It is up for preorder now and also on NetGalley for early reviewers!

Here is the blurb!

One lost suitcase. Two strangers. And a notebook that will change lives.

For almost fifty years, sisters Dolly and Greta have lived together – getting each other through the good times and the bad.

Except this year, Greta isn’t there and Dolly is feeling lost and alone. In memory of her sister, Dolly heads to the lost luggage auction where she and Greta go each Christmas. But her bid reveals a gift she never imagined.

Amongst the clothes is the notebook of a reclusive woman who has hardly been outside for an entire year, but who isn’t ready to give up on life. The notebook’s contents resonate with Dolly. With the support of her neighbours, retired Leroy and eleven year old Flo, Dolly decides to take on the year of firsts Phoebe had planned.

But, can you have a year of firsts when you’re seventy-two? And is Dolly ready to discover the notebook’s secrets, or are some secrets better left lost at the airport?

For over 30 years now I’ve suffered on, and off, with eating disorder issues and these eventually led to a drink problem. At times I’ve felt on top of the world when I’ve been most ill, certainly with the anorexic aspects. I wanted to be thin. I got thin. Mission accomplished. The trouble is, as with any ambition, the goalposts always move.  You’ve got a few pounds you’d like to lose. Getting into that size 12 is great. But perhaps you then decide a size 10 is better, and so on. Like being an author… you get published. Get into the top #100 on Kindle. Next time you want to get into the top #50. Then the top #10. You want foreign deals. You want awards. Your goals move so far away from your original one of simply wanting to see your book out there.

Like the anorexic who looks in the mirror and views themselves as overweight, an author who’s doing SO well can often see themselves as a failure, compared to their contemporaries, perhaps, or when that person at a dinner party asks if they’re earning as much as J K Rowling.

In 2016 I got sober and yes, I felt fantastic and still do on one of my many good days – but, unexpectedly, sobriety brought problems I never foresaw. Relationships changed – I wasn’t the same person. I lost friends. Instead of escaping into a glass of wine I now have to face my problems and triggers head on and deal with them – and deal with the fallout from doing that.

It’s like getting published – you think signing that first contract and stopping the gruelling submission process marks the end of a long and winding, difficult road, and it does, it’s amazing. But, like stopping drinking, it also heralds the beginning of another challenging journey. There are many wonderful moments ahead but negative ones can temper them – bad reviews, poor sales due to reasons out of of your control, deadlines that are stressful to meet.

During lockdown I had the best mental health I’d had for years, not the experience for a lot of people – and it’s taken a few steps backwards since coming out of the pandemic and having to once again face the stresses of modern life. It’s frustrating to return to a position I thought I’d left behind forever. Having longed for freedom when Covid restrictions went on and on, it’s been unexpected.

But it is what it is. I am what I am.

Never let people diminish the way you feel because the way they see you doesn’t reflect your inner world. Those who’ll say “But at least…” They think they’re helping but those words don’t reflect true empathy as they don’t acknowledge that you have valid reasons for finding your situation tough.

A slim person can have a problem with food or body image. A sober person doesn’t always find life 100% easier than before. A person who’s been in lockdown is allowed to find returning to their former unrestricted life challenging. An author who’s had success does have the right to sometimes feel down about their career.

There are no rules. 

One thing I firmly believe is…

Peaks and troughs are part of life. Happiness and unhappiness are part of life. Reaching a peak makes us happy in a way it wouldn’t if we were happy all the time. And the passing of time teaches us that a trough will always end, just as it has before.

But if your trough is so deep you can’t see a way out, TALK TO SOMEONE. That’s what I did in 2016 and I’ve never regretted it. Most of the time I love life now and I love my career. I accept the peaks and troughs and am more successful at not allowing other people to define anything about me. As is said in AA, anyone else’s view of you is none of your business.

