Publisher: Lilac Tree Books
Genre: Chick Lit
Daisy Jones has hit rock bottom. Or so she believes.
A cheating boyfriend, trouble at work, having to move back in with her mother, and being forced to compare her brother’s loved-up, newly-wed status and brand-new shiny house with her own dire lack of prospects, isn’t what she imagined her life was going to be like at thirty. To top it all off, Christmas is just around the corner!
Daisy, bless her, thinks things can’t possibly get any worse, but when her ancient great-grandmother persuades her to plant a silver sixpence in the Christmas pud for luck, Daisy is about to discover that they most definitely can.
I’m thrilled to be one of the stops on the blog tour for And a Sixpence for Luck today! I have a fabulous guest post from the author to share.
Most of us like routines, and most of us stick to them, whether it be a regular game of squash on a Thursday night (nope, not me), or going out for a drink with friends on the third Saturday in every month (that’s more like it!), we all tend to do set things, at set times, on set days.
Now, some of us have no choice – like having to get the kids ready for school and/or going to work – and others, such as my elderly mother, enjoy the familiarity of knowing what they will be doing today when they get up in the morning.
As for me? I’m the Routine Queen. I wouldn’t be able to survive without one! Aside from the work thing (meh!) which I can’t avoid if I want to pay the bills, now that I’ve become an author as well I find I have more and more to shoehorn into my day.
I start at 6am (before that if I wake earlier), and quickly check my emails to make sure nothing untoward has happened overnight (it never really does…), then a swift look on social media, and a glance at the sales figures (I often have to psych myself up to do that), then I give myself a stern talking to get myself to write, because if I was left to my own devices, I’d sit and read a couple of chapters of someone else’s hard work instead of concentrating on my own.
Then the family decide to come downstairs purely to annoy me. Okay, that’s a lie – they’ve got to get ready to face their own working day, but it feels like they’re interrupting my stream of thought on purpose.
As usual, I leave it to the very last minute to hop into the shower, and then it’s a frantic dash to get to work on time.
During my lunchbreak I write if I can find a quiet corner to hide in, or I do some marketing and promotional stuff, or check my emails again (and sales, but I don’t want to talk about it because it sounds as if I’m slightly obsessed), if all the quiet corners have been appropriated by others wanting to hide from their managers for five sneaky minutes.
Then, finally home-time and some peace to write a few words more before the family descend on me again, demanding to be fed, and wanting to have clean clothes for tomorrow, and annoying stuff like that. At the end of a long day I get to luxuriate in the bath and, if the mood takes me, I scribble away some more, but it’s not easy balancing my phone on the edge of the bath, and paper tends to get a bit soggy from all the steam.
But if I’m really tired then I crawl into bed, and try to sleep. I say “try” because those darned voices in my head are louder than an elephant snoring, and sometimes they won’t let me snooze until they’ve had their say.
Ah well, I’m not going to knock it, because without the characters in my head I’d not have any stories to write, and writing stories, I’ve found, has become a bit of addiction.
About the Author:
Lilac spends all her time writing, or reading, or thinking about writing or reading, often to the detriment of her day job, her family, and the housework. She apologises to her employer and her loved ones, but the house will simply have to deal with it!
She calls Worcester home, though she would prefer to call somewhere hot and sunny home, somewhere with a beach and cocktails and endless opportunities for snoozing in the sun…
When she isn’t hunched over a computer or dreaming about foreign shores, she enjoys creating strange, inedible dishes in the kitchen, accusing her daughter of stealing (she meant to say “borrowing”) her clothes, and fighting with her husband over whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher.