(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

This week’s permission:

You have permission to feel the weight of what’s happening in the world. It doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human.

And if you are feeling helpless/hopeless/alone, watching this recording of a talk about protest might give you heart. It did me. (‘Setbacks are real, but so is progress.')

A couple of newsletters ago I said I was planning a Writing Week, and a few people have been in touch to ask what this actually looks like in practice. It’s a good question.

A Writing Week at home is different to going away for a writing retreat. A writing retreat is, for me, complete immersion. It’s a chance to do the work that needs a different kind of focus: looking at a novel as a whole rather than at the bit I’m in, having the headspace to make big changes and follow different possibilities.

(It’s important to note here that it would not be impossible to do this at home - I have done it, many times. I find it easier when I’m away so I tend to save the Hard Thinking for then, but I’m aware that it’s a privilege, and if you can’t do it, that definitely doesn’t mean you can’t write a book.)

A Writing Week at home is something that I give myself when I’ve been busy/away or am going to be busy/away and I can feel anxiety about writing time starting to scrunch itself into a ball in my gut, where it lurches about and, if I don’t do something about it, grows to sleep-robbing, creativity-sapping proportions.

So! This is what I do in a Writing Week.

• Shunt everything that is non-urgent, or that I know people won’t mind moving, forward or back. This might include: routine dental check, approximately-weekly newsletter**, a half-agreement to meet up for a coffee, maybe on the Wednesday, let’s check in nearer the time.

• Cancel, or send apologies for, things that I might otherwise have gone to: a Zoom event that will be recorded and available afterwards***; a school governor meeting that I know will be quorate without me.

• Because I know that I prefer to write in the morning, and my brain is in better shape then****, I do as much as I can to clear and protect that writing time. I shower in the evening. I only book meetings for the afternoon. I have lunch late. I walk Harris without having had a cup of tea in bed first. (He very much approves of this, thinking it demonstrates Correct Priorities.)

• On the Friday before a Writing Week, I spend a bit of time (maybe an hour) making a list of what I’ve written already and what I think my next few chapters are likely to be. And I print out what’s already written.

• And then I tidy my desk.

• On the Monday, I begin by reading through my printout. I don’t edit, but I do make notes of things that might be missing or incongruent.

• I don’t make a target per se; but I have an idea of where I’d like to get to. It might be ‘It would be good to hit the 30,000 word mark this week’ or ‘If I have figured out what XX character’s story is by the end of the week that will be great’.

• I also make an agreement with myself about what the week is for and what it’s not for. Usually, it’s not for editing, it’s not for going backwards, and it’s not for research. But I keep a stack of post-its to hand where I can catch thoughts and notes about restructuring/plot ideas/research needs.

• I don’t try to write all day every day; I get to a point that feels right to stop***** and then I do the Other Things.

And that’s it. By the end of the week I’ll have made progress, the anxiety scrunch-ball will have shrunk to normal levels******, and my desk will be a hellscape.

Writing services update: details of what I do are here

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

• I have one space for a manuscript assessment or edit at the end of February and I can take on one person for mentoring in February.

• Almost all of the Zoom workshops are full - the next ones will be in the autumn - except:

Creating a good writing life - Wednesday 4 February, 7-9pm 1 PLACE LEFT

Plot, story and ideas - Tuesday 10 February, 7-9pm 1 PLACE LEFT

• Waiting lists are open for mentoring, manuscript assessments, developmental edits and line edits from April onwards. Going on a waiting list doesn’t commit you to anything, but makes you a priority when I open my books, and I’ll contact you if a space comes up when things move around before then.

  ---

Through December I had one of those reading not-quite-slumps, when everything I read was adequate, or fine, or mildly unsatisfactory. (I never write about these books, though in person I LOVE talking literary disappointments.) A couple of weeks ago, the Book Goddesses clearly decided that I had suffered enough, because I read three short books on the trot, and they were all brilliant, and they all linked to each other, even though I didn’t know they were going to.

First up,

‘Drive Your Plow Over The Bones Of The Dead’ by Olga Tokarczuk, translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones. (Yes, that really is the actual cover. I wish it wasn’t. Just because we like words best doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a picture.) It’s a crime novel from 2009, with a fantastic narrator, Janina, who is reclusive and of strong convictions. I absolutely loved her from the first page. (Top tip: read the first page of this, and if you hate it, put it back on the shelf, because the voice is everything.) One of the strands of the novel is Janina translating William Blake with her friend Dizzy, hence the novel’s title, a quote from Blake’s ‘Proverbs of Hell’:

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.

I’ve never read a novel quite like this one, and (unhelpfully) it’s difficult to describe. Words that come to mind: subversive, unconventional, absorbing.

Next, I went to ‘Practice’ by Rosalind Brown:

This slender and beautiful book, set in an Oxford college, tracks student Annabel’s day as she tries to write an essay about Shakespeare’s sonnets. It’s rich, funny, and imaginative, and absolutely nails the experience of being a reader and a writer, trying to catch and understand the thought that will transform everything.

And then, ‘The Party’ by Tessa Hadley:

Two sisters, Moira and Evelyn, who are both students, go to two parties in post-war Bristol, and the experiences change them both, deeply. Like ‘Practice’, there’s something compellingly immediate about this novel. Tessa Hadley (who I’ve never read before) can convey the interior of someone with such utter candour and lucidity that you cannot help but read on.

