Before we begin, part 2: some announcements.

• The paperback of A BOOKSHOP SUMMER is now out in the US! Here’s the Behemoth Retailer link, and it’s also in stock at Barnes and Noble, where it’s listed, charmingly, under ‘Clean and Wholesome Romance’. This makes me smile because I tell you, off the page Johnny has got some serious moves, and aunt Maria swore like a sailor.** America, you know what to do***, and thank you. Thank you too, and very sincerely, for the almost 1,000 reviews for the e-book so far.

• And if you’re in the UK, please come and see me interviewing Caroline Quentin on 14 September. (Yes! That Caroline Quentin!) You can buy tickets here and if you’re not nearby, you can pre-order the book - about the joy and nurture of interacting with nature - here.

• If you’re in the UK and thinking about buying yourself or a loved one some Lost For Words Bookshop merch, UK postage is free this weekend. (And if you would like a Lost for Words Bookshop badge, just reply to this email with your address and I’ll put one in the post to you.

• Writing services are pretty much booked up until February 2027. I do have space to look at one manuscript (assessment or developmental edit) in October, and to take on one mentee. I also have a waiting list, as things inevitably move around. Take a look here and then drop me an email for a no-strings discussion.

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Right! Now we have done the ‘before we begin’ bits**** let us get on to other news. First and foremost, I have reached The End of the new book.

I had finished a full first draft in mid-May, before Alan became unwell, and returning to it after he died has been, not exactly comforting, but absorbing. And something to absorb my thoughts has been most welcome. So has sitting at my desk: the studio, where I write, has always been my space, so it is a straightforward place to be. Being in the house is more complicated. It’s warm with memories and the love with which we built our home; it also contains a thousand little ambushes. If you have grieved*****, you know.

I sent the rewritten manuscript to my editor yesterday. At this point I have zero judgement as to whether a book is any good or not: I’m too close, I’ve focussed too hard, and inevitably I will have given way too much attention to some bits and entirely underdone others. This is okay. This is part of the process. I am 100% cool and fine with this and absolutely not on the brink of calling my agent to try to get my entire career vanished.******

While we wait to see what my editor has to say, shall we amuse ourselves with a bit of vintage Past Me, and some of my dictation software’s best mishearings?

Very well.

Past me, take a bow. (Sigh.)

And if you forgive Past Me that, allow me to present exhibit B:

She understands that here, in something something, with something something, is her mother’s something.

I can’t even. (Clearly.)

As you know if you’ve been here for a while, I wrote a lot of the first draft of this novel longhand and then dictated it. You may also remember that the dictation software had a few issues with Loveday (variations including Love A, Love They, and Lovely). I found these too, in the rewrite:

• ‘high disease’ instead of ‘Heidi says’

• ‘contra Tom’ instead of ‘contretemps’*******

• ‘centre of the tension’ instead of ‘centre of attention’, which I don’t hate.

• ‘rest fight’ instead of ‘respite’, which is absolute poetry, no?!

This week’s permission:

You have permission to trudge onward, when trudging is the best you have in you.

Knitting!

As is about to become clear, this year I joined a self-striping yarn club (this one). The yarn is beeyooteefull - soft and smooth with perfect colour saturation - and I have made socks:

And a hat, which comes in two stages:

The sock pattern is out of my head. The hat is viral knitting hit******** Musselburgh by Ysolda Teague, and it’s such a pleasure to knit: easy, a bit magic, and zero-waste, which is a big benefit for someone who has so many teeny balls of leftover yarn that primary school teachers run away when they see me coming.

I’m also working on a sweater, but that’s coming on exceedingly slowly, largely because I am on the sleeves now and every time I think about knitting it I get a bit defeated by the fact that arms are, in knitting terms, seven miles long.

When my beloved Mr Butland died (I wrote about it here), a lot of people did kind and lovely things, and a lot of people asked, with great sincerity, what they could do to help me. And with a few exceptions (let’s go for a walk, could you please help me put his coats out of sight, I could use a hand with the garden), I didn’t know.

Now I know what you can do for your grieving friend. Put their name on a random date in your diary, five weeks or nine weeks or twelve weeks from now, and when you come to that entry, check in. Text them to say you are thinking of them. Suggest a cup of tea together. Ask if they want help with anything (there are some jobs, like taking things to a charity shop, that would be impossible to even think about in week zero but important four months on).

Or, contact them today and suggest an outing/event a few weeks from now. On Saturday I’m going out for afternoon tea with friends who booked it in with me on the day of Alan’s Celebration of Life, six weeks ago. I’ve got plans in September, in October, in December.

I am so very grateful for the forethought and consideration of everyone who is checking in and saying hello and putting things in my diary. It means such a lot. Though I am busy and buoyed by all of the love and life that BMB and I shared, I cannot begin to convey the depth and breadth of what it is to be without him.

I had a lovely time in London a few weeks ago. I went to this exhibition, and here is my favourite sun.

Until next time, my friends, be well.

With love and gratitude,

Stephanie x

*Harris says, you’re welcome, and he will take a gratuity in cheese

**or me. I can be very sweary.

***almost everyone who contacts me from the US adds a PS/comment along the lines of ‘I did not vote for That Man’

****That second one’s bigger than I thought, tbh

*****I should say ‘if you are grieving’, shouldn’t I? Because I don’t think it stops.

******Obviously, I am not.

*******ngl, quite tempted to write a character called Contra Tom into my next novel

********Yes, non-knitters, this is a thing

I knew what I understood an archetype to be: a universal figure, pattern, or motif, something recognisable to all. My writer’s brain is lousy with them, from character types (the hero, the ingenue, the stranger) to plots (rags to riches, the quest). If you’re not sure what I mean by and archetype, then think of a fairy-tale, because a fairy-tale is archetypes in action. Traditional fairy-tales and folk-tales - places where we learn about the rules of the world - don’t strive for subtlety. They give us archetypes rather individuals: wicked stepmothers, brave princes, beautiful virgins*. And the stories are archetypical, too. You won’t find a twist you didn’t see coming in a fairy tale. You get what you expect and what you hope for, and this is why archetypes run deep in us, culturally and socially.

(I promise, we are getting to the river.)

Something I hadn’t thought about until the course I took, was how I could use archetypes to help me in my life. We worked with the Magician, who is the archetype to bring forward for creativity. (Mine is always close at hand.) Then there is the Lover, soft and open; the Warrior, armoured and ready for battle; the Sovereign, taking charge with wisdom and vision. We learned to deliberately bring forth these archetypes when we needed them. The Warrior for a tough negotiation or difficult conversation; the Lover when vulnerability is something that is necessary, even if not comfortable; the Sovereign for stepping into power, the Magician for calling forth imagination.

Of course, at the time I learned about and started using these archetypes, I was not planning for a life without Beloved Mr Butland. As anyone who has dealt with sudden illness, and been thrust into the world of hospitals and navigating complexity in a situation you didn’t know you were going to be in will know, it is A Lot. And having these archetypes to hand really, really helped.

The Warrior was useful when I had to overcome my desire to Not Cause A Fuss and get help for Alan. When it became clear that Alan’s health was permanently compromised, I invited my Magician to help me to figure out how I could bring him home, and within days had converted the dining room into a place where Alan could comfortably be without needing to go upstairs.** I called for the Sovereign when I needed to advocate for Alan and make sure he was treated well.*** And the Lover worked overtime. Not only in the night and day and night again I sat with Alan, knowing he was dying, telling him everything I had loved and would always treasure, but in the phone calls I had to make during and afterwards, when to be businesslike would be easy but to be open is right. In the moments after he died I sat next to him, and thought, what does my Lover want, and I got into bed with him and held him, and it was as close to a perfect way to say goodbye as we could have got.

(We are nearly at the river.)

In the weeks since, my archetypes have continued to help in this new, unwanted life. The Warrior has no time for nonsense when it comes to dealing with admin. The Magician has sometimes had to be coaxed to the fore, but she has shown up, and allowed me to write and think and escape into elsewhere. The Sovereign knows that it’s part of the job to do hard things, and make tough calls, and she does it. The Lover says, things cannot be buried. You can feel your feelings. I promise that you are safe.

Last time I wrote a newsletter, I told you that I was thinking of myself as a leaf on a river. That stuck in my mind**** and I’ve been mulling it since. Partly because I knew it wasn’t quite right. And this week, on the train back from London, watching countryside and towns and all those lives being lived roll past the window, I thought: what if you have another archetype? What if you need to step into your River?

A river begins where it begins, and it cannot go back, however it might want to. A river flows; it is never the same twice. A river might become sluggish, it might speed on, it might be furious and destructive. A river does not move in a straight line. A river is part of the life around it, but essentially itself. A river is in transit. There are things that sink in it, and things that float.

And one day, a river reaches the sea, and though it does not disappear, it is absorbed into something bigger. It is part of the greater world again.

So for now, my friends, I am a river. (Not always, but it is the archetype I am reaching for most often to help me make sense of my days and nights.) Moving through the days whether I want to or not. Finding things bumpy and rocky. Plunging over cliffs. Sparkling onwards. Letting things sink to the bottom, and leaving them behind. Not for a moment thinking that this day, this feeling, this version of the world is fixed.

I’m not sure whether this reads like sense or madness, but it’s where I am. And if you’re in grief, you might recognise the river that is in you.

(I have discovered that I prefer to think of myself as containing a river, than being in one.)

Until next time,

Stephanie x

PS Kind people are reaching out to ask what support I need. Honestly, I don’t know, but asking the question helps in itself. Thank you. And boringly, I still have bills to pay, so if you know someone who might want to work with me, or buy some fabulous Lost For Words merch, or read one of my books, please pass this on. Also, if you like what I am doing with this newsletter, which is free and will remain so, you can always buy me a Ko-Fi.*****

*virginity often implied, but we can read between the patriarchal lines, can we not?!

