Waterstones York, but most of the festivities will be virtual, with a Kindle promotion (on Amazon UK and Amazon US and Amazon everything else in between) from 18-31 July. To coincide, I’m embarking on a two-week blog tour with a mixture of guest posts, reviews and Q&A’s, revisiting some long-established friends and forging some new ones. It won’t be as long as the five-week tour I did last year, but it’s sure to be as enjoyable. I’ve even given it its own page on the site, where I’ll be posting the live links as they are published. Here’s a preview of what you can expect if you can find the time to join me.
On Monday I’m visiting Geoff on Tangental, who hosted How walking helps my writing and my main character’s fear of cows last summer, to share my thoughts on being a sociable introvert (and, tangentally, having two launch parties, one of which Geoff generously travelled up from London to attend). On Tuesday you’ll find me having a cuppa, cake and a chat with Susan of The Book Trail, with a particular focus on my novel’s settings of Newcastle and Cairo. The next day, Jo, and her novel-reading cat, Jaffa, who I’m hoping hasn’t drawn claws with Diana’s cat, Marmaduke, will be posting their review along with a Q&A. Emma at Mrs Reds reviews is posting a review on Thursday, while Paula at Cornflakegirl’s Musings will share hers on Saturday, building on this taster in her June reading wrapup. Sandwiched between these two reviews, I’ll be comparing Catholic childhoods with Norah Colvin, everyone’s ideal teacher, host of On friendship, fact and fiction and one of this blog’s prime supporters.
The second week kicks off on Writing Ourselves Well with a Q&A with Kate Evans, who kindly travelled from Scarborough to my Newcastle launch party last year and hosted my post on Why I’m thanking my therapist. On Tuesday, I join my publishers Inspired Quill with a post on what I’ve learnt in the year since becoming an elderly prima-authorista. On Wednesday, I’m doubling up with a review from book blogger and brand-new bookshop proprietor (how exciting is that?), Sandra Foy, and sharing my undercover soundtrack with Roz Morris and her myriad followers. As it turns out, there’s only a very small overlap between the playlist I devised to accompany the novel and the music that inspired it. On Thursday and Friday and looking forward to finding out what book sceptic, Jo and Poppy Peacock each have to say about my novel.
I hope you’ll be able to join at least some of the tour and, if you can, help publicise the first birthday, promotion, with Sugar and Snails available in Kindle format at only £0.99 or equivalent until 31 July 2016. Amazon UK Amazon.com
I also hope to squeeze in a few reviews of books I’ve been reading while on my virtual tour.
On top of that, I’m launching my newsletter, with a signup form here, and sharing this interview I mentioned back in April, now screened by Bay TV Liverpool.
The latest flash fiction prompt is anger. Being in a celebratory mood, I thought I might sit this one out, then realised I could cheat and adapt a scene from Sugar and Snails.
New anger, old scars
Soggy footprints trailed me upstairs. I considered grabbing a yellow hazard sign from the cleaners’ cupboard, except that the wet floor wasn’t the danger, but me. I needed a door to slam behind me, but this one had a top closer that eased it sedately into the frame. I needed hail pelting the window, but sun streamed through the glass. I needed to kick my bike over, but space was tight and it too heavy, earning myself an aching toe. I pushed my fingers under my sleeve to caress the old scars on my forearm.
New anger, old scars
Soggy footprints trailed me upstairs. I considered grabbing a yellow hazard sign from the cleaners’ cupboard, except that the wet floor wasn’t the danger, but me. I needed a door to slam behind me, but this one had a top closer that eased it sedately into the frame. I needed hail pelting the window, but sun streamed through the glass. I needed to kick my bike over, but space was tight and it too heavy, earning myself an aching toe. I pushed my fingers under my sleeve to caress the old scars on my forearm.
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