And that’s it from me this week. Harris says, keep your paws warm.

Love,

Stephanie x

*after I’d chopped it I sautéed it in butter over a gentle heat with the lid on the pan, then doused it in about 4ooml of concentrated Ribena, salt, pepper, and a couple of tablespoons of soy sauce, turned the heat up and let it bubble with the lid off for half an hour. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it…

**thank you for your patience

***not one that I’m speaking at, obviously. I’m not a monster.

****Virginia Woolf wrote about ‘the cream of the brain’ in the morning, and I like this expression so much that my own brain has transmuted it into something else entirely. I dread to think how often I have confidently declared to rooms of readers and writers that ‘Doris Lessing talked about the cream of the morning brain…’

*****this is deeply unhelpful, and I apologise

******will anyone like my book? what if I never have an idea again? etc etc

I don’t mind January. I lean in to the grey and don’t expect too much of myself. This year, January held the first anniversary of Lou’s death, which asked for quiet and gentleness: and, among those of us who loved her, an acknowledgement that she would be proud of us for the way we have walked through this year, taking care of each other and feeling our feelings.

Of course, this is only visible, looking back. If you are in grief, please know: you are doing just fine. Where you are today is where you need to be today. Hold on. Breathe deep.

The January skies have been wonderful.

And soon, there will be snowdrops.

This week’s permission slip:

You have permission to be tired.

Services-for-writers update (details of what I do here):

• waiting lists are open for manuscript assessments, developmental edits and line edits. (I can also look at partial manuscripts, so if you feel as though your book ran into a wall, this could help.)

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

• mentoring alert! A mentee has had to postpone their sessions so I have a space now. We could even have our first session this week! Is this your sign to get in touch?***

  ---

I’ve been knitting socks which, now I look at them, have been the perfect January project. The pattern is the one I keep in my head, plain and straightforward. The yarn is beautiful: grey, with snatches of colour. (It’s from The Little Grey Girl, who makes beautiful yarns and project bags.)

I’m now knitting more socks, which I can’t show you yet as they are a gift. They are fancier, and a gorgeous blue-green colour, and in making them I am getting to do something wonderful: add love for the person I am making them for to every stitch.

And, now we’re on the subject of knitwear**: as you didn’t think I was weird for giving away hardly-worn shawls, I’m going to do the same with sweaters/jumpers/cardigans.

To remind you of how it works: if you or someone you know would like one of the sweaters below, reply to this email and let me know and I will send it to you. (If there are multiple enquiries I’ll pull a name from a hat.****) Like the shawls, all of these have been worn a couple of times; they will all need TLC when it comes to washing and might pill under the arms; they are all genuinely lovely, just not quite me.

I’m a UK size 16/US12/EU44, but some of these came up a bit small for me. So the best way to see if they will fit you is to take a favourite sweater/cardigan of your own and measure its width from underarm to underarm, and its length from back neck to bottom hem. Then you can see how that compares to these babies.

Red v-neck:

underarm-to-underarm: 72cm, neck to hem: 60cm

Pinky-purple heathered cardigan:

underarm-to-underarm: 58cm, neck to hem: 50cm

Green colourwork sweater:

underarm-to-underarm: 54cm, neck to hem: 60cm

Blue open-front short-sleeved cardigan:

underarm-to-underarm: 67cm, neck to hem: 66cm

‘Found In A Bookshop’ is currently 99p on Kindle in the UK and 99c in the US. So if you want to give my books a try, this is a good time to do it.

Also, did you know you can gift e-books? I genuinely didn’t until I was gifted something recently. I should have done, really, there’s a ‘gift this ebook’ button RIGHT THERE.

(Please don’t think I mind that it’s 99p/c. I don’t,***** as I’m a huge take-a-punt 99p Kindle book purchaser myself. I think it’s a great way to try reading something new.)

Yesterday I made this chicken soup. I put basil and crispy chilli on top, rather than dill, but otherwise followed the recipe to the letter and oh my days. It is easy to make, and perfection to eat.

Also, these chocolate cookies (recipe from Edd Kimber) are fudgily divine and highly recommended. I happened to have some rye flour in the cupboard - I dread to think how long it’s been there - but I’m sure regular plain flour would work just as well.

That’s it from me, this week. Next time, reading and writing. (Tell me what you have read that is amazing!)

Be well, stay well. Spring always comes.

Stephanie x

*Harris’s work bed is his bed in the studio. He also has a dog bed in the house, obviously, as well as a small sofa that he commandeers most of the time, the big sofa that he sleeps on at night, and a double bed upstairs that he retires to sometimes when being downstairs with us is Too Trying

**let’s face it, we are never far away from knitwear around here

***this January is being a time of signs and wonders for me

****Mug, probably

*****I mean, I mind end-stage capitalism.

Harris is generally not one for a there-and-back walk, preferring a circular route, but he does make an exception for going to the paper shop, because he is greeted by name, made a fuss of, and given a treat.*

The snow-skies have been moon-blessed and beautiful.

And Harris has enjoyed the wind in his ears. (Me, not so much, but to be fair, my ears aren’t as good.)

This week’s permission slip:

You have permission to be happy with your life as it is.

Thank you for being so kind and supportive when I wrote about grief at Christmas. Beloved Mr Butland and I had a calm and happy time overall**, and I bought red tulips and red candles and wore my dress with Moomins on it, and my daughter made me a bowl that is perfect for holding four croissants.

On Boxing Day, I thought, ‘next year, I must remember that I don’t need to make this much food’, but then we ate leftovers for a week and I changed my mind. At time of writing, 18 mince pies and one and a half Christmas cakes to go, and I might have to admit defeat when it comes to the last bag of Brussels sprouts.

I didn’t think I had anything else to say about Christmas, and then I remembered this: someone I don’t know very well asked me how my Christmas was, and I swallowed back ‘Lovely, thank you,’ and instead said, ‘Fine. A bit sad.’ I’m glad I did: it was true, and also, maybe, might be good for someone within earshot having a sad time to feel less alone. I hope so, anyway. (The person who asked said ‘I’m sorry,’ and went on her way, which felt like a good reaction.)

You remember the cowl I was knitting? Well, the pattern - Net Hope Cowl - has been released, and is available for free, along with the Manta Ray Shawl and Humpback Whale Quilt. Take a look at this page - scroll down for the knitting patterns - and maybe send the link to the knitters in your life. I loved being part of this project, and loved spending time with amazing people.***

Talking of knitting, it gave me great joy to send three shawls to people who will enjoy them. (Thank you for reassuring me that I wasn’t being weird.) I’m thinking of doing the same with barely-worn sweaters and cardigans. Stay tuned.

I gave myself a Proper Christmas Break, and then I came back to the studio and hurled myself into manuscript assessments and mentoring, and next week I am having a Writing Week. (Every book is different, and my new novel seems to work best if I have an immersive few days and then leave it all to noodle for a bit. I think it’s because of the nature of the emotional landscape of this one: it’s not easy to dip in and out of, it’s straightforward to inhabit.) I’m glad I had the break, and how I love what I do now I’m back.

As predicted, things are Busy on the work front. Here are the details of how I work with writers, and here’s the current state of play:

• My waiting lists are open for mentoring, manuscript assessments, and developmental and line edits. If you’re interested, please reply to this email and tell me a bit about what you’re working on, what support you might want, and when you might want it. I can either schedule you in for later in the year or let you know when a slot comes up (things move around all the time).

• I can usually fit in a submission package review or one-off mentoring session within 2 weeks.

• Zoom workshops are filling up quickly. Dates and latest availability is here: this is the last call for this Saturday’s ‘Creating a Good Working Life’ workshop.

If you are unsure as to whether this is for you, please ask: you won’t be wasting my time, and it’s better to find out than wonder. We can set up a Zoom or phone call to discuss; there is no obligation for you to go ahead; I can put you in touch with someone I’ve worked with in a similar way for a reference/sense of how it works.

A funny thing about having time off is that you come back and the ebook publication of your new book is RIGHT THERE, when it used to be ages away. Eeek with me, friends.

February 12th! That is counts on fingers SOON****! You can pre-order via Bookshop here, and on Amazon in the UK here and in the US here. The paperback will be out in May, and the online places, Waterstones, and your friendly local indie will be very happy to pre-order.

(The reason authors ask you to pre-order, if you’re going to buy anyway, is that it really helps us. Pre-orders tell bookshops what is going to be popular, and publishers what readers are interested in, and helps us to get our books seen, talked about, and read.*****)

And if you belong to a book group, host a podcast, organise a book festival, or are a bookseller arranging events, and you’d like me to visit, in person or via Zoom, this is an excellent time to get in touch.

Before I go, one more picture of the sky. This was taken in December, at the wonderful Garsdale Retreat, on the one day the rain wasn’t hammering down.

It seems to me that these trees are whispering secrets to each other.

Until next time, my friends, be well.

Stephanie x

*It is the order of treat that he would absolutely turn his nose up at home; make of that what you will.

**The calm and happiness partly enabled by a Christmas morning crying jag and a quiet Christmas evening sob.

***I do not plan to try to write a knitting pattern ever again, which is no reflection on the project AT ALL.

****At time of writing, just over five weeks. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

*****I had never thought about how many books there are in the world until mine started to be published. ‘Existential horror’ doesn’t even come close to describing that moment.

This time last year, we were astonished that Lou was still with us. I had spent a couple of weeks in December staying with her and her family, and keeping her company in hospital; it was a privilege, and it was tough. (I had a complete meltdown when I came across a brass band playing Christmas carols**.) And during that time she gave me a very stern lecture in which she said we should all remember that she loved Christmas, and we should make sure we enjoyed it when she wasn’t here. Of course I said we would and of course I thought that would be impossible.

Here we are in 2022, after her diagnosis but before the worst of it began.

We staggered through last Christmas and New Year, finding ways to enjoy it, and Lou died in January. (When things first started to go really downhill in early December she said ‘I really didn’t want to die at Christmas time’, and I said, some things are out of your control, but even I underestimated how determined she was going to be.)

And now, here we are. It’s Christmas, again.

It’s been a year of deep sadness and slow recovery. I think I thought this grief would be more violent, more torrid; but though it’s been hard and I miss her in my bones, it’s been mostly peaceful. Maybe the long run-up to her death made for the peace, or maybe it’s the fact that we had all had the chance to say all the things we needed to say to each other.

And oddly, I find I am looking forward to Christmas. I thought First Christmas Without Her*** would be something to be endured, but I’ve definitely got some festive mojo going. I’m excited about baking and am beribboning presents like it’s going out of fashion.****

I was wondering why; and then I realised that this post-it note has been stuck to my computer screen since February, when my bereavement counsellor said it to me: Be the things you loved most about the people who are gone.

It’s been something I will have glanced at and barely registered most days, since then. But obviously it’s gone in. Because I loved that Lou loved Christmas.

I’ve said this to you before, and no doubt I’ll say it to you again. But here I am saying it today: Love your people while you can. Love them with everything you have. Don't stint. Giving that love is something you will not ever regret.

You may not need these as Christmas approaches, but in case you do:

• You have permission to put care of yourself before care of others.

• You have permission to gift within your means.

• You have permission to eat and drink as you wish, without guilt or shame.

• You have permission to go to bed whenever you like.

• You have permission not to gift at all.

• You have permission to laugh until Brussels sprouts come out of your nose.

• You have permission to go home when you are ready.

• You have permission to say ‘no, thank you.’

• You have permission to delight in gifting.*****

• You have permission to excuse yourself from conversations you are not enjoying.

• You have permission to watch films all day in your pyjamas.

• You have permission to recognise that there can be happiness in the midst of sadness.

I’ll see you in 2026. Thank you for your unstinting support and compassion this year. I will never forget it.

Stephanie x

*including the memorable year when my Mum gave her a cookery book called ‘Potatoes Made Easy’. We laughed when she opened it and we were still laughing about it a couple of weeks before she died

**very possibly would have had a partial meltdown if life had been 100% excellent, to be fair. Brass bands+carols=tears, no?

***Somehow impossible not to capitalise

****It will not go out of fashion for as long as paper string is available and I have breath in my body

*****very much my love language

It’s been a busy couple of weeks - as can happen, if you are a person who will blithely agree to do anything and everything ‘before the end of the month’ without first checking where in the month we are. (It’s very rarely the first.*)

Still! I’ve been knocking doors out of windows**, work-wise, and have had time to look at the sky every now and again. So all’s good.

Gift-giving is on many minds at the moment, and I have had an idea which might contribute positively to that. (Or it might be weird. I’m not sure.)

Essentially: I knit a lot of shawls, usually because I really like the pattern or I get a bit over-excited at a yarn festival; but I don’t always wear them. Not because there is anything wrong with them; just because I have other shawls that are my go-tos. (And, a bit like jeans, you don’t really know whether a shawl is for you until you’ve worn them for a day.)

So - I have three shawls that I knitted and have worn maybe once. And*** I’d like to gift-wrap them and send them to people who might love them and wear them. These shawls could be a gift for you, or on your behalf. There is no criterion except that you/your giftee will use it. If you’d like one/like me to send one on your behalf, just email me and let me know where you’d like it to go. If more than one person requests them I’ll choose at random.

Here are the shawls…

Blue shades fading to a sparkling grey

Navy-cream patterns****

Teal-charcoal brick pattern

And talking of knitting, I finished the cowls I designed as part of a knitter-in-residence programme, which has been really interesting and well-supported. (A favourite thing: being introduced to the work of Claudy Jongstra, which is amazing.) The patterns will be available in the New Year.

Two observations about this process. 1. I’m really glad I did it. 2. I will not be swerving into a knitwear design career.

I have a new favourite cookery book, which is this one, recommended to my by Helen at Forum Books:

So far I’ve made the oat soda bread (delicious) the nutmeg biscuits (not yet decorated, but very tasty naked), the golden Christmas cake (untasted but smells fantastic), chocolate mousse (tasty and freezes well in small pots), and the gnocchi with watercress pesto and ricotta, which has gone straight to the top of my Favourite Pasta Things chart.*****

Because this is a winter-based book, I’m going to say treat yourself now, to get full value out of it. You can find it here, your local indie will order it for you, and you can get it in the usual online places. If you buy it, please tell me what you make!

Since my last newsletter, I went to bear witness in Newcastle as police arrested peaceful protestors objecting to the proscription of Palestine Action. (You can read more about the campaign here.)

It was a tough watch. This woman spoke my heart.

Next week, I’m off to my beloved Garsdale Retreat to writewritewrite and eateateat. (The food at Garsdale is legendary, and rightly so.) I am a little in love with the characters in the new book, which is not to say I won’t be making their lives miserable in due course. (I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: writers are AWFUL.) So no newsletter next week, and I’ll look in the week after with my last newsletter of the year.

Before I go, three reminders:

• if you would like me to send signed copies of my books to anyone as gifts, I’m happy to do so. Please email me before Friday 12th December to arrange. I can also send gift vouchers for workshop places or one-off mentoring.

• bookings for writing services (here) go absolutely crazy in January, so please get in touch before then if you think you might be interested in us working together early in 2026. Currently I have one slot to start mentoring in January, and one slot for a manuscript assessment in January, and one of each for February. After that it’s likely to be April before I can take on any new work. (If we’ve been in touch already, don’t worry, you’re on the list and I’m holding a place for you.)

• If you think you might want to take on online writing course with me next year, please book soon. Details and dates are here. Some bursary places are available.

And before I go, a final reminder at this often-tricky time of year: you are doing just fine. All will be well.

Love,

Stephanie x

*Well, maybe about once out of thirty-ish, now I come to think of it.

**May be a northern expression, not sure

***This is the bit that I think might be weird

****knitted mostly while watching Tiger King

*****Full disclosure: I did not make the gnocchi, though there are instructions on how to do so in the book.

And gone deep and narrow for his new hole. (Is this better, do we think? Does he think? Sigh.)

Knitting news! The Knitter-In-Residence project continues. (I wrote about in last week’s newsletter.) I’m midway through the project, which is the equivalent of the point 60,000 words into a novel when I doubt all of my choices**. However, you have been here for long enough for me to trust you with sight of my somewhat mad-looking work-in-progress:

Two cowls, both to be further embellished; I’m holding my nerve and hoping that they will come right. (The net is supposed to look scrappy. The next phase involves Gorgeous Yet Straightforward Embroidery, which I fear only exists in my head, like the red dress I have been trying to buy since 1989.)

Writing-wise, I am at the other end of the confidence scale. I’m about 15,000 words in and I love everything about this new novel. As the saying goes, if I was chocolate I’d eat myself. This feeling won’t last - and this is a good thing, because judgement, discernment and stony-hearted revision are just as important in writing as what I’m doing now - but it is SUCH FUN. Getting-up-at-5.30am-to-write-before-walking-Harris levels of fun. ***

And in Christmas Does Not Knit Itself corner, aren’t these socks pretty? I’m afraid I can’t remember what the pattern is, but they are knitted in a lovely DK sock yarn which is a godsend to those of us who are A Bit Behind This Year. (I promise they *are* the same size, though it looks as though the one on the left is bigger.)

I went to a craft fair to do a bit of Christmas shopping. Which accidentally included buying a mug for myself. It is SO beautiful, and (I suspect) strongly implicated in my current writing jubilation. And there should be more pomegranate themed items about. (We’re over Katherine of Aragon by now, surely?) Though I may be biased because I love almost all fruit above almost**** everything else. (You can keep your bananas and Granny Smith apples, thanks all the same.)

It’s made by Abi, whose website is here. Her work is lovely.

For balance*****, my daughter is also an excellent potter, and her shop is here.

Following some requests this week, to confirm: yes, I will be very happy to sign, dedicate, gift-wrap and post a book to you ready to gift at Christmas, or post it directly to someone else on your behalf. Just reply to this email and let me know which book and who to send it to, and we’ll get it sorted. (My last posting date will be Friday 5th December.)

Also available: gift vouchers for Zoom workshops (on plot, character, dialogue, memoir, and creating a writing life). You can also buy gift vouchers to be put towards other writing services.

And a word to the wise: requests for mentoring, manuscripts and edits always go through the roof in January, so if you think you might want us to work together in early 2026, now’s the time to get in touch for a no-obligation chat about what you need.

Sky-wise, November continues beautiful.

Also, November berry game is strong.

It could be that November always has good berries, and I haven’t noticed before. I have developed a dog-walker’s view of nature of late.****** Or maybe a Quaker’s view (I took these photos outside Newcastle Meeting House on Sunday).

Until next week, friends, be well, and warm. I wish you a good book and good sleep. (These are the best things I can think of.)

Love,

Stephanie x

*sorry about the bits, though he does like airing them, I’m afraid. I was going to have a go at pixellating them, but (a) I don’t know how and (b) it might draw more attention...

**and announce to Beloved Mr Butland that I will be getting an office job, 9-5, doing what I am told and no more, and burning down the studio forthwith; at which point he looks unsurprised and reminds me that I feel like this at 60,000 words every time I write a novel and then forget all about it. And I have a sad little sulk before conceding that that may well be the case.

***Yes, really.

****Exceptions: meringues, cheese, porridge after cold morning walks.

*****loyalty/nepotism

******especially strong if the dog in question spends anything up to seven minutes standing, unmoving and immovable, in a puddle, for no reason discernible to his human.

He has asked me to remind you that if you ever meet him you should only put your hand in your pocket if you are about to give him a delicious snack. Otherwise it’s just rude.

This week, I have mostly been doing two things: writing and knitting.* They’ve both been a little bit different to usual. Let me explain…

First, writing. If you have been on a training course/event with me there’s a good chance I will have said to you that when I had written one novel I could tell you exactly how to do it; now I’m starting my tenth**, I haven’t a clue. This is a joke, but it’s also true. Though I envy the ‘write-a-thousand-words-a-day’ people - and, sometimes, I am one - for me, every novel is a new experience.

Partly because I am a new writer with every novel. I’ve learned more about my craft, I’ve talked to more readers, I have a different idea. I know what worked well last time and I remember, in excruciating, slow-motion detail, the bits of early drafts that weren’t right and the time and effort it took to fix them. I have read more books than I had the last time I wrote a novel. And I have been living my life; the last year, in particular, has been rich in both sadness and success So, logically, of course the process is going to be different with this new novel.

This time, I’m telling a story that I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I’m returning to old characters and giving them good intentions, challenging surprises, and the need to truly resolve things that they haven’t had the courage to look at properly before.

When I wrote A BOOKSHOP SUMMER (out next year! hooray!) I put together a first draft that had roughly the right things in roughly the right places. I made notes in notebooks and on my phone; I dictated early parts of the text as I sat with my friend as she was dying; a couple of months later I wrote 20,000 words in a week, in a panic, and although they turned out to be pretty good words I had absolutely no memory of them when I returned to them. It was not my favourite way to approach a novel, but needs must when you are grieving and writing is a kind of lifeline - the thing that is always waiting, and that can give you a break from your grieving heart by absorbing your attention for an hour or two. Once I had the first draft, I could take my time with the fixing and the enriching and the rethinking, and in the end I got to the result that I always do, maybe best summed up by ‘this is not precisely the book I thought I was setting out to write at the beginning, but I have given it the best of my heart and mind and I believe that it is worth my readers’ time, and I am proud of it, and I wouldn’t let it go into the world if I wasn’t.’***

Already, the process of writing this (as yet untitled) novel is different, not just to A BOOKSHOP SUMMER but to all the novels I have written before.

In practical terms, I’m writing longhand in a notebook before going to the keyboard, just to suggest to my brain it might want to think in some new ways.

And though I have an idea of the plot, a clear sense of where the novel ends, and a pretty well-populated wall of post-it notes, I’m going gently and slowly from the start. I’m putting in details I wouldn’t normally worry about until the next draft. I’m not thinking too much about what happens later, because I am already experiencing one of my favourite things about writing; realising what will come later as a consequence of the thing that I have only just heard of.

It’s a difficult process to describe, but something like, one minute I’m writing a scene that I’ve planned in which two people are talking about something from their shared past, then I think, ‘So, ooh! here’s a thought- Person A says X to person B at this point, and person B is the sort of person who will ruminate and worry away about it, but not feel they can mention it again until—ooh! what if Y happens? And the power dynamic has completely shifted. And person A will have forgotten that they ever said it.’

And if that feels strange and a bit trivial - this is why I am terrible at talking about the writing process. I love it, though. And I’m especially loving my calm immersion in this gently-growing story.

And now - knitting! I am doing an Exciting Thing, which is: designing a knitting pattern as a virtual-knitter-in-residence project. I’m proud to be part of the Knit For Wildlife initiative, creating something that speaks to the work of the Love The Oceans conservation organisation in Mozambique.

One of the best things about this project has been getting to talk to experts in the field and immerse myself in a world I don’t know much about. For the last few weeks my non-writing time has been largely (and virtually, sadly) coral-reef'-based. I’ve been inspired by the beauty of coral and also all the ways we**** are impacting it.

The upshot of which is, I’ve been thinking and sketching sorting through my knitting stash and popping along to Fine Fettle Fibres for a bit of yarn shopping.

I’ve knitted a cowl, which falls in waves.

And I’m experimenting with embellishment, based on nets, and coral. (Abstract nets and abstract coral, in case that isn’t obvious.)

I have a way to go, but I feel the same way I do when I’m on the right track with a novel: a warm suspicion in my gut that it is going to come right.

My fellow virtually-in-residence knitters are working on amazing things, and the patterns will be available when the project is complete. I’ll keep you posted.

Before I go, Any Other Business:

• Thank you for your porridge ideas and anecdotes. My emails have been a delight this week.

• I’m booking in Zoom workshops for early next year, and yes, you can buy a place as a gift (or forward this to someone who would like to buy you a place as a gift). Take a look here and then let me know which workshop(s) you’d like to come to and when.

• There’s one mentoring slot open right now. The next one is likely to be in January. Is this one for you?

• And I’m booking in manuscript assessments and edits for January (one slot), February and March. Look here and then message me or reply to this email.

Until next week, be well, my friends. I’m wishing you two things: good sleep (which makes everything better), and that you are reading a book that you both cannot wait to get back to, and cannot bear to end.

Love and light*****,

Stephanie x

*and, obviously, reading, walking Harris, and watching Celebrity Traitors.

**tenth for publication. In the ‘never to be published’ file are the first novel that taught me how to write a novel, my forests-and-fairytales experiment, and an early adventure for Cherry and Peaches Fox, characters who, in slightly different form, appear in A BOOKSHOP SUMMER.

***when I say this is ‘always’ the result, I mean ‘always apart from the couple of weeks before publication when I become convinced that I have blurted 90,000 incomprehensible words and have been known to beg my agent to make the whole thing stop’.

****not you and me specifically. Humanity in general. Although… y’know.

*****For the Lily Allen fans: yes I have heard ‘West End Girl’. It’s an absolute masterpiece. Though I had to google ‘4chan Stan’ due to being 54. And, a question: why would people date songwriters and then treat them badly? Have they not come across Taylor Swift?

(He arranged that cushion himself, by the way.)

The vet wondered if Harris had exerted himself. What do we think, friends?

I have filled in the hole (again) and scattered the grass seed (again) and am hoping for the best* (again).

This morning, I sent back the final final comments on the final final page proofs of A BOOKSHOP SUMMER. I always think this is going to be a big moment, but actually, it always feels fine: I think because I have learned, over the years and over the novels, that there comes a moment when I have told the story I want to tell, or at least got as close to telling that story as I possibly can. There’s a point at which I stop improving what’s there and am simply changing it, and that’s the time to stop.

This feels like a good time to have another look at the cover, no?

I love this SO MUCH. It’s so cheerful and beautiful and has real pickupability**.My only quibble is that when I was asked to sign it off I said I was happy on condition that someone came to my house and built this exact book nook. Apparently my editor thought I was not serious. Sigh.

Thank you to everyone who has pre-ordered. I am so grateful to you. (Your local indie bookseller will happily order it for you, or you can find it at amazon uk, amazon US, bookshop.org and Waterstones.)

Remember I told you that I have not, in fact, knitted two green cardigans/sweaters in as many weeks, but it’s going to look like it? Behold:

And the back (with dog assistant):

I am going to get a lot of wear from this: shawl-ish but more secure, a good colour for going with pretty much everything I own.***

Info for knitters: this is the pattern, this is the yarn. I sized down because I wanted something less voluminous.

Sometimes, when I have knitted a Big Thing, I then feel the need to knit a Little Thing, as a sort of palate-cleanser. For example, a mini Emotional Support Chicken****.

I bought the kit at Lucy Locket Land when I did an event with their book group. I also bought the sock kit, complete with hand-dyed yarn, that is inspired by ‘Found In A Bookshop’: there are a handful left, here. Let me know if you make some! (It’s a double-knit sock pattern, so they will be done in no time, I promise*****.)

Several delightful parters, friends, parents and children have bought places on workshops for the writer in their life for Christmas gifts. Details are here: let me know if you would like to book, for yourself or someone else, and we’ll sort it. (I’ll send a pretty card with the details, too, so your giftee has Something To Open.)

I have space to do one edit or manuscript assessment (details on this page) between now and the end of the year… is this space for your novel or memoir? If so, reply to this email and we’ll set up a no-obligation chat. (If you’ve already been in touch, don’t worry, I am holding a space for you.)

I’m also able to take on one mentee before Christmas and one in January - let me know if this could be you!

And booking is open for January, February and March manuscript assessments, developmental edits and line edits. A deposit secures your place.******

And finally, Baking News. This week I had a Baking Disaster.

This is not a great angle as you can’t see quite how spectacularly sunken the sunken bit is. Also, it tasted awful, so I couldn’t even fill the centre with cooked apple and call it Autumn Pudding. I’m not going to share the recipe as I’m sure the faults were all mine. Too heavy handed on the baking powder and the caraway seeds, I suspect.

I also made this, which I cut up before I took a photo:

It’s a nutmeg cake, but I promise it is not too nutmeg. It’s just sort of…warm and a bit different, but in a good way. I over-swirled my meringue a bit compared to the original - you’ll find a photo and the recipe here.

Until next time, friends, be well. If you’re in the northern hemisphere, may I recommend custard, porridge, and getting your thick black tights out? It’s the most wonderful time of the year, which is to say, Reading Season. (Only kidding. Every season is reading season. Maybe we should call it People Leave You Alone To Read Indoors Instead Of Trying To Make You Go Outside For Fun Season.)

Love,

Stephanie x

*in the form of cold, hard November ground

**I promise I once heard someone in publishing use this word.

***autumn colours and denim, essentially

****Yes, it is called that. Hooray!

*****I cast on on Sunday and am half way down both legs already.

******a word to the wise: booking always goes a bit mad in January

I wasn’t sure that ‘Lost for Words’ would be published at all. I wrote it out of contract - that is to say, no-one was waiting for it, or had paid for it - and thought I was doing a Jane-Austen-about-Emma-Woodhouse, in that I was creating a heroine ‘who no-one but myself would much like’. Like Jane Austen about Emma, I was wrong about Loveday. Because it turns out that pretty much every reader has an inner Loveday: someone who would like everyone to just be quiet and go away because she has a book to read. And then another one.

I was so, so happy when I realised how ‘Lost For Words’*** was connecting with people. It was translated into a dozen languages. I got emails from readers upon readers, telling me how much they loved the book, how strongly they felt for Loveday, how they only really felt at home and safe among books and bookish people.

(There was also much correspondence along the lines of How could you do that to Archie? To which the answer is: writers have hearts of flint. We might have cute book-themed accessories but we will wreak merry havoc for the sake of a page-turn.)

And in a prime example of Why Authors Need Agents And Editors, because they are absolutely clueless about everything outside their own head, I thought, I am glad ‘Lost For Words’ has gone so well, because obviously I will only ever get to write one bookish book.

After ‘Lost For Words’ came ‘The Curious Heart Of Ailsa Rae’ and ‘The Woman In The Photograph’, and I loved writing them. I loved learning to dance, and revisiting analogue photography. I immersed myself in research about life after transplant (Ailsa) and the feminist movement (Vee, Leonie and Erica). I wrote about flirting, and heartbreak, and Edinburgh, and Greenham Common, and friendship, and aging, and exhibitions.

Then the pandemic came, and my then editor, Eli, got in touch and asked if I would be prepared to write a novel set in lockdown, in the world of ‘Lost for Words’. She said she thought it would be important, afterwards, that there would be novels to help us process what we were going through. I thought she was wrong - I didn’t think any of us would need or want to think about the pandemic ever again - but I trusted her and I liked the idea, so I immersed myself in thinking and writing. And when ‘Found In A Bookshop’ came out, it felt as though everyone who loved ‘Lost For Words’ grabbed it with both hands.

It was only then that I thought, maybe I could get away with writing another bookish book.

My now-editor, Marion, agreed, and along came ‘The Second Chance Book Club’, in which September inherits a house, and a book group.

I secretly felt as though I was cheating, or milking things, or exploiting - something non-specific. I was unclear, but I was uncomfortable. A bit…squirmy, somehow.

And then, about halfway through writing September’s story, I realised I had been an absolute fool to think I was only able, or allowed, to write one bookish book. Because my entire life has been bookishness, as far back as I can remember. Reading and writing and buying and smelling and thinking and talking about books is as much a part of my identity as being from Northumberland, or having no sense of direction and a weirdly specific memory for useless things.****

Books have shown me how to be a good human, given me empathy and the ability to look beyond my own desires. Books have kept me company and helped me come to terms with losses, disappointments and failures. Books have made me laugh and enriched my life. Going back to books I have read before have been the best and only comfort on long, dark nights.

And while ‘write what you know’ may be terrible advice***** in many ways, being bookish is something I know right through to my soul. Cut me and I bleed ‘Mansfield Park’.

So, let me present to you A BOOKSHOP SUMMER******, coming next year. It’s unapologetically bookish, and written by an author who has realised at last that she can be unapologetically bookish herself.

‘A Bookshop Summer’ is out in ebook in February and paperback in May. You can pre-order from Amazon in the UK here and the US here, and there’s an ebook link for Bookshop.org users here. Your local indie will also be delighted to pre-order the paperback for you.

I wrote this novel before, during and after a devastating bereavement, and it taught me something else about books: that they might not be able to fix everything, but they can help you to hold a space in yourself for healing and for hope.

‘A Bookshop Summer’ is the story of a group of people who meet at the Lost For Words Bookshop in York in order to read aloud. If you have read my previous novels you will recognise some of the characters. (Trixie, Madison, Loveday, Kit, anyone?) If you haven’t read previous novels - come right on in. Like any bookshop, it doesn’t matter if this is the first time you’ve walked through the door. You are so welcome. Come be bookish with me.

Love,

Stephanie x

*I used to take the postcard to events, and then I lost it. Hey ho.

**Actual Proper Job. I was a trainer, and it was a great job.

***Other titles considered: Loveday, Between Strike And Flame, The Bookseller’s Secret, and approximately 3,000 others - I even have printed proofs with a different name!

****Explain to me again why north is not always uphill, because I still don’t get it. And if I can remember an occasion or event, I can tell you what I was wearing.

*****Let’s put in a pin in this. It’s more than a footnote.

******Also, we will be returning to the sheer deliciousness of this cover.

But now it is October, and I am delighted with Past Me.

(I have just finished a cardigan/wrap/shrug**, so when I show you that next week, please remember that I am not really as prolific as I seem; we’re just a long way behind with finished-object catch-ups.)

Info for knitters: the yarn is this (and on sale!) and the pattern is this. It was really lovely to knit - a straightforward pattern, and even the finishing was actually a pleasure, which is not something I would usually say….

I have Workshop News…

Thank you to everyone who got in touch to say that they might want to plan ahead for 2026, and/or request workshops as gifts. I’ve now booked dates for January and February for Zoom workshops. There are five different workshops:

• For fiction writers: plot, character and dialogue (my original workshops)

• For memoirists: approaching and writing memoir

• For all writers: creating a good writing life

Dates and booking details are here.

And other writing services are here.

In one of those glorious afternoons where excellent things collide, I went to meet a book group… who meet in a knitting shop, the delightful Lucy Locket Land!

We talked about ‘Found In A Bookshop’, in a heartfelt and honest discussion of our experiences of lockdown and loss, of community and craft. It was such a privilege to be part of that conversation, with such a lovely group of people.

I’ve just finished a novel in which reading aloud really, really matters. I thought, and wrote, about all the ways in which we connect over words, and use books to help us to tell our own stories. I’m about to sign off on the final pages of this new novel, which is the place*** in the process where it can feel as though the solid ground I thought I was on is actually a blistering hellscape of lava-like quicksand.

So spending an afternoon with these kind and thoughtful people was exactly what I needed to remind me that my instincts, when it comes to bookishness, are sound.

And as if that wasn’t enough… ‘Found In A Bookshop’ has its own yarn, dyed by the shop’s owner, the brilliant Lucy! So many colours to represent so many characters. I’ll show you the socks when they are done.

I made cookies, and they taste beautiful, and they look beautiful, and they are from a beautiful book.

They are Garam Masala and chocolate chunk cookies, and the recipe is here. I made a couple of changes:**** mixed citrus peel instead of ginger, and a slightly fancy dark chocolate mix with little pearly things in instead of straight chocolate.

They are from ‘A Whisper of Cardamom’ by Eleanor Ford, and if you take a look at her website you’ll get a sense of how gorgeous the book is. I’ve made several things from it now and they have all been scrumptious. (Saffron macaroons! Smoky chilli brownies!)

October skies: I didn’t think they could beat September, yet here we are.*****

Until next time, my friends, be well, stay well.

Stephanie x

*delete according to your preference and/or understanding of whether these are three names for the same thing or three different things.

**as above

***well, there are a few places, but I’ve been okay with that since I realised that it’s only because writing really matters to me.

****not because I know better, because I didn’t have any ginger or dark chocolate in the cupboard.

*****I mean, I know it’s not a competition, except in my head.