**something I discovered and am still discovering is how kind people can be. A local furniture shop exchanged my big old Ikea table for something small and foldable, doing the dismantling-and-taking-away that I was dreading. Family built the daybed. Friends listened to me explaining my plan with the detail and ferocious passion of someone who has just discovered Star Wars, or football, or knitting.

***he was; medical staff throughout were amazing. But there are things that only a beloved will know, and they need to communicate them in a way that means they are heard.

****with this newsletter, as with novels, quite often I write to find out.

*****cup of tea

Everyone made a lot of effort, and so did I, and there were lovely moments:

• Sitting outside in the quiet of the morning, drinking tea and starting a new book. (Which I’m loving, but it’s Ann Patchett, so of course. That woman could write a novel about a slug deciding not to go anywhere this afternoon and I’d gobble it up.*)

• Putting on a Nice Dress and blowing out candles on my rhubarb and custard cake, made by my daughter, who put a lot of time and thought into making this birthday as good as it could be.

  

• Accidentally making myself a coffee that looks like a duck tootling its way across a fragrant summer pond, en route to a fun afternoon with their best duck pal.

  

• Remembering that, in the days after Alan died, I found a gift that he had bought me. (We saw it at a craft fair at Easter, and he asked if I would like it for my birthday. I said yes and wandered off to look at jam until the deed was done.) When I came across it in his bedside drawer I decided to keep it until my birthday as I might be able to look at it by then.

  

I could, and it’s beautiful. It’s a silk square, dyed with plants, and I love it. (It’s from here.)

• Watching the football** and having a friend point out to me that I had referred to half time as ‘the interval’ and that this was, very much, What Alan Would Have Wanted. Which is 100% true.

And so, the day passed, also including a foot spa and writing a letter to myself to open on my next birthday. (Thank you, Loraine and Sophie, and I have written you both into the new book now.) And I was glad to get it over with, and it was also better and worse than I thought it would be, because BLOODY GRIEF.***

And now, let us admire the Very Tall Thing I have grown.

A couple of years ago I planted**** some wildflower seeds along the sides of my path. (Please look forward to my forthcoming TED talk on Why They Aren’t Wildflowers If You Put Them In A Packet For People To, Essentially, Cultivate.)

The seeds had a meeting and decided that rather than doing lots of namby-pamby ground level nonsense, they would combine to make one feature plant. Behold.

It must be seven feet tall. It’s getting to the point that Harris sometimes needs me to stand next to it when he passes it, in case it tries to eat him.*****

A little work update.. (What I do to support writers is here)

Because things move around, I have a slot for a manuscript assessment in August. Might it be for you? If your novel or memoir is complete, but somehow not quite there, or if you are getting a lot of form rejections or ‘don’t love it enough’ emails, it might be.

September, October and November are booking up quickly, and I won’t be taking on work for December or January. (Mentoring is the exception to this.) So if you think you might want us to work together, please let me know soon so we can book in what you need.

And - if we are already working together, or have talked about it, please please please feel you can get in touch. I am very much back at my desk, and very happy to hear from you. Work is my solace and joy. (Also, we need to keep Harris in the style to which he has become accustomed.)

Here is something else I have learned about grief. You cannot strategise your way through it, unless your strategy is (as I realise mine has come to be) ‘I will be as a leaf on a river’.

(I wrote that sort-of jokingly, but I think it’s true. I was going to say I’ll get a tattoo of it but, things being as they are, it’s probably wiser to pop it on a Post-it note. Don’t make any major decisions in the first year, etc.)

Anyway. Grief.

It’s six weeks since BMB died, and at various points I have decided to: join clubs (various), go out every day, never go out again, buy a motorbike, buy a camper van, learn to Lindy-hop******, walk ten miles a day, have a daily timetable with Improving Activities every morning and afternoon. I have thought about my darling Alan and this has made me laugh, made me howl, made me ache, made me smile, made me want to turn to him and tell him something utterly inconsequential that would only be meaningful to the two of us. I have felt as though time has stopped, that I have stopped as time hurtles past me, that I can be happy, that I will never be happy again.

All of these things are true in their moments. (I went to another gig last night, and it remains true that grief can dance.)

And what they add up to is: for now, life is immediate.

Life is to eat, and sleep, and keep breathing, and see what the day brings. To pull up weeds and mow the lawn.

To work, and feel how my brain and heart and imagination can still tell stories in the way they have done for half a century.

To walk Harris through the fields, or along the beach, or round the lake.

To do what brings me pleasure and to honour the things that are important to me.

To allow myself to flow through this unwanted space in my life, and know that what feels right today may not be right for tomorrow.

If you are grieving, please accept my love, and know that I am holding you in the light.

Until next time,

Stephanie x

(Next time will be v v thrilling, because I’m off to London Town for a few days, and will doubtless get v excited about eg cinnamon buns and museums and maybe a yarn shop, you never know.*******)

*the book, not the slug.

**I am a fair-weather football supporter, getting interested once every four years or so

***Also, the cost of loving, a natural process, etc etc sigh

****I think strew, or maybe chucked about, could be better descriptors

*****It’s getting to the point where I think it might eat me

******Might actually do this one

*******We all know.

Something I am trying to be mindful of right now is my somewhat limited capability in some** areas. On Wednesday, the driver behind at some traffic lights had to beep me because I hadn’t noticed the red turning green, and I scraped another car’s bumper in a car park a couple of weeks ago***. And so I decided against doing fifteen hours of driving over four days on hot and bothered roads, and booked trains. Which was quite expensive, but Safety First. The trains were air-conditioned (yay), but substantially delayed (boo), which meant could reclaim my fare (yay). This made me think of the Taoist parable of the farmer who lost his horse.

Anyway. I had a genuinely lovely time, punctuated by a couple of wobbles. Because this is the first time I’ve been away from home since BMB died, of course there came a time on the first evening**** when I wanted to call him. And of course I saw something in a shop that I would have bought for his birthday.

In Stamford, we discovered Ink and Ember, an absolutely gorgeous bookshop with community at its heart. The plan was to have a reading weekend - and we had all brought at least four books each, and two of us had a Kindle back-up - but by the time I left on Saturday afternoon we had been so busy chatting/drinking tea/mooching that we had yet to turn a page between us. Still, one of the many, many, many lovely things about books is that they wait for you.

I somehow failed to take any photos in Stamford, so here it is starring in the 1994 TV adaptation of ‘Middlemarch’. (aka the definitive and best adaptation of ‘Middlemarch’ and the foundation of my longstanding parasocial relationship with Rufus Sewell.*****)

Then it was off to stay with another friend. We saw Virginia Woolf’s Night and Day, which I really loved. It’s not a perfect film but I think it has a perfect heart, and WOW the acting, and I would very much like shoulder-of-mutton sleeves to come back into fashion now, please.

And then, on Sunday, we went to see my favourite band, Belle and Sebastian, in a woodland venue. Even before there was music, it felt glorious: blue sky, breeze, trees.

Of course, Belle and Sebastian were fabulous.

And there was a moment of - well, let’s call it magic. Obviously I was singing along to everything.****** But one song in particular (‘If you find yourself caught in love’) grabbed me with its energy and joy, and as I danced and belted out the words the loveliest thing happened. Just for those few moments, everything in me came back into alignment. And now I have typed that, it looks mad. Let me try to explain.

Ever since BMB died, I have been all out of whack. My body cannot seem to tell me when it’s tired or hungry. I cannot keep a grip on what day or time it is. My brain jumps from memory to thought to plan and then forgets all of them, or starts the same loop again. I have noticed that sometimes my speech stutters. I keep walking into things, because my (tenuous anyway) spatial awareness is all over the place.*******

But for the duration of that song, my voice was sure and strong. My body was 100% certain of where it was in space and time, and it knew exactly how it wanted to move, and that’s what it did. My mind was thinking only of the lyrics.

And as for my heart... For the last six weeks my poor, sad heart has ached and wept. Sometimes it has been as though I could feel it breaking, a jagged line across it. My heart has been so full of longing that there have been times it has felt too big to be contained in my body. At others, it has been so shrivelled with misery that it would have passed through my wedding ring with space to spare. But for the duration of that song, my heart was in my chest, comfortable, rhythmical, content.

For a mad moment I thought, maybe I have done the hardest bit of grieving now. Maybe now it gets easier. And of course, it isn’t that simple. But that song showed me some things that it’s not always easy to admit:

Happiness is possible. Grief can dance.

This week’s permission:

You have permission to have another ice cream.

Thank you for all of the birthday suggestions, which have been thoughtful and kind. I have bought a foot spa, and I will be writing myself a letter to open on my birthday next year, and in my new book there will be a Loraine and a Sophie, and we, my friends, know why. I have some gentle shenanigans planned for today and tomorrow. Because I will be 55, the most exciting of these is obviously choosing handles for my new kitchen. (The kitchen is another story. Maybe one for next week.)

Some quick reminders, before I go:

• Bookings are open for autumn mentoring and edits: September is full, but there’s some availability in October and one slot in November. Take a look here and then message me for a no-obligation chat.

• The Lost For Words Bookshop Shop******** is open for business. Thank you to everyone who has bought themselves (or their bookish loved one) something, and sent me a photo. These make me very happy!

• Something else that makes me very happy is to talk books. If you’s like me to meet with your book group via Zoom, just reply to this message and we’ll make a plan.

Until next week, my friends, be well, stay cool, and love your loved ones with all of your heart.

Stephanie x

*I think we are going to have to invent WAWHW, to sit alongside BMB

**probably all

***I left a note with my number, and the other driver said it was a tiny scratch and not on the paintwork and not to worry, and I am adding this to my evidence file for Most People Are Good And Kind

****and the one after, and the one after

*****I will not be taking questions on the brilliance of the adaptation. We can chat about Rufus Sewell whenever you like.

******Obviously, I had revised, as I always do for a gig

*******do you see what I did there?

********we need a better name, I think

We had a slideshow of photos of Alan at the celebration. Here he is, making magic.

Here he is, being wiggy.

Here he is, dancing with a cow.

He was unstinting in everything, including loving me, and I am starting to realise that I will never truly be without him.

Many of you have written, emailed, messaged with love and advice and support and I am so very grateful for the time you have taken and the thoughtfulness that has gone into what you have sent. If I haven’t replied, please know that it isn’t because I’m not grateful. I truly am, as I am for all of you who have prayed, and held us in the Light. I will not forget the kindness that has surrounded and upheld me in the almost-month (how?!) since Alan died.

Well, we all mocked/despaired at Harris for The Hole, but now it’s hot he is definitely having the last laugh, as the hole is his Cool Place.**

I’m re-opening my services-for-writers books for September, October and November. So if your writing is ready for a boost - whether that’s mentoring, manuscript assessment, developmental edit, or something that we build for you - now’s the time to let me know. Details of what I do are here.

I’m limiting how much work I take on for the rest of the year so slots are likely to go quickly, but I also have a waiting list as things do move around.

If you’re having a little wonder about whether this might be for you, but you’re not quite sure… I’m really happy to have a chat with you about your work, with no obligation on you to proceed.

This week’s permission:

You have permission to change your mind about going to that thing you said you would go to.

I feel as though these flowers turned into an Old Master. No filter.

Heather (the manager at Forum Books) said I was an excellent Guest Bookseller and I can have a job there anytime. She was definitely*** not just humouring me.

Thank you to everyone who came to say hello - it was lovely to chat, and I hope you enjoy your new books.

Forum now have signed copies of A BOOKSHOP SUMMER and many of my other books, and they will be very happy to post one to you. You can contact them here.****

So. Next week, I’ll be 55. Alan and I celebrated everything - birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries (which included when we met, when we had our first date, and our wedding) so, it’s gonna be weird. Usually I would ask you to propose a cake for me to bake and add your name to my next book as a thank-you, but this year someone is baking for me. I’ll have company for most of the day, and will be at home in the evening.

This year, in lieu of propose-a-birthday-cake, I’m hoping that you can suggest a lovely solo treat. I already have a new book***** to read, and I don’t have a bath, though I do like a good indulgent shower. What can my new birthday traditions be? If I take you up on your suggestion, I’ll name a character after you in my new book.

Until next time, friends, thank you for being here.

Much love,

Stephanie x

*aka Alan’s second home

** I did buy him a cooling mat once, but he could not be persuaded to do anything more than lie next to it.

***almost certainly

****If you want a dedicated copy of any of my books, just reply to this email and we will get sorted.

*****Okay, seven new books. Shall we say ‘it’s what Alan would have wanted’? Or shall we admit that Alan might gently wonder when I will read all of the other new and unread books?

Here are some of the things I have done for the first time:

• paid for a cremation

• cried because I bought one scone in a shop where I always used to buy two

• read the gas meter**

• said the words ‘I am a widow’ and ‘My husband died recently’ out loud***

• watched ‘Taskmaster’ on my own

• cried because I couldn’t bear to go in to our favourite ice-cream parlour****

• gone through a Big Life Thing in adulthood without Lou.

And here are some of the things that are sustaining me:

• all of the flowers. If you have sent some, thank you. My house***** smells of stocks and peonies and there is brightness everywhere and it makes the rooms full of life and colour when they could have been so bleak.

• the prayers and upholding and ‘sending you love’ and ‘thinking of you’ messages. They make the world a less lonely place.

• trying to notice small things that are beautiful, or interesting, and letting myself focus on them for a few minutes. Like this be-swanned coffee.

  

• going through photographs ahead of Alan’s Celebration of Life next week and being reminded of just how much joy he found in life, and love, and theatre, and ice cream, and cake.

  

• going through Alan’s diaries and notebooks and finding how often there is a photograph of me tucked between the pages.

• talking about Alan with people who knew him, and being grateful for everyone who valued him.

• taking people at their word when they offer to help, and not doing hard things on my own.

• walking Harris in the morning, leaving my phone at home, just thinking and looking and breathing deep.

• writing. I am revising my new novel and absorbing myself in the world of Lost For Words is such a satisfying escape.

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  For everyone who asked how Harris is doing: he is sticking pretty close to me, and he is resting up in case he is needed in an emergency.

This week’s permission slip:

you have permission to rest.

This Saturday, as part of the celebrations for Independent Bookshop Week, I am going to be Guest Bookselling****** at Forum Books in Corbridge between 2pm and 4pm. It would be so good to see you! I’ll have Lost For Words badges with me, free to anyone who wants one. (Other merch here.)

I think that’s it from me. I hope this makes sense. (I can’t tell.)

Love your people, my friends, and thank you again for being here.

Stephanie x

*except he is of course

**I know, I am an absolute disgrace to feminism

***Not to the same person, on two different phone calls. Though when asked what I do I have been known to say ‘I’m a novelist, I write novels’, as though to prove this cannot possibly be true

****the one I went to last week was our second-favourite

*****another first: all the times I am saying ‘my’ instead of ‘our’, which ought to make me feel grown up but in reality just hurts my heart

******They are calling it guest bookselling, I’m treating it like a job interview

This week’s permission:

You have permission to fall over for a bit whenever you need to. It’s okay. You can have a little rest and then get up again when you are ready.

My Granda Breeze* (Harry) died when I was 19. In the days afterwards we were getting organised to go somewhere, and my Dad said, ‘we’ll take two cars, there are five of us’. And my Grandma said, ‘Six, there’s Harry.’ I too have lost my ability to count, or to count myself as one. Even though Alan and I did a lot of things separately, when it came to important things we would go together. And everything now seems important, and so I am counting wrong.

I went to Quaker Meeting on Sunday morning. It was really hard. Hard to receive so much love and compassion. Hard to sit in silence**. Hard to be open to the Light. But I did it, and I’m glad I did. And when I came home, I did the general knowledge crossword that Alan and I always did on a Sunday, and one of the answers was Portsmouth, which is the place Alan grew up. I know this is a coincidence, but it was also a way of feeling held.

I have done some firsts this week. First big crossword. First Quaker meeting. First trip to Barter Books (thank you, Julie).

And first trip to the ice cream parlour without Alan. I had rhubarb and custard, Auntie Susan had salted caramel. My Dad arrived and Harvey and Lily, who suspected they were going to get a taste of his (hazelnut and Jersey***), were Very Good Dogs until they did.

Here’s something I hadn’t thought about, about grief. You make almost everyone you talk to sad.

And here’s something I’ve learned about grief. People want to help, and you (I) should let them.

Although my impulse has been to say, when asked, ‘I don’t think I need anything,’ I’ve made myself override that. I’ve asked people who know about gardens to help me to sort mine out (I hadn’t so much as looked at it from the time Alan went into hospital). I’ve given people recycling to take away or bags to put in their bins (I forgot to put my bin out in the days after Alan died). A friend is going to scan some photos for me ahead of Alan’s Celebration of Life. When I was feeling a bit wobbly after paying the funeral director this morning****, I called one of the friends who said ‘call me anytime’ and had a cry and let myself be comforted.

Because the world keeps turning, and because all of the emotional turmoil doesn’t stop the need to make a living, and because Alan was so very proud of my writing career, please forgive me for letting you know that, for all of June, THE SECOND CHANCE BOOK CLUB is 99p/99c on Kindle (UK here and US here). I’ve also just realised that the paperback of THE SECOND CHANCE BOOK CLUB is currently £3 on Amazon: I have no idea for how long.

And the Lost For Words shop is open for business, here. I saw my first piece of merch in the wild this week, and it was a genuine moment of joy.

I think that’s all I have in the tank for now. More anon*****.

Until next time,

Stephanie x

*Breeze was my Granda’s surname, this is not a mad nickname

**I also cried in silence, which was not deliberate. The tears just came and came, and I let them.

***two flavours, not one

****to be absolutely clear: it’s because I don’t want to make Alan’s death true, nothing to do with the actual fee

*****by which I mean, I have absolutely no idea when

*big exhale*

I’m sorry to have to tell you that Beloved Mr Butland died in the early hours of Monday morning, after a short illness.

He retained his essential Alan-ness to the last. And in the end, he slept away. These are things to be grateful for; I know this in my head, though my heart, for now, disagrees.

I have spent a lot of time over the last ten days talking about Alan in relation to illness, and what he and I would want for him*, and how his care should be decided and delivered. He was treated with respect and kindness by everyone we encountered, and I am grateful (in head and heart this time) for that.

So now the illness-dialogue is over, and the death-dialogue is beginning, I am escaping to Substack and to you to tell you about the unmedicalised, brightly alive BMB who has shone into half of my life.**

Alan’s lifelong passion was theatre. He was an enthusiastic amateur actor and director. He played Dame in pantomime and William Shakespeare on a float in the Lord Mayor’s show.*** He was involved in Shakespeare’s Globe from the time when it was a twinkle in Sam Wanamaker’s eye; he and I met when we were both involved with the Friends. I spent five years as a volunteer newsletter editor. Alan was on the Globe Council until he died.

When I think of Alan, I think less about what he did and more about what he was. Endlessly patient and kind. Always ready to help, support, and put himself out for the people that he loved. Easily delighted by jokes and ice cream and afternoon tea. I mean, find someone who looks at you the way Alan looked**** at an afternoon tea.

On the day we married, I was 32 and Alan was 59. In the taxi between the register office and the hotel where we were going to celebrate, he said, ‘I think I can promise you a silver wedding anniversary.’ And we nearly got there: we made it almost to our 23rd.

I’m sure that over the weeks and months to come, I’ll be writing more about grief, and love, and beloved Mr. Butland.

For now, allow me to give you a piece of advice. Or we could call it permission.

Do not stint on love.

Do not withhold it, or compromise with it, or plan to show it later.

Give your love. Lavish it on your people. Spend every bit of love that you have.

Because if you do that, then your love will outlive you. It will find its way into the cells and blood and bones of your dear ones, and it will sustain them, when you are gone. It will whisper to them, in your voice, that you will survive this. It will mean that being loved, and seen, and understood, for all of this time has made you into someone else. Someone who can wake up alone on these grief-logged mornings and think, how lucky we were.

This is not, technically, the best of our wedding photos. But it captures something. Happiness is in every line of us, and Alan has his hand on my shoulder.

I’m not sure what the next weeks hold for me, but I will be looking in. If you can, please hold us in the light.*****

S x

*the answer ‘none of this thank you very much’ did not seem to be an option

**I was 27 when we met, and I’m 54 now.

***there may well be some photographic evidence of this, but I’m not equal to photo albums quite yet.

****I typed ‘looks’ the first time. Of course I did.

*****This time there is a PS after all of the asterisky bits.

PS Alan spent much of the last 15 years pouring love and energy into the Tyne Theatre and Opera House. If you would like to donate to it in his name, here’s the link.

And I’ve been cajoled into setting up a Ko-fi account, though we all know it’s about the tea, really.

S x

• The Lost For Words Bookshop Shop is open for business, here! I’m very excited to see what you are buying. (Totes, tees and notebooks, mostly. You are my people, people.)

• I will be delighted to post you a Lost For Words Bookshop pin badge, for free. Just reply to this email with your name and address.

• I have a July slot for a manuscript assessment or developmental edit, and a space to take on a new mentee Right Now. Do these call to you? If so, take a look here and then get in touch for a no-strings chat about your writing and how I can support you.

• Readers of America! Both A BOOKSHOP SUMMER and FOUND IN A BOOKSHOP are currently 99c on Amazon! I am delighted by what I believe is called the ‘Bestseller Flash’….

  

  If you have bought, and read, and recommended - thank you, thank you, thank you.

As regular readers know, A BOOKSHOP SUMMER came out in paperback last week. I planned to write a dedicated newsletter about it, but Thursday whizzed past in a cheerful busy haze: I worked, I chatted with people on Instagram, BMB* and I went out for lunch and then had ice cream, I finished the first draft of my next book**, we drank fizzy wine out of delightfully camp glasses.

The only photo I took on publication day is of the ice cream. which, as I’m sure you can tell even though we don’t have ScreenTasteTechnology*** yet, was delicious.

And on Friday, I kept thinking, ‘I must write that newsletter’, but when I thought about it, nothing came to mind. I waited for a theme, or an idea, or something related to A BOOKSHOP SUMMER to occur to me, but nothing did. I even discussed it with Harris on our Friday morning walk, and though he was very helpful (he pointed out I have never written about the very specific noise a pigeon’s wings make when you startle it out of a stone barn, or the deliciousness of that patch of grass half way down the farm track) nothing seemed to cohere.

So today, I give you: the unthematic guide to things I think about when I think about A BOOKSHOP SUMMER.

I think about the time I spent learning about ancient woodland. Much of this is in the novel. But I return, so often, to my memories of that morning and how it felt to be in that beautiful place with someone who had known it for years, and could show me all of the things I would never have understood. ‘Magical’ is, I think, is an overused*** word, but I’m using it here. It was a magical day.

I think about how important reading for the sake of reading is. Much of the novel is about reading aloud, just for the pleasure of it: which is not only emotionally true but Scientifically Proven. And it was good to write about, to explore, that; but I never forget the delight I get, right in my solar plexus, when I pick up something and begin to read. (It doesn’t even need to be a book. I bet I’m not the only person here who will read the back of a bleach bottle if they are unlucky enough to find themselves in a loo with no reading matter to hand.)

I think about the poem - not mine - that is included towards the end of the book. I don’t want to Do A Spoiler, so I won’t say anything else, but if you’ve read it, you know how perfect, how moving, it is. Relatedly, I think of how unimaginably difficult the world is for so many, and how I hope that writing about it helps, somehow.

I think about grief, of course: the grief that is in the book, the grief that walked with me as I planned and wrote it. I think about (and this is a happy thing, on balance) waiting with Lou in A&E for a bed to be found, and as we waited she helped me to think of the names for the characters. She came up with Rhiannon and Guy, and when I read the words I can still hear her saying them.

I think about Loveday, and the bookshop that is as real to me (and many of you) now as any I have visited. I can see it. I can smell it. If it were real I would live in it.

This isn’t it - this is my local second-hand bookshop, the majestic Barter Books. The Lost For Words bookshop is smaller, and the ceiling isn’t high, and it doesn’t have an amazing cafe*****. But it has the same vibe, of safety and warmth. And at the same time, that delicious thrill, of knowing that when you pick up a book anything could happen, is in every single molecule of the air.

I think about how good, and hard, and brave, and complicated,****** it is to love someone else. And how essential.

This week’s permission:

You have permission to be OK with things when they feel a bit all over the place.

Until next time, my friends, be well, stay well. Thank you for loving my new book, and telling me so. And please tell me if you’re planning to visit Barter Books and we can meet up for a coffee.

Stephanie x

*In case you’re new here, Beloved Mr Butland

**just thought I’d slip that in there. Woohoo!

***have I just invented this?

****and a bit misused, I think. I mean, things that were actually magical would be a bit terrifying, no?

***** though you can always go next door for something tasty from its equally fictitious neighbouring cafe

******Oxford commas, always and forever

But we’re not talking about it today. It’s getting its own newsletter tomorrow. Actually, let’s say tomorrow-ish, just to be on the safe side…

And how is the new book going, you ask? Let this photograph of my desk tell the story.

If you’re thinking ‘hmmm, it looks as though Stephanie is very, very nearly at the end of the draft and has decided to abandon all semblance of order, tidiness or indeed cleanliness* until she gets there’ then you’d be right.

Please imagine me whispering this to you**: I think I’m going to be really pleased with this book, once it’s properly done.*** I’m expressing things I’ve only groped at before, and what’s on the page is closer to what’s in my head than I’ve ever managed in any other novel.

Something else about this novel: I have handwritten and then dictated parts of it. The dictation software is pretty good, except when it comes to Loveday, which baffles it in a new way every time.**** Here are some of the ways:

• Love day

• love Day

• Love-daze

• Love I

• Love they

• Lefty

• Lofty

And - my favourite, and definitely not Loveday’s -

• Lovely.

This has made me laugh a lot, and reminded me of writing THE CURIOUS HEART OF AILSA RAE. Regardless of how often I thought I had added the names to the dictionary, my heroine Ailsa was autocorrected to Aisle and my hero, Seb, became Sea, every time.

The Lost For Words Bookshop has merch and is open for business! You’ll find the store here. And when next we meet there’s a good chance I will be wearing this:

And carrying this:

I’ve also had some pin badges made. Cute, no?

These aren’t in the store. You can only get them from me, and I’d be very happy to send you one as a gift. Just drop me your name and address and I’ll put one in the post.***** If you’re buying a signed book from me, I’ll add one to the parcel.

There we were, thinking Harris was wantonly digging holes, when it turned out he was actually conducting an archaeological dig. I was humbled indeed when I took a peek in the Dig Zone and found he had unearthed an actual dinosaur.

We have therefore had a negotiation****** about the Dig Zone and agreed that, for the duration of No Mow May, I will be leaving that part of the garden alone in the interests of research, and then we will Revisit. (I don’t hold out much help for myself as a Revisitor.)

We are lucky enough to live near The Alnwick Garden, and one lovely evening in April we went to wander under the cherry blossom. It was busy busy busy, and to see so many people delighting in this brief season was joyful. We got fish and chips on the way home; it was very possibly a perfect evening.

Before I go and write the last couple of thousand words, how’s this for a sky?

And how’s this for what you would find if you looked up ‘relaxed’ in a visual dictionary?

Until tomorrow-ish,

Stephanie xx

*of my desk, not myself

**For reference, I have a nice whisper, a bit soft around the edges. More of a kindly-driving-instructor whisper than a newsreader whisper.

***Another draft from me, then one following notes from my editor, and it will be broadly there. Then a line edit from my editor, a copy edit, and several proof reads, and Bob’s your uncle, Fanny’s your aunt.

****I’ve even added it to the vocabulary, to no avail.

*****While stocks last, and if you live a very long way away I might ask you to pay for postage.

******Is it a negotiation if you are the only one who moves their position?!

(Both these and their predecessors are from here, but I bought them a while ago so I think they are out of stock. This is my go-to place for trainers. They seem expensive but they last almost forever.)

Also, I am lucky enough to have bluebells in my garden. (We will not ever be calling them Bloobs around here.**)

And another small happiness: sharpening new pencils.

I have been in a monogamous relationship with Blackwing for the last decade or so, but do you know what? I’m opening myself up to new pencil experiences.*** I may report back, or I may slink back to Blackwing and pretend this never happened.

Sharpening a pencil, though. Do you think that could be a job? It might be the only career that would tempt me away from writing. (My friend Sarah finds my affection for pencil shavings hilarious, but I am seriously considering this beauty for the next time I need a well-done-Stephanie**** gift.)

This week’s permission:

You have permission to revel in the tiniest of good things.

I realise it’s been a while since I told you what I’ve been reading, so here we go. (I only share things I’ve enjoyed.)

‘Floating Hotel’ by Grace Curtis just delighted me from start to finish. It’s warm, funny, and intriguing, and made me feel that the world - the universe, indeed - is a good, good place.

‘The Colony’ by Audrey Magee is intricate, insightful, and absorbing, and the characterisation is just so beautiful it broke my heart.

‘I Who Have Never Known Men’ by Jacqueline Harpman is a translation of a Belgian sci-fi novel from the 1990s, and it made me think of Ursula K le Guin.

‘The Impossible Thing’ by Belinda Bauer is a whodunnit featuring a LOT of eggs, and I loved Celie, the heroine, HARD.

‘Poor’ by Katriona O’Sullivan is a memoir about poverty, and social deprivation, and learning. It’s not an easy read, but I found it genuinely moving and important.

LOOK! WHAT! ARRIVED! (Are you impressed that I’ve waited this far into the newsletter to show you?)

These are my beautiful author copies of A BOOKSHOP SUMMER, publishing in the UK on the 7th of May. I love them so much. And I’m so proud of this novel, and with me, for squeezing the writing of it into days that were otherwise full of grief. I’m excited for you to meet Cherry, and Rhiannon, and Guy, and Damian; I hope you’ll be glad to see Loveday, Nathan, Trixie, Madison and Kit again.

If you’d like a signed and dedicated copy of A BOOKSHOP SUMMER, just reply to this email and we’ll get it sorted. (Also available from all of your usual places, and here.)

(I still haven’t found those bulb-style fairy lights anywhere. The hunt continues.)

Lost for Words merchandise is on the way too! Here’s a sneak preview of the logo… You are the first to see it. It’s going on clothing and other essentials (notebooks, water bottles).

And here’s the strapline, which will be on the back of t-shirts and (of course) book bags.

There will also be pin badges (I am delighted by pin badges).*****

Just a word of warning, though. If we meet in real life and you are wearing Lost For Words items, I genuinely don’t know what I will do. Crying, probably, and likely some incoherent babbling, and a lot of selfies in which I look as though as I am 100% overwhelmed, because I will be 100% overwhelmed.

Update for writers:

I have one slot for a manuscript assessment or developmental edit in June and one slot in July. If you’re interesting in mentoring, there’s a slot coming up to begin working together in May and another in June.

Take a look here, and then reply to this email and we’ll have a chat to see if we’re a good match.

A moment, please, for April skies:

Or maybe instead of looking at the sky, have a lovely nap.******

Until next time, my friends, take good care.

Love,

Stephanie x

*well, two.

** We will also not be saying Genny Lex or Panny D. Boobs, however, I consider to be an absolutely dandy word.

*** This applies to pencils only. BMB remains my one and only.

****Deciding I could buy my own jewellery was one of the best things I ever did for myself.

*****If you’d like one let me know and I’ll post one to you if you’re within the UK.

******This tip brought to you by Harris the greyhound.

If ‘Together in Electric Dreams’ doesn’t mean anything to you, maybe you didn’t come of age in the 1980s, a time of eyeliner matched to your watch strap** and cheerful and occasionally political*** synth pop. Lou and I were fans of a band called The Human League:

(They are still going strong. I saw them in concert about ten years ago and they were bloody brilliant.)

You will most likely know The Human League from one of their biggest hits, ‘Don’t You Want Me Baby’. Their frontman. Philip Oakey, also featured on a song called ‘Together in Electric Dreams’, which includes the lyric ‘We’ll always be together/however far it seems/We’ll always be together/together in electric dreams’.**** When Lou gave me the t-shirt, and we knew her death was likely days away, she said, ‘I want you to always be able to think of us in a cosmic disco somewhere’.

Why am I telling you this today? Well, because yesterday I was bimbling about in our local town, whose shopping arcade has a sound system that plays 80s pop and soft rock the entire time. (No, I don’t know why either.) Anyway, just as I came out of a shop, I heard the opening chords of ‘Together in Electric Dreams’ and it froze me to the spot. Not sadness, exactly, just the great whumph that hits you when you realise once again, and also somehow for the first time, that you will never, ever see your beloved person again. I sat down on a bench and I listened. It was late in the afternoon, and chucking it down with rain, so there weren’t many people around; just me and the music and the remembering and the missing.

As the song ended, a woman came up to me and asked if I was all right. I said that I was. I think it was true.

Lou said she didn’t need any presents for her last Christmas and although I wanted to respect that, sometimes friendship means overruling someone. So I bought this (from here.)

and I filled it with nice things. Lou didn’t get to use any of them, but when she unwrapped the canvas pouch and read it she laughed.

I think it was the last time I saw her laugh.

This week’s permission:

You have permission to express your love to your people. You cannot do it too often.

As promised! Here is the shawl, the right way out.*****

Details: the pattern is the Hedgerow Shawl MKAL and the yarn is from Along Avec Anna. It’s a joy to knit with. I used just less than 50g of colour A, exactly 50g of colour B, and had quite a bit of my 50g ball of colour C left over, so could have made it from 150g.

In other news, the sticks I bought and planted last year are coming alive. Hooray! I feel excessively delighted with myself. ******

I’ve got a manuscript assessment slot coming up - does it have your name on it? If your ms is done, but you’re not quite sure it’s there, it might be. Take a look here and message me, and we’ll talk. (I’d also like to take one mentee in May - is that you?)

That’s it for this week, friends. Next week: merch news, bookish excitement.

Be well, stay well. Thank you for being here.

Stephanie x

*I love a dragon. I’ll tell you the story sometime.
**I promise this is true.

***See ‘Enola Gay’ by Tears For Fears, a song about the plane that dropped the atomic bomb.

****It was the soundtrack to a film called Electric Dreams which, if memory serves, is about what happens when a computer becomes sentient and falls in love with a cellist. Really not making this up.

*****Photography (and generally bringing out the best in me) Beloved Mr Butland

******Is this how Harris feels when working on Project Massive Hole? I fear it is.

You need some proper sun for these shadows: and look at that sky. Also, I have a new coat, which I loved anyway but all the more so now I realise it gives me the silhouette of a Victorian lady botanist who takes no nonsense.*

When we are not at the beach, I have been mostly writing and Harris has been selflessly sunbathing/guarding the Mystery Hole in the garden.

It is unclear whether he is guarding it to stop the phantom digger** from doing further damage, or from a muttering Victorian lady botanist with wood chips, topsoil and grass seed.

Eek! And also Meep! The paperback of A BOOKSHOP SUMMER is coming. I am trying to find the exact string lights that are featured on the book cover. If you see them anywhere please let me know.***

Thank you to everyone who has so generously bought and reviewed the ebook. It makes such a difference, to sales and publicity for the paperback and also to calm a writer’s anxious heart.

If you’d like to preorder a paperback, it’s easy! (And also calms a writer’s anxious heart.) Your local indie (there’s a searchable UK database here) will be happy to help, or you can go to Amazon in the UK or the US (where paperback publication date is July 28), or Waterstones, or here.

And if you’re not in a position to pre-order a buy a book, that is absolutely fine. Did you know that every time you borrow a book from a library, the author gets a small payment, which can add up to thousands of pounds? And if you buy a second-hand copy of a book, that’s good news too: I’m all for recycling and reusing, and second-hand bookshops are - as you will know if you have met Loveday - extremely close to my heart.

I made an apple cake from ‘Dinner At Mine’ by Kate Young, which is a fabulous book, based around the idea of cooking from the things you are likely to have hanging around in your kitchen. (A box of eggs, a bag of frozen peas, a few potatoes, a bag of apples****.)

I’ve also made the courgette pasta, which I neglected to photograph, but is one of those recipes that is so much more than the sum of its parts.

These cookies are just divine. They contain actual hot cross buns. I cannot even begin to describe their utter deliciousness.

The recipe is here. It looks like a lot of faff but it’s honestly worth it.

And while we’re admiring round things*****, I am developing a bit of a paperweight habit since Trixie bought one in A BOOKSHOP SUMMER. Look look look. Isn’t it beautiful?

It’s a good job it’s not possible to start glassblowing at home because if it were, I would be setting fire to my own feet on the regular.

I have finally finished the crescent shawl I’ve been knitting since 1749******.

It was a mystery shawl, which is when you are told what yarn you will need, how much and how many colours, and then you get a series of clues, and you knit along and see what you get. It’s a potential high-risk strategy, because you might make something that you don’t much like or might not have chosen to knit. (It’s less of a high-risk strategy if you spend all year filling your Christmas Doesn’t Knit Itself drawer, because even if you don’t like/suit the finished object there’s a good chance it will be perfect for someone that you love.)

Anyway! This one worked out. Here I am, proudly displaying it… and I just realised that in all the photos I am holding it the wrong way round.

I have just had a little chat with myself and decided that instead of deleting this bit, I’d let it stay. Take it as this week’s permission:

You have permission to get things wrong, and admit it.

Info for knitters: the pattern is the Hedgerow Shawl MKAL and the yarn is from Along Avec Anna. It’s a joy to knit with. I used just less than 50g of colour A, exactly 50g of colour B, and had quite a bit of my 50g ball of colour C left over, so could have made it from 150g.

That’s it for this week, except to show you these flowers, which are making me smile every time I look at them.

Until next time, friends, stay well.

Love,

Stephanie

PS I haven’t mentioned writing services but you’ll find details here. Hit me up if you’d like to know more.

*I may be reading more into this shadow than is actually there.

**Harris assures me that he is definitely not the phantom digger. He has such a convincingly innocent expression that I believe him even when he is standing with his two front legs in the hole.

***Obviously not in any way whatsoever a way of displacing All The Feelings that come with a book publication.

****Not all in the same dish.

*****which we apparently are now

******mid-February, but somehow it has felt like a lot longer.

You have permission to try something new.

Hello! I have been to Windermere, where I wrote for a week, amongst supportive and intelligent company, at Glenthorne Guest House.

I drove there over the moors, which is more fun than the M6 (though the M6 is my favourite motorway*).

When I wasn’t writing, I spent time looking at the sky.

And at walls.

And at Wordsworths.

I had myself a little road trip to Windermere and ate something called Tiramisu French Toast. Which was possibly more delicious than it looked.**

Also, I had the world’s shiniest red apple. This was maybe not quite as delicious as it looked, but on the plus side I did not die and have to be brought back to life by some patriarchal non-consensual kissing business.*** (It is sitting on my knitting, of which more next time.)

I bought myself a hat and I have to say, I think it was a good call.

When I got home, the daffodils were out.

And Harris basically did this for 48 hours.****

Aside from all of the above-documented fun, it was a productive week. I was pleased with what I wrote, and maybe more importantly I had the chance to think the rest of the book-in-progress through, and work out what it is missing and what it doesn’t need. Next week it will be time to strip the current post-it wall and put up the updated one; the one that maps my route to the end of the novel. And then I will exhale, and I will write, and be glad to be out of this weird bit of swampy ground which I have come to accept is just part of the way I write a novel.

It was also strange/sad to go back to the same place I went to, at the same time as l did last year, two months after Lou died. Then I was still in that part of grief where you are functioning at the same time as you are watching yourself functioning and wondering how on earth you can/want to function when this inexplicable, incomprehensible loss has taken place in your life.

Now I am, of course, in a different place, learning to walk with grief, having had my life grow around the space in it that I did not choose or want. I felt a great desire to reach back to the me of last year, with her brave face and her gritted teeth and her feverish writing, as though writing would save her*****. I wanted to say to last year’s Stephanie, you don’t think you can do this, and you don’t want to, but you can, and it will somehow be okay. Grief must be your experience, but it can’t be your identity. And maybe I did do that, as I had a quiet weep outside under the sky, on the morning that I left. Maybe that explains the peace that I found there last year.

Update for writers: I would like to take on new mentees - I have mentoring slots beginning in May and July. The next manuscript assessment and developmental edit slots are in July and September: if these might be for you, please get in touch, as I’m limiting the number of manuscripts I can work on in the autumn.

There’s more about what I do here, and we can have a no-obligation chat about your writing, where you’re at, and how I might be able to help.

For the last eight weeks I’ve taken part in a Zoom course called RIDE, with a bunch of amazing women, and I can honestly say it’s been one of the most genuinely transformative and powerful experiences of my life. I’ve finally been able to shift old messages and stuck behaviours. The things that have made much of my adult years feel like battling and striving and all the time feeling various versions of not-quite, not-enough and not-for-you have gone. Just…dropped away. It’s extraordinary.

I’d like to pay for someone who couldn’t otherwise afford it to do this course, which runs again from mid April to mid June. Please, take a look at the details here, and if you think it’s for you, let me know. If it’s a not-sure or not-yet, then you can follow Seda on Instagram here.

If need be, I’ll pull a name from a hat.****** I definitely won’t be judging who gets a place or choosing who is most deserving. (And you don’t need to tell me anything about your financial situation, just that this isn’t affordable for you right now; I believe you. Bursaries to reduce the costs of manuscript assessments and mentoring work the same way.)

And that’s it for this week, friends. Next time: a reading update, a paperweight, knitting, and a Lost For Words Merch Update. (Eeep!)

Until then, stay well. Take a moment to close your eyes and turn your face to the sun.

Love,

Stephanie x

*Really. If you’d told me when I started driving I would have a favourite motorway I would not have believed you. But I have and it’s the M6. Partly the scenery, partly Tebay services.

**Unlikely, but true.

***Honestly, it’s a miracle any of us are normal.

****He took some breaks for a bit of digging, obviously. He is nothing if not committed.

*****which, to be fair, it did.

******My new hat, obvs.

Oh, and it seems that Digging Season is upon us again. weeps

Harris is denying all knowledge. He claims he was asleep at the time.*

Here he is, as I type:

Are we convinced of his innocence?

Since last week I have mostly been writing. Have I mentioned before that writing is the Best Thing?** I’m well through the first draft of the new book, and it’s doing the thing that I love most: it’s throwing out tendrils as I write. It’s as though I’ve made a frame and now the plant is growing, stretching in the sun, making something that feels true.

As you can tell, I’m feeling a bit poetical about it all. This is the part in the writing process when I am in love with a book, and it’s really blissful. It comes at a different point in every book, and it lasts for varying amounts of time.

It’s really important that it doesn’t last forever: gazing adoringly at one’s own words does not a readable novel make.

Later, I will be calling forth my inner drama-teacher-who-has-staked-their-career-on-this-being-the-best-production-of-Joseph-ever-to-take-place-in-a-school-hall. Their role will be to tell me I need to dig deep and do better and if I am honest with myself I know I have more to give, and now’s the time to give it.*** She is always right, and never quite satisfied. Maybe this time.

Update for writers: waiting lists are open for manuscript assessments, developmental edits, and mentoring. Take a look here and then drop me an email (or reply to this one) and we can talk about your writing and how (and when) I could help.

Now that Loveday has merch in the Lost For Words bookshop, I am thinking of offering it too. I’ve found a provider; I’m now wondering whether this is something that readers of my bookshop books would like. Hold on to your hats, I’m going to attempt a poll:

This week’s permission:

You have permission to change your mind. Yes, even about that.

I have been baking:

This is Edd Kimber’s marble loaf cake, which I made in a square tin. (I went a bit rogue on the icing.) It’s absolutely delicious, and from this book, which I commend to you.

I’ve also made the chocolate sorbet; we haven’t tried it yet, so I’ll report back. I also have Plans for the chocolate whipped caramel cake and the pistachio tiramisu.

I have just read a novel for older children and every single person I’ve mentioned it to have made a sort of ‘ooooh’ noise. And so I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s one of those books, like ‘A Greengage Summer’ by Rumer Godden, that was cruelly kept secret from me for Reasons.****

It’s ‘The Eagle of the Ninth’ by Rosemary Sutcliff. An adventure story set in Roman Britain, it was first published in 1954 (yes, I too am puzzled by the ‘centenary’ on the cover). It. Is. Wonderful. Please, read it, or give it to a young human who might enjoy it.

And also, please tell me what the other books are that I have missed out on.*****

Thank you, and be well,

Stephanie x

*to be fair, he is asleep at the time of most things, so there’s a certain amount of plausible deniability.

**Yes, Stephanie. Yes, you have.

***Tell me I’m not the only one with an inner drama teacher.

****I don’t think this. But if I was very tired or very hungry then I might.

*****What do you mean, that’s impossible?

Also this week, ‘A Bookshop Summer’ was reviewed by Dr Martina Topic-Rutherford, in a review that my agent described as ‘the best assessment of your writing I’ve ever read’. I know the expression ‘I feel seen’ is often** used ironically/for comic effect, but when I say I feel seen by this review, I mean it, from my heart. Dr Martina articulates things that are important to me, that underpin my writing and the way I see the world, but that I didn’t think were, or would be, visible to anyone else in reading my books. I’m feeling a little bit shaky, still, from this review, but in the best of ways. This is up there with Lucy Mangan mentioning my bookshop books in her book, ‘Bookish’, something I have yet to recover from.

This week’s permission:

You have permission to be your own judge of how you spend your time.

Since my last occasionally-weekly newsletter, Beloved Mr Butland and I have been to Glasgow. The Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum was fantastic. Favourite things incoming.

‘The Harpy Celaeno’ by Mary Pownall:

This beautiful statue of the Buddha:

And a painting by Abraham Hondius, dating from the 1660s, entitled ‘Swan Enraged By Dogs’.***

Best Pudding Of the Trip award goes to this very fancy affogato, at The Citizen:

And seeing Belle and Sebastian on the first night of their tour, in Troon, was just one of the most joyful evenings of my life.****

Some of you have asked what happens to Harris when we are away. The answer: he stays with the human every dog loves best, aka my Dad, and he goes on All The Walks my Dad takes Harvey, his extremely energetic spaniel, on. When Harris comes home, he is happy to see us, and also very much in need of a Supernap.

I am about to show you an aerial view of the Supernap. Brace yourselves.

I was reading a proof on the train, and took a photo. It was only when I looked at it afterwards that I realised I was doing All The Patterns.

The book is ‘The Unmagical Life of Briar Jones’ by Lex Croucher. If you like dark and magical academia, characters you both love and want to shake*****, dusty old attics, and strong themes of privilege and belonging, pre-order this now. It’s funny, clever and full of furious heart and I loved, loved, loved it.

Updates for writers (details of what I do here):

• I’m no longer offering line editing. It’s a question of time and bandwidth. (If yours is already booked in, it’s safe ;-))

• I can do one manuscript assessment in May and one in July, and there’s also a slot for one developmental edit in May.

• The next space to take on a mentee is in May; now is a good time for us to talk about that.

• I can usually fit in submission package reviews and one-off mentoring slots within a couple of weeks of your enquiry.

If you think you might be interested in any of these services, just reply to this email and we’ll arrange a no-obligation Zoom call to discuss, and see if we’re a fit.

There has been Much Rain here, but during the last week the February skies were something to behold. (Behold.)

Until next time, friends, sending you love and light.

Stephanie x

*If any of my books are ever on an advert at a train station you will, of course, never hear the end of it. But still, it’s readers who have made me an author.

**including by me

***I thought, what a mad thing to paint. Then I thought, if I saw a swan being enraged by dogs I would 100% take a photo, so I guess in 1660 I might have got my oil paints out.

****I wrote a short story, once, based on going to a gig. I might dig it out and share it if you’d like.

*****Also, cheekbones sharp enough to lose an eye on, but I’m putting that separately as I’m not sure whether it was actually in the text.

And do you know what? I still have moments when I feel like an imposter. I am still waiting to be found out. These feelings are not as strong as they once were, but they can creep up on me, sometimes, still, or occasionally stage an ambush. I once called my agent, who was on another call, and then straight afterwards my editor, who was also on another call, and suddenly all I could see, in 7-foot-high neon letters in my brain, were the words ‘THEY ARE TALKING TO EACH OTHER ABOUT HOW TO EXPLAIN TO YOU THAT EVERYTHING ABOUT YOUR WRITING CAREER SO FAR HAS BEEN A HUGE ADMINISTRATIVE ERROR AND YOU NEED TO GO AWAY NOW.’*

I was thinking about this as Harris and I pottered through the fields this morning.** And about what I’ve learned, or discovered to be true. I thought I’d write these things down for you, in case they help if you have times of doubt. (And honestly? I think all good writers have times of doubt. Unassailable confidence inside and out is not compatible with the sort of emotional interrogation that goes with writing.)

1. The best thing about writing is writing.

   I know this is easy for me to say, because I’m published, and I have got to do all the things that once felt impossible, like signing my books at a bookshop, being interviewed at a festival, talking to book groups, writing a short story for a magazine, putting ‘author’ as the answer to ‘occupation’ on a form.*** These are all wonderful moments. But the best thing, I promise, is showing up at the page. All of the most scrumptious things happen there. Sometimes I get to express exactly what’s in my head, which is such a rush. Sometimes something I have been struggling with comes right in a way I hadn’t foreseen. Sometimes I hate every word that I put down, but I know that that’s part of the process so it’s fine. (See 2.) But I get deep and true satisfaction from putting down word after word. Nothing else comes close. So if you are writing, whether you are published/trying to be published or not, I promise you are experiencing the greatest thing about this job already.

2. Writing is craft and practice.

   That is to say, the more you practice, the better you get. Yes, you begin by being a person with ideas, with talent, with imagination, with desire. But, given those things, every sentence you write teaches you something. Practicing writing brings you closer to your authorial voice; it helps you to understand the stories you want to tell; it hones itself. And so writing ten thousand words before you realise you’re barking up the wrong tree isn’t wasted effort. Those ten thousand words, in themselves, taught you a lot, on a sentence level. And by finding that you have gone the wrong way, you’ve learned what the right way is. And, if you can write, you can write, so deleting**** ten thousand words doesn’t matter. They’ve done their job. The number of words available to you is not finite. (This is a good thing.)

3. Writing is not about you.

   Writing is about the reader. Writing is about making the shortest possible distance between the story that’s alive in your mind and the story that the reader conjures as they read.

   So, your job is twofold. First, make things clear. An example: I once spent an entire afternoon in what I can only describe as a colour thesaurus rabbit hole, trying to find the name of the shade of a character’s eyes. I could see it so clearly; that green of a field which hasn’t yet been mowed. I looked at all the greens, all the paint cards, all the art websites. I got really cross and decided I would never write a book again, because what was the point if you can’t find the right word for a green. And the next day, I described my character’s eyes as ‘the green of an imagined meadow’, and knew that I had got it right. Another example: Kingsley Amis once wrote of his son Martin’s work, ‘I sometimes wish he would just write, The man went to the pub.’

   And the second-fold (?!): make things happen. To quote Elmore Leonard, ‘Try to leave out the parts that the reader will skip’. Action - which means feelings, conversations, as well as car chases - is what keeps the reader reading. It also helps us, the writer, understand the characters we’re writing about - it’s in the doing/experiencing that we see who people are. A twenty-page description of a box of snakes might be objectively beautiful writing on a sentence level - but it really isn’t if your reader loses the will to live by the end of the third page.

   I’m aware that it sounds as though I’m saying that writing should be dumbed down, but that isn’t the case at all. Novelists like Jane Gardam, Muriel Spark, and Nora Roberts (to name but three) write with great clarity and surprising simplicity. And their novels are still subtle, intriguing, involving.

4. Publishing is not actively against you.

   I promise.

   Publishing is hungry. Publishing needs books. New ones. (Probably too many new ones.) All the time. One thing that is immediately striking about talking to agents, editors, and anyone who works in the publishing industry, is how much they love books, are passionate about books, and really, really want to find amazing books to publish.

   And a lot of people want to be published, and many of these people are talented and have great stories to tell. And the publishing industry needs to find ways to find these books, among the ones that aren’t good enough, aren’t ready yet, or aren’t commercially viable. That’s why there are submission guidelines, and that’s why rejections are standard or don’t come at all. That’s why some publishers only accept submissions from agents and others have only short submission windows. Publishing isn’t trying to keep you out. Publishing is trying to find a way to find you.

   This doesn’t mean that, if you are clocking up rejections, you won’t be published. Because - as you will know, if you have ever given up on a book that the rest of the world is raving about - we don’t all love the same book, and we don’t all champion the same book, and if we all made a list of our ten favourite books, sure, there would be overlap, but I would bet my horse***** there wouldn’t be two identical lists. Reading is subjective, and passion can’t be faked, and the person who takes on your writing needs to love the bones of it so that they can work with you and get your novel out into the world in the best possible way.

5. The first thing is to finish.

   Spend ten minutes on the internet (yes, even lovely Substack) and you’ll find a lot of advice about becoming a writer, much of which will be about building a following/joining groups/doing an MA/networking/marketing/going to ‘how to get published’ seminars. And many of these things are valuable, especially groups and courses, in terms of saving you from missteps by learning from others willing to share their experience. And all of these things might well help with your writing career. But you don’t need to be doing them all now.

   The only thing that you need to do now is: write the best book you can. And when you know, in your heart, that you have written the best book that you can, you can start to think about how to get published. The only necessary entry cost of a writing career is the time you put in. And that’s not nothing, and it can be hard to find the time, and to prioritise, particularly if you’re not confident or if you’re not well supported.

   But writing the best book you can is the one thing you absolutely have to do. And (see 1) it’s also the best part of being a writer.

   So please, enjoy it, and enjoy the fact that you are backing yourself. You should be proud. You should call yourself a writer, because that’s what you are.

Happy writing.

Lots of love,

Stephanie x

*When I told my agent this he laughed like a drain, which was the best possible reaction.

**I am waiting with some trepidation to see/smell the impact of the unidentified thing he found and ate while I wasn’t looking.

***I was going to add ‘be recognised by a reader in M&S’, but the reader was a friend of my auntie so I’m not sure that counts.

****If I really love the words I cut them and put them in a document that I might go back to later, when I need ideas for something else.

*****I don’t have a horse, but let’s imagine that I do, and that I am the sort of person who would use a living being in a wager. (I just made myself feel a bit ill.)

You can find some of my books here, and some of the books I have worked on here, and details of what I do here.

I made these Ottolenghi pancakes, but didn’t leave the batter to rest for long enough, so they are not pleasingly round or especially fluffy, like the originals. Bloody delicious though.

I found a pack of frozen blueberries lurking in the freezer, chucked them in a pan with a squeeze of lemon juice and a slug of caster sugar, and let them bubble while I cooked the pancakes. And that’s the last* of the Greek yoghurt. Breakfast** of the blessed.

And some news that actually made me shout YES! in a London street, as though I was a quirky romcom character who just heard that she got the lead in the play after all: the ban on the direct action group Palestine Action has been deemed unlawful in a judicial review. It has yet to be lifted, but this is a huge win for the right to protest, and a vindication of all those who have been arrested for holding signs over the last year. (This is the campaign I’ve written about before. Here’s the Defend Our Juries website and here’s the BBC reporting.)

I would like to take on a writing mentee to begin work in March, and I would like to book in one more manuscript assessment or developmental/line edit for March and one for April. You can find details of what I do here.

I’d love to have a no-obligation call with you to talk about your writing and how I might help you to grow as a writer.

I am just back from a most excellent trip to London. I didn’t take many photos, so I think I might just show you them all. Buckle up.

1: Rice pudding with poached plums*** and pistachios, a delicious end to a lovely celebratory lunch with my agent and editor, two of the best, kindest and most supportive people I know. (But who I never remember to photograph.)

2. Pilgrimage to a stationery shop. (This one.)

   

   It is so full of beautiful things that I got a bit overwhelmed and didn’t buy anything, though I suspect I picked literally everything up and put it up again. I’m sorry, Choosing-Keeping-people. I have a date with your website.

3. Some great news from America, who has taken Loveday and the Lost For Words family to their hearts. Number 1 Bestseller in British Contemporary Fiction! Thank you, thank you, thank you.

   

4. And a little piercing to celebrate. Molly, the piercer****, at one point said ‘well done,’ and I said, jokingly-not-jokingly, ‘say that again’. I actually got a sticker and a lollipop. (I go here.)

   

5. The sky in Farnham on Saturday was perfection, and so was my day of yarn-squishing, book-talking and catching up with my dear friend Rebecca.

   

6. Gerbera***** and daffodils bought for me by my daughter.

   

7. London Sunday sky.

   

8. London Monday bun and coffee and words before the train.

(I know it’s quite unlikely that you’re reading this from east London, but if you are, I commend Forno to you.)

Not pictured: book haul from Tate Modern, a variety of excellent dogs in coats, rain in different levels of torrential, shoes I tried on at Dr Martens and am mulling over (these ones, please don’t buy all the size 7s!).

Thank you to everyone who is reading A BOOKSHOP SUMMER and telling me about it. This makes me so very happy. I know writers say this all the time, and it’s annoying, but it really makes a difference: if you can, please post a review.****** It helps with visibility and it reduces the amount of time a writer needs to spend glaring at her long-suffering dog.******* Paperback is in May; ebook here (UK) and here (US).

In Unprecedented Shenanigans, I am off to Glasgow tomorrow with BMB, for a play and some museuming and a gig with an old school friend.

I’d love to know what you’re reading and loving.

As ever, my friends, I’m holding you in the light. Thank you for being here.

Stephanie xxx

*half of the last of the Greek yoghurt, technically. BMB is also a big yoghurt fan.

**brunch, really, by the time I’d remembered it was Pancake Day and got it all sorted.

***despite appearances, not beetroot.

****is this the right word? Not sure. And if it is, what’s the collective noun? A needle of piercers?

*****Lou’s favourite flower

******even a meh one. +brave face+

*******obviously, Harris is not suffering AT ALL.

Scratched, unkempt and very, very black. A not-quite-centred letterbox, with a weird contraption on the other side that meant it was basically impossible to post a letter through. Then we had a cat flap put in, which didn’t do a lot for either aesthetics or windproofness.* But the door had thick wood, good bones, heft.

And it wasn’t a front door in the door-for-best sense: it was the main door, the one you go in and out of every day. Many, many times every day, if you work in a studio in the garden. ‘This needs sorted,’ I thought when we first moved in, ‘it’s going to drive me mad. What an ugly way to welcome yourself, and the people you love, to your home.’

And then it turned out that the shower didn’t work, that there was something unsavoury in the chimney**, that getting a higher fence installed so your greyhound couldn’t jump it*** was a lot pricier than you would think. After a couple of years we got the bathroom done, and then a wood-burning stove (the most effective way to dry out the chimney). By the time we’d got all that done, I’d more or less stopped seeing the door.

Every now and then, I would notice it and shudder afresh. I once got someone in to quote for restoration. They came and had a look, talked about all that they could do to restore it to a brave new beauty, and then didn’t get back to me. I briefly toyed with the idea of replacing the door with a brand new one, but this house has good, old, stone bones, and it just didn’t feel right.

During the pandemic I painted our dining room, in an extremely first-draft way, the way that would never get past a room-editor. More recently, I painted our living room, in the same let’s-not-worry-about-the-woodwork-or-the-ceiling manner. Last year, when days were long with grief, I was doing things that I now realise were my mind trying to direct me to activities I could control, so my heart could get on with figuring out the emotional impossibility of my world without Lou in it. A 7-step skincare routine, complex cross-referencing of all recipe books, an idea for turning the entire garden into one huge terraced rockery****. And… painting the hallway. I did the bannister spindles and the radiator. Great, I thought, little by little. Except I couldn’t get further than the first small bit.

A friend and I speak regularly on the phone, and she often tucks herself up in bed for the call. I realised, one day after talking to her, that she experiences her bedroom as a kind of sanctuary. Our bedroom was very much Not This. Beloved Mr Butland and I have a very comfortable bed*****, and the space at the beginning and ends of the day when we settle down and wake up are lovely times of ordinary happiness and connection for us. But it would never have occurred to me to go into our bedroom during the day for any reason unconnected with collecting or putting away washing. So I decided it would be good if our bedroom was a sanctuary. BMB was supportive, if a little bemused - after all, it is only us and Harris in our home now, and over the years we have made the whole place ours. It is a place of comfort and peace and we are very, very lucky to live in it together.

And then I looked at the high ceilings of our bedroom, and the slightly mildewed bits in the high corners, and I thought, I can’t tackle this. Or rather, I could tackle this, but it wouldn’t become a sanctuary, because I would sit here and look at all the botchy bits and feel the opposite of the calm, peaceful safety that the word ‘sanctuary’ brings to mind.

Enter Mal, painter, decorator and all round excellent human. He decorated our bedroom and it was perfect. We had it recarpeted (did I tell you about the Carpet Measuring Disaster?) and it is truly a sanctuary.

And if I ever had any idea of redecorating the hallway and stairs myself, I gave it up, having watched someone who actually knows how to do something - and enjoy it - do such a great job. I asked Mal if he would do the hallway when he had time, and last week he had time. When he came to have a closer look at the job, I heard myself ask, ‘Would you be able to paint the front door as well?’ I honestly didn’t know I was going to say it. I don’t know who did - whether it was past me or future me - but it certainly wasn’t that moment’s surveying-the-staircase me, who was wondering whether it was wrong to choose a paint colour based on the name (we live in the Old School House).

‘Paint the door? No bother,’ said Mal.

If you’ve read ‘The Second Chance Book Club’, you may remember the when September arrives at the house she has inherited from her Great Aunt Lucia, she notices the orange door with the bumblebee door knocker. Did that door inspire me, or did I write the door I longed for? I don’t know. But look.

Look!

I am so very happy.******

I’m off to London on Thursday, for Writerly Business (the lunching kind). Thursday is ebook publication day for ‘A Bookshop Summer’ and it will be nice to be out and about and celebrating, rather than doing my usual publication day rituals of intermittent crying, refreshing sales figures every fourteen seconds, and only very occasionally managing to be proud.

After that I’m spending a few days catching up with friends and family. (Oh and popping in to a yarn festival.) I’ll see you next week.

Until then, be well, stay well, and maybe paint your front door yellow? I promise, it will do wonders for your soul.

Love and light,

Stephanie x

*windprooficity?

**wet asbestos

***before I adopted Harris, my daughter Joy had a rescue greyhound she named Hope. We soon realised the idea of Home needing a five foot high fence to contain her was laughable. But she was like a gazelle compared to Harris, who cannot manage to get into a car at least 40% of the time. Yes, I lift his backside in. Yes, I know we are ridiculous
****to give me credit, I realised this was a non-starter before I had even Googled it

******When we went to buy the mattress I fell asleep on it in the shop

******It’s the sheep-in-a-mug all over again. Hooray!

Every February, when the snowdrops arrive* in my garden, I say the same thing: spring always comes.

Every January, I almost doubt that this annual miracle of hope will happen. But I suppose that’s part of what makes them such a joy.

This week’s permission slip:

You have permission to find enjoyment in things that others don’t understand.

Next week, the ebook of A BOOKSHOP SUMMER comes out. (The paperback will be in May.)

As ever, I am riddled with nerves, but I made my peace with that a lot of books ago. Things that mean a lot, matter a lot, which makes for nerves-a-lot.**

I’ve written about the writing of this book before, and how the absorption of work got me through the worst of loss. It was also the swallowing of a bitter pill: I learned that however much I might want to be destroyed by grief, however easy and romantic that might seem, there is always solace to be found. (I am a heroine more made in Austen than in Brontë. I think Lou was probably written by Dickens, with her determination and sense of right, except that she wasn’t called Loulabella Scragwinkle or similar.)

And now, with publication near, I’m going to tell you about some of the things that I am unequivocally happy about when it comes to this book.

• Two of my characters, twins, are called Cherry and Peaches Fox. I have been trying to find a story for Cherry for a long time - ever since I dreamed that I was given (dreams, ey) a red-haired baby and decided to name her Cherry Fox.

• This book returns to the world of Lost For Words, and it is so satisfying to bring new characters in to mix with the old. I love it when this happens in books I read*** so I get a real thrill from doing it for my readers. Step forward, Trixie, Madison,**** and Kit, and welcome back. (Some of the others look in, too.)

• Part of ‘A Bookshop Summer’ involves a trip to a woodland, something I did as part of the research. I loved writing this section, and I still think of the time I spent in a woodland with someone who knew it intimately and could show me, tell me, all of the things I would never know by looking with my untrained eyes.

• I got to write about books (hooray), including cookery books; one of my go-to cake recipes (Nigella’s Storecupboard Chocolate Orange Cake) is an important part of the plot.

• I also got to write a toddler called Spike. This is a matter of great delight to me because when I was expecting my second child*****, I wanted to name a son Spike. Everyone thought I was joking, but I wasn’t. And I think we can all agree that this novel is FULLY LEGAL PROOF of my seriousness.

• The book includes a poem (not by me) which is honestly one of the most beautiful things I have ever come across. You’ll see.

Cookery tip of the week: if you don’t bake your chocolate bundt cake for quite long enough, and it sticks to the tin, just cover it with glaze and then encrust the glaze with that tub of out-of-date sprinkles****** you found during the pre-Christmas there-must-be-some-treacle-in-here-somewhere cupboard rummage.

You’re welcome.

Writing services: details of what I do are here

(You can either reply to this newsletter or email me to discuss anything here.)

• I have opened bookings for manuscript assessments and developmental and line edits from April to June. If you think you might like to book a slot, now’s the time to get in touch!

• I can take on one person for mentoring beginning in late February/early March.

• I have a waiting list for all services. Adding your name doesn’t commit you to anything, but means I’ll contact you if a space comes up when things move around.

• I can usually fit in one-off mentoring sessions and submission package reviews within 2 weeks.

  ---

The socks I mentioned last time we talked knitting have been gifted, so I can show you:

They were a delight to knit: I find that’s often the case when I’m making something for someone I love.

That’s it for this week. Next time: front door news, aka a dream come true.

I’m sending you snowdrops.

Love

Stephanie xx

*I know that, technically, they grow, but it feel as though they arrive, one cold night: they aren’t there the day before, and then suddenly, white glow and hope.

**may need to workshop that a bit more.

***I just typed ‘real books’ and hesitated before deleting it! Hello Imposter Syndrome, my old friend

****you hadn’t forgotten how much I love an Oxford comma, had you?

*****a daughter

******insert legal disclaimer about out-of-date sprinkles here