Often bulimics or binge-eaters aren’t seen as *ill enough* to warrant medical  help, due to their BMI being classed as normal – due to a tick in a box. And yet the mortality rates amongst those suffering with eating disorders is higher than for any other mental illness. Whatever your challenges are, be them struggles on the personal front or with your job, always remember they are valid and you deserve the help to get better.

If you’re struggling why not choose this week to reach out?

The story is about a chance encounter, a care home, a toy shop and a very special Christmas party.

As a taster here’s the first chapter! 

It was a misunderstanding that started it. I sat in the wrong row. The air steward said it didn’t matter. The flight wasn’t full and so I stayed there, by the window. We were about to take off.

I was travelling back to England after attending one of the many toy trade fairs that ran throughout the year, this time in Germany. I managed a shop called Under the Tree. It was the end of October and I was thinking ahead to next year’s must-have products. I yawned. It was an obscenely early flight.

Before heading to the airport I’d bought a little Bavarian cuckoo clock. I bent down and took it out of my hand luggage, put it on the seat next to me for a moment and grinned, imagining my plain-speaking gran’s face as the wooden bird flew noisily out of its door.

‘Must be a great joke.’

I looked up at the lofty frame, red jumper and eyes that laughed with me. Hastily, I put the clock back and removed my woollen bobble hat. He put his big rucksack and anorak into the overhead cabin and offered to lift my bag up there as well. Then he settled into the seat next to me and put on his seatbelt.

‘Sorry. I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Nik.’

He had an accent, it took me a moment to place it. Australian. He held out his hand and long fingers enveloped mine.

‘Jess,’ I said, unable to look away from those eyes, surprised by their startling blueness – and the tingly feeling spreading across my palm.

He glanced down at our hands and humorously raised an eyebrow. Blushing, I released him.

‘Sorry. Premature jet lag. I’ve been at a trade fair for two days and feel as if I could sleep through to next year’s.’

‘Me too. Nuremberg by any chance?’ he asked, and we chatted about how busy the fair had been.

‘So you manage a toy shop?’ he said, then really listened as I replied. His eyebrows moved up and down as we chatted. He was interested, paid attention.

Not everyone did that. It made me feel seen.

The plane vibrated as the engines started and Nik ran a hand through thick hair that was streaked with white. It was unusual for someone in their, what, early thirties, and contrasted with his tanned, smooth skin. He looked distinguished. At twenty-nine I’d not had my first grey hair yet.

‘What about you?’ I asked.

‘My family owns a toy manufacturing business in Sydney and I’ve been keeping track of the competition.’

The plane turned onto the runway – normally my cue to lean against the window and try hard to relax.

‘Do you like flying? You must be used to it, coming all the way from Australia.’

‘Love it. Night-time is best, with winds dying down along with thermal turbulence so that you just glide through the air, with stars coming out, realising Earth is just another spherical mass… it kind of gives you perspective, right?’

‘True. It’s so easy to believe that the world revolves around us – until we leave it and realise we are nothing but a tiny cog in a huge machine.’

‘Not that cogs aren’t important. Cogs have needs. Cogs have feelings – even teeny tiny ones.’ He caught my eye and we laughed. He stared at my hands again, which were clenched together. ‘Statistically, this is the safest form of travel,’ he said in a soft tone.

‘It’s still fairly new to me. I only started flying abroad a couple of years ago, with my flatmate Oliver. I never had foreign holidays when I was little.’

‘If it’s any consolation, I threw up the first time I flew. I was seven. It was Easter and I’d secretly scoffed a huge chocolate egg before boarding. The turbulence didn’t agree with my digestive system.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Nor did its contents with the passenger in front. The poor woman was wearing white shoes. The whole cabin stank afterwards.’

Laughing loudly, I became aware we were up in the sky. Nik leant in as the air steward trundled towards us with a jingling drinks trolley. The aroma of coffee energised me and we each accepted a cup, both taking no milk and just one sugar. The two of us sipped and gave a contented sigh before chatting about Nuremberg. My shoulders relaxed as the conversation flowed. There weren’t any awkward silences and we had plenty of laughs. I’d heard people talk about it before – meeting someone you felt as if you’d known for years. That instant connection, like… I glanced down at my lap… like two halves of a seatbelt clicking together. I thought I’d had it once before.

Not wanting to think about that now, I bought a large bar of chocolate from the duty-free list, wishing I’d had time to grab breakfast. I shared some of it with Nik before we lapsed into comfortable work talk again about how his family’s company favoured making traditional products.

‘I loved that wooden clock you were holding, when I boarded,’ he said.

‘It’s for my gran. She used to collect wooden ornaments and would always look for unusual decorative ones for our Christmas tree when I was younger. She’s a huge fan of the festive season. Gran’s a keen reader and would read all of the new children’s festive releases with me. We spent many a cosy December Saturday in the library.’

‘Do you see much of her now?’

‘Yes, but we no longer live together. She moved into an assisted living facility four years ago. She still enjoys Christmas to the full, though. Every December they hold a huge Christmas Eve party. The residents start preparing for it as early as January, buying in cheap craft materials during the sales and, as the months pass, testing out new festive recipes in the communal kitchen for the buffet they put on. They also research different themes. Then in early November a meeting is held to vote for the best one.’

‘Why leave it that late to decide?’ he asked.

‘So that it ramps up the excitement in the weeks before the big day… Last year’s theme was a masquerade ball. The year before a Downton Abbey one.’

‘It sounds ace. Christmas really is the best time of year. My family and I are often too busy to go to parties, going into overdrive completing the production of extra orders of toys that no one predicted would be quite so popular. Not that I mind. It’s worth it if I’m out and spot a kid playing with one of our products.’

Before I could answer the pilot announced we were about to land. How had that happened? Nik had turned hours into minutes. We tightened our seatbelts and I stashed the remainder of the chocolate into my handbag. I gripped the arm rests. Nik pulled a funny face and I couldn’t help grinning. Eventually my rapid breathing slowed as he went on to tell a really bad joke, me shaking my head when he delivered the punchline. Relief surged through me as I realised the plane had touched down. When we came to a standstill, a whistling Nik passed down my hand luggage from the overhead cabin, slipped on his anorak and grabbed his rucksack. The air stewards beamed as he thanked them for a great journey. We disembarked and walked into the large, impersonal terminal, hit by the hustle bustle and flight announcements over the intercom. My stomach rumbled as I followed Nik who navigated the crowd easily as he stood a good head above anyone else.

‘Are you going to another fair?’ I asked, once we’d collected our pull-along cases, needing to leave but not quite wanting to say goodbye. Nik was good company.

‘Sure. Tomorrow – one in London just for manufacturers. Then I’m… taking a break for a few weeks. A friend of the family has gone away on business for two months and said I could have his flat for as long as I wanted, in a place called Islington.’

‘Nice. But a break? At this time of year?’

‘Mitigating circumstances,’ he said. ‘And I can’t think of a better country to spend time in. You’ve reminded me of how much I like England. I’ve really enjoyed meeting you, Jess.’

My stomach did a little flip as he said my name. It caught me by surprise. ‘It’s been great meeting you too.’ I looked at my watch. ‘It’s only ten o’clock. What have you got planned for the rest of the day?’

‘Nothing much. It feels like a waste, to be honest. Guess I’ll just head to the flat and stock up on food. If I was sensible, I’d get some sleep.’

‘Do you fancy having something to eat together first? My stomach is calling out, literally, for eggs and toast.’

He smiled. ‘There’s me thinking that noise was the weather gods welcoming me into London with a roll of thunder.’

We managed to find ourselves a seat in one of the airport’s crowded restaurants. Despite the early hour, a group of young men sat at a nearby table downing beer and flicking drinks mats, their raucous chat revealing they were heading to Amsterdam for a stag party. Nik and I both ordered a full English breakfast and sat nursing mugs of tea.

‘So, you’ve been to England before?’ I asked and took a sip.

‘Yes. It’s only the last few years or so that I’ve been going to the trade fairs on my own. I joined the company straight from university and Mum and Dad have been teaching me the ropes ever since, taking me on work trips abroad.’ He ran a finger around the mug’s rim. ‘They brought me here as a teenager though, on holiday to see the sights. Mum and Dad went backpacking during university holidays and always said there was nothing quite like travel for broadening the mind. They liked discovering unusual places. We travelled the length of the country, from Newcastle to Bournemouth.’

‘Wow. Any favourite places?’

‘Stonehenge was amazing – so atmospheric. And we rented a cottage in the Cotswolds for a few days, in a quiet little village. It looked like a picture off a chocolate box and ducks visited the back garden – Mum fell in love with it. Manchester was pretty cool with trendy independent coffee shops and warehouse stores. We had to visit the Cavern Club in Liverpool as Dad had always been a massive fan of The Beatles and we also took a wonderful steam engine trip through Norfolk. We only spent one day in the capital so I don’t really know London.’

‘It sounds as if you’ve seen more of my home country than I have. So what got your parents interested in toy manufacturing?’

‘Mum was studying a degree in arts and Dad a design degree with modules in consumer engineering. He was left some money from his grandparents – enough to start the business. Also both of their families are big and even in their twenties, between them, Mum and Dad had lots of nephews and nieces and loved entertaining them, and Grams and Grandpa – Mum’s parents – would often talk about how Mum was always making her own toys as a child out of food packaging and scraps of materials or plastic.’ He smiled. ‘She encouraged me as a boy. I used to love crafting with the week’s leftover cereal boxes and plastic butter tubs. I guess that passed the passion onto me.’

‘My gran used to be more of a chef and we’d make a new recipe up from leftovers each week,’ I said. ‘A friend of hers owned an allotment and we’d bake all sorts of crumbles and concoct different pasta sauces with vegetables. Our pumpkin spaghetti became a favourite.’ The waitress delivered our breakfast and I looked down at the plate. It had a small pot of baked beans, fried eggs, bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms, plus slices of buttered toast and a hash brown. ‘Gran would love this. When I was younger, she’d do me a fry-up as a treat every Friday, before school. There’s nothing like waking up to the smell of bacon.’

‘So how did you get into the business?’ he said, offering me the salt before shaking it across his eggs.

‘Angela, the boss of the toy shop where I work – Under the Tree – went to school with my mum, therefore she knew Gran and heard how I wasn’t sure what to do after my A levels. She said there were worse careers than working in retail, and that she couldn’t pay me much to begin with, but would I be interested in a job in a new toy shop she was setting up.’ I shrugged. ‘Angela gave me a future, a purpose, and I was grateful, working hard to prove her trust wasn’t misplaced.’ A comfortable silence fell for a few moments. I popped the last bit of toast into my mouth. ‘What do you eat for breakfast in Australia?’

‘Similar to this if I’ve got time. Or I grab a bowl of cereal.’ He closed his eyes and made a satisfied noise before opening them again. ‘I hadn’t realised how hungry I was. Thanks for suggesting this, Jess. I feel like a new man. Well… almost. My legs are still aching from being squashed behind that seat in front.’

‘Not a problem I have, at five foot three.’ I cut through an egg, sunshiny yolk spilling across the plate. ‘Although next to Gran I’m practically a giant. She must be only four foot something now.’

‘Grams shrank too during her final years.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear she isn’t with you anymore.’

‘It was a huge shock when she passed – even though it had been foreseen for a while.’ He stopped eating for a moment and his voice became quieter. ‘Grams didn’t always know who I was, at the end, but sometimes she’d wink or pull a comical face and we’d laugh.’ His mouth quirked up. ‘But then she’d always been a joker. Grandpa was the serious one and saw it as his duty to teach me the things he’d grown up doing, such as fishing and tying knots. Whereas Grams and me would dance in her kitchen, hand in hand, singing to her favourite folk music. He always did say he wouldn’t last long if she went first.’ Nik dug his fork into a mushroom and a sheepish look crossed his face. ‘Jeez, sorry, I’m getting way too serious this early in the morning.’

Don’t apologise. Your openness is refreshing.

‘You get on well with your grandparents?’ he continued.

‘My granddad died before I was born. He got hit by a stolen car. But yes, Gran practically brought me up. I don’t know how I would have managed without her.’

Nik nodded. ‘I used to love listening to stories from when my grandparents were younger and whatever problem I faced, they had some experience to draw on that they’d share with me and it would help.’ He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. I pointed to the corner and a splodge of yolk. He grinned and wiped it again before pushing his plate away and giving a contented sigh. ‘I don’t feel like moving now.’

I groaned and looked at my watch. ‘I hear you but I’ve got to drop into work. It’s almost twelve and I promised to help out this afternoon. I’d better get going.’

‘Is it in the centre of London?’

‘God no – I couldn’t face the daily commute. I live in a town called Amblemarsh and Under the Tree is in a neighbouring village called Springhaye which is also where Gran’s care home is.’

‘It sounds quintessentially English, I’m picturing meadows and wildflowers.’

‘It boasts a river with canal boats. The village is quite quaint. There’s a brilliant pub next to Gran’s place and the shops are very unique. There’s a bookshop that also sells art, and a shop that sells nothing but handcrafted umbrellas.’

‘No!’

I grinned. ‘A needlework shop sells everything you could imagine connected to embroidery, it’s next to The Corner Dessert Shop that serves the best ever puddings. Next to Under the Tree is a camera shop called Smile Please. The owner, Mr Wilson, begrudgingly sells the mod cons to do with digital photography but his heart is in the old school trends and he stocks quite a collection of film cameras – some you could practically class as antique. It’s a family business, like yours, and has been handed down over two generations and still offers film processing.’

Nik sat up. ‘There’s only one vintage camera and film processing shop I know of in the whole of Sydney.’ He reached into his rucksack and lifted out a clunky old-fashioned film camera. ‘I’m a huge fan myself and have even got my own dark room at home – yes, hands up, I’m a bit of a photography nerd,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing quite like the excitement of developing your own negatives.’

‘Then you’d love Mr Wilson’s collection – almost as much as he’d love showing you around. Since the proliferation of phones with cameras their shop is often empty and certainly the only young customers he has are photography students.’ I paused. ‘You’re most welcome to tag along, as I head into work. Springhaye is about forty minutes on the train from here and it would take you just half an hour from there to get back into London later. It stops at King’s Cross which isn’t far from Islington. You could pop into Under the Tree afterwards. I’m sure my colleague, Seb, could cover whilst I have a quick coffee with you in the staff room before you leave. Although I imagine you must be tired, so please feel welcome to pop in any other day, if you prefer.’

‘I’d love to come with you, if you’re sure you don’t mind! That breakfast has re-energised me and I’ve nothing else planned.’ His face broke into a smile. ‘Thanks, Jess.’

If you enjoyed reading this, why not head over here and treat yourself to the rest for just 99p?!

Aren’t these books gorgeous?!

As a graduate of Modern Languages it is fantastic to see my work translated.

The sequel, My Big Fat Christmas Wedding will be published there in October!

The evening kicked off with photos being taken of the nominees. Then there was a mix and mingle session before we all took our seats and nervously waited for names to be read out.

I didn’t win but it was such an honour to be shortlisted in the romantic Comedy category, for my book One Summer in Rome – something I would  have fantasised about during my years as an aspiring writer!

I attended the event with my amazing agent, Clare Wallace from the Darley Anderson Agency, and greatly admired her gorgeous leopard print outfit!

My outfit was down to the choice of two. The other – a floral jacket with black trousers – kept suffering a massive wardrobe malfunction at the front, so I went for the safer option… a lace dress with sensible shoes, having suffered badly in the past from walking to and from events in the highest of heels. Yes, I have reached an age where comfort outweighs vanity!

There was much laughter, many canapes and it was a brilliant opportunity to catch up with writing friends I haven’t seen for a long time. A fantastic evening to celebrate such a diverse and popular genre and all supported by some very generous sponsors.

As readers of my blog will know, I’ve faced a challenging couple of years health-wise, and just attending this ceremony, in itself, was incredible – I guess dreams really can come true.

In August 2016 I found myself sitting in an addiction clinic. This will probably be a shock to those who know me. It shocked me too. My drinking had grown from the weekend, to stretch across Thursday and Sunday. Then it was every night, any excuse. It softened a bad review and added sparkle to literary celebrations. But truth be told, the problem had been growing for years, way before I became an author. I suffered from anorexia and bulimia at university and recently my eating issues have returned. The rooms of AA are filled with people who’ve had – or have – eating disorders. The mental issues behind the behaviours are very similar.

Fear and denial kept me away from the doctor. I hadn’t lost my job yet, my family, not all my friends, my house, I wasn’t drinking twenty-four seven, I didn’t end up sleeping on the streets or in prison or sectioned… My problem wasn’t yet obvious.

But certain areas of my life and the mental distress were becoming unmanageable. I couldn’t face life with alcohol. I couldn’t face life without it.

When I finally went to my GP, back in February 2016, it initially proved difficult to get the expert treatment I needed. Eventually a counsellor directed me to the alcohol services for my area and for three months I had outpatient treatment – group therapy – at an addiction clinic where I was treated by hard-talking former addicts. Then I moved to recovery services for a further three months, where I learnt about mindfulness and wellbeing. I gave talks to children in High School about my drinking and eating problems. I trained for another three months to become a peer mentor to young people in addiction.

During those nine months I shared my story and listened to new friends talk about their addiction in the context of work, domestic abuse, prison life and homelessness.

People chat to each other about trying to cut down on unhealthy foods or stopping smoking, but you’ll rarely hear a conversation where one person says they are seriously worried about their alcohol habits – because there is such a stigma attached to regularly drinking too much. And yet many people are and as long as this fear of being truthful about our intake exists, hospital beds will continue to fill with people suffering from alcohol-related illnesses.

Society needs to be talking openly about it.

A considerable part of recovery is making alcoholics aware of the hurt we might have caused others. We won’t get better until we realise that no one is to blame for our drinking but ourselves. We need to face up to the consequences of what we’ve done – and that difficult process is what originally inspired my new novel.

Forgive Me Not isn’t my story. It is made up of characters who go on their own journeys. However it is written completely from the heart. From personal experience I know that saying sorry isn’t always enough.

I’ll never forget going into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous for the first time. I envisaged there would be old men in dirty macs, sitting on their hands longing for a drink. How wrong I was. It was full of warm, welcoming, happy people of all ages and backgrounds who wanted to share their joy of sobriety. I did the Twelve Step recovery programme with my wonderful sponsor.

AA isn’t for everyone, but it isn’t scary. The thought of going is. And it shouldn’t be. Alcohol abuse is a growing problem, particularly amongst people of my age who buy a bottle of wine to unwind at the end of the day. Society needs to reach a position where people can talk about their drinking habits without the fear of being judged.

I’m still Sam the wife, mum and author, who likes cats and writing and cake. That person, in real life and online, hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s helped no end, the last couple of years, to use social media to talk about the positive aspects of my life, whilst dealing with my demons away from the keyboard. Posting my inspirational memes probably helps me as much as anyone else. It’s only now that I feel strong enough to share my experience. I’ve faced my problem head on and stopped drinking. I’ve made amends where possible and it’s taken a while, but I’ve finally forgiven myself.

I’ve accepted that this is me.

More than ever I love my amazing husband and children whose unquestioning support has been a big part of the reason that I’m now eighteen months sober. I’m full of gratitude for the help given to me by them, friends, AA and professionals.

If any of you reading this are struggling with drink, get help now before things worsen – which they will. Go to your doctor. Speak to a relative or friend. Go to AA – the only qualification needed to attend is that you want to stop drinking but can’t. They won’t take your name or ask for personal details or write anything down. No one will tell you you’re an alcoholic – you’ll decide for yourself by listening to everyone else’s stories and seeing if you can relate to the feelings.

You won’t stand out as different. Alcoholics are ordinary people.

If you are worried about your own intake reach out and tell someone before the wine o’clock everyone jokes about turns into a ticking time bomb.

You may be an alcoholic. You may not.

But if you are, I’m getting better one day at a time.

So can you.

My debut contemporary women’s fiction novel – Forgive Me Not – will be published 23rd July.

When Emma flees her home, Foxglove Farm, she has already let down everyone closest to her. Two years later, having lived on the streets and gone through rehab, she is back; back looking for forgiveness. But family secrets threaten everything. The truth has long been buried. And the only thing harder than saying sorry, is finding the willingness to forgive…

A second novel will follow February 2019.

I am so excited to share these stories, both of which are very close to my heart.

Michael Bhaskar, Publishing Director at Canelo said ‘Samantha’s books have long been on our radar at Canelo. She is quite simply a superb writer and in this novel, an extraordinary departure, she takes her writing to a new level. Impactful, unforgettable and deeply moving, Forgive Me Not will blow readers away. We can’t wait to work with her on this’.

Read the full press release here!

One…Your favourite barista knows exactly what you drink, you go in there so often. For me, it’s either a small, black Americano or a medium one with an extra shot of hot water. Or, occasionally a small hot chocolate. My local barista always seems to be able to read my mood and guess!

Two… You’ll make a detour to go to your favourite coffee shop. Often, when I need a couple of items from the supermarket, instead of walking to the nearest ten minutes away, I’ll march a whole half-an-hour into town just so that I can get my coffee shop fix!

Three… You rate places by the standard of their coffee. Museums, garden centres, airports, department stores… Their actual purpose as a building is secondary to your caffeine needs!

Four… You have a top table in your head of your favourite cafes for certain hot drinks. My current one – for hot chocolate? Marks & Spencer first, followed closely by Le Depart cafe in St Michel, Paris (I visited last week!), then Waitrose and finally Starbucks.

Five… You suffer the classic coffee-addict’s weekend migraine. Supping your Americanos or Lattes from seven am each day, when you are up and out to work, you body starts to suffer from withdrawal when you have a lie-in on a Saturday and deny it that first early caffeine hit.

Six… Even if you are staying in the coffee shop, you order your drink in a take-away cup because it stays hotter for longer and delays that sad moment when your caffeine is all gone.

Seven… You don’t one hundred per cent trust anyone who doesn’t drink coffee. Tea? That’s a bit namby pamby

And, just for me,  I think I ought to add on eight… You write a novel about your favourite drink! The New Beginnings Coffee Club is set in a lovely village cafe, run by a rather gorgeous, enigmatic barista called Noah.

It’s a must-read for caffeine fans!

Firstly – be true to yourself. Don’t try to mimic other writers because you will never be a better version of them – just as no one can be a better version of yourself. Love Lucy Diamond? Great – read her books and try to analyse how she pulls readers into her stories and makes her lead characters so likeable. But don’t aim to reproduce her style. You have your own voice which – in my experience – will eventually emerge. It may be a long journey to find it, driven by writing manuscript after manuscript, but when you finally have that lightbulb moment and feel the words in your head are translating to the page exactly as they should, it’s a precious thing that – ultimately – will make you stand out as different, on the slushpile.

Secondly – learn to appreciate constructive criticism. This one can be hard! If you are an aspiring writer and someone more experienced has given you negative feedback, try to step away from your personal hurt and clinically look at the comments. And the same applies to a published author who has just received a bad review. If it is personal and insulting then it doesn’t deserve your attention – but if it’s polite and makes potentially fair comments, then consider analysing the negatives and maybe take them on board. I’ve found some unfavourable reviews quite useful in the past as they have given me an insight into where I  might be going wrong, in terms of creating relatable characters and plots that keep readers wanting to read on, right to the end. And if the negative feedback is from your editor, during revisions, just remember – she/he believes in you and is simply investing their time in trying to make your book even better than they already believe it is.

Thirdly – Read, read and read more. I failed dismally at this is 2016. But some of the books I did find time to enjoy really helped me to be more adventurous with my own writing. It is easy to get stuck in a rut with your own style if you don’t get a taste of how other authors are pushing boundaries and hitting the pleasure-spot for readers. I try not to let my writing style stagnate.

Fourthly – don’t forget why you started writing. Presumably – like me – it was due to a love of words and crafting sentences together. If it was for fame and fortune (*hollow laugh*!) you won’t survive the path it takes to get published. But if writing is a dream that comes from the heart, then when you get rejected or published and have to deal with deadlines, promotional work, bad reviews etc, just remind yourself that you are doing what you love and leaving behind a legacy of your creativity.

Finally, aspiring authors – don’t do what I did in the early days, and make the resolution “to get published this year”. It doesn’t quite work like that! Instead resolve to achieve something more attainable like “this  year I will submit my work to twenty agents” or  “this year I will see if I can get one full manuscript request”. Don’t set yourself too high expectations as you will feel you’ve failed, even if, in the bigger picture, you haven’t. Savour small victories, like a positive rejection letter. The road to publication takes many small steps, not one giant leap.

Best of luck and above all else, don’t forget to be kind to yourself. It’s a crazy business, this publishing malarkey, and dealing with it can be a challenge for us sensitive writing souls.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? We learn nothing from remaining static. So even if the lessons are hard, I’m all for mixing it up and facing change. If we don’t continue to gain knowledge, then what’s the point? So I’m looking forward to facing what life throws at me in 2017.

Reading and writing have, of course, featured heavily in my life this year. There are my own books, including my summer Cornish romance which got to #8 in the UK Kindle chart. That was thrilling and huge thanks to all you readers. Your support and kind words mean so much.

I am super excited about my upcoming projects as well, and April 2017 sees the publication of my next novel which is all about being true to yourself – and coffee! You can imagine what fun I had, researching that subject (well, it would be rude not to have something sweet with each cup – even if it is as small as this macaroon)!

I’ve taken up a course in Mindfulness which means reading books about visualisation and breathing. It was very difficult at first, learning to mediate, with lots of intrusive thoughts, ranging from problems to lists for shopping! But the more I practise, the easier it gets. I’d highly recommend it to anyone who feels like they sometimes need “time out” from their busy twenty-first century life.

I also started a health-kick three months ago and whilst it was difficult for the first few weeks, now I feel fantastic. It’s all about San Pellegrino mineral water, stir fries and blueberries… not that I have given up my daily chocolate fix. I have to be realistic  I’ve also rediscovered my love of baking which has meant researching and reading recipes online. Below is, ahem, a “healthy” banana cake!

Finally, 2016 has been a year for discovering new authors. Below is a great debut read from Helen Cox – the style is what I’d call gritty chicklit. It’s a fabulous story for fans of American diner food and Grease.

Right. That’s me done for the year. Now I’m off to wrap presents. I hope 2016 has been good to you all – and if not, that you feel the negatives have nevertheless taught you something positive. Here’s to a great 2017 for everyone. Have a fantastic Christmas. I’ll raise a glass of fizzy mineral water to you all