Maisie Bloom is a newly qualified teacher who lives in the Yorkshire Dales. She is kind, fun and full of hope, and she is one of the reasons I have been absent from my blog.
A Gift for Maisie Bloom has been my great writing escape and is my debut romance novel. The story follows a newly qualified teacher who becomes an accidental sleuth and falls in love. I adore romances and indulge in those delicious cosy mysteries on television, so I have combined these genres.
Conversations with my niece Maria inspired the relationship between Maisie and her Aunt Ada. I love my niece’s perspective on life, but it always amuses me that she forgets I was her age once upon a time. It was a joy to send Maisie on her adventures and hide tiny jewels of observations that may one day connect with Maria. And I must confess I also listened carefully to all other nieces and nephews, so I’ll leave them to dig for a few treasures.
A Gift for Maisie Bloom has a special place in my heart. What a thrill to create my own idyllic village in the Yorkshire Dales, then send Maise to Paris. Of course, I also insisted on lots of sunshine, good times and laughter.
I can’t wait for readers to meet Maisie and her nosy neighbours.
More about A Gift for Maisie Bloom:
You’re not supposed to fall in love when investigating your aunt’s disappearance.
When Maisie Bloom inherits her aunt’s cottage in Yorkshire, life is perfect, including her two love interests. But when mysterious mail and blog posts arrive, she discovers Aunt Ada was investigating the disappearance of a prolific author in Paris. Was it murder? Soon Maisie is hot on the trail.
But can you sleuth in Paris without falling in love?
Early reviews of A Gift for Maisie Bloom:
‘Readers are going to fall in love with Maisie.’
‘This wonderful mystery is a gift for readers who enjoy cozy crime, intrigue and romance.’
‘Refreshingly different! Laugh-out-loud humour laced with whimsy, eccentric characters and delightful glimpses of the Yorkshire countryside and romantic Paris.’
‘I defy you not to laugh out loud at the antics of the nosy neighbours.’
‘A curl up on the settee and read the winter blues away novel.’
It’s a gorgeous cosy mystery mashed up with romance and is all about books, love and family, starting in a Yorkshire village and then whisking you off to Paris.’
My books is available to buy here:
Karl: At one level ‘
Fifteen miles from nowhere, we saw a faded sign for ‘Fish Shack’. We followed a road to the middle of the beach desert until we reached a decaying old boat that was almost as big as a whale. Yes, and the 
Expecting greasy fish and chips, I was handed plaice and salad with a large cup of builder’s tea. The food was absolutely delicious! The plaice, caught only hours earlier, was cooked in olive oil on a hot plate. The fresh salad had an olive oil and lemon dressing. It was served in a small cardboard box, but they will probably steal this idea on the Great British Menu. And builder’s tea could be the new Pinot Noir. I must confess that I declined the bread roll, but understood that it was a nod to the fishermen who eat this food.
Seizing the moment, we decided to go for a walk on the beach. We were told it was fine to walk on the beach if we didn’t touch the ‘fishing tackle’!! Forget visiting a maritime museum, there were artefacts on the beach such as rusty anchors and abandoned nets. These savvy people are obviously protecting the objects d’art to prevent art galleries and Michelin starred restaurants from displaying them in their gaffs. The food and the setting were perfect: The Fish Shack is indeed a funky little shack. Get yourselves off to the food getaway!
Who knows? Maybe this place will become either the Dungeness Modern Art Gallery or even the Derek Jarman Modern. An art gallery and restaurant without walls could be the new concept of the 21st century. Visit now as in the future you may need a credit card without a limit.
She retrieved a copy of her novel from her large blue handbag. 
Carol’s fun manner is infectious. It was clear that the women on the neighbouring table were straining to catch a glance of the new novel. Carol left the book peeking out of her blue bag, and it was impossible to miss the tempting front cover. One of the ladies searched for the book on her phone. 
Carol: My characters have become very special to me, even the less likeable ones, so I did miss them when I stopped writing. There are six main characters in 
Patricia Feinberg Stoner has been writing limericks since she was ten and she has now compiled 
Dear Readers,
From the north of England…
to the south of France…
In November, I received some mail from Nunspeet, Holland. Imogen Matthews posted an article to 
Across the path was a sign to Het Verscholen Dorp, Dutch for hidden village. It wasn’t easy to see what was there, which was probably the point. We followed a rough path through the trees and ahead of us was a hut of some sort, only partly visible. The roof was covered with moss, vegetation and branches to look like the ground beside it. It was a reconstruction of an underground hut that had stood on this spot.
Today, the woods are a haven for people looking to escape busy lives in towns and cities. The Veluwe is a popular holiday destination, but deep in the woods it’s always tranquil. I imagine how quiet it must have been 74 years ago, although for many the peace was tempered by an undercurrent of threat and fear.
Angela Petch is an author of historical fiction, and she has written two wonderful novels set in Tuscany. I completely lost myself in both novels. ‘
The ebooks of ‘
Cari lettori (Dear Readers),
The inglese was still asleep on the planks above the cows. The nights were chilly and the animal warmth and dry hay made a comfortable bedroom – much better than mine. I have to share with nonna and she kicks and tosses at night. She snores like the pig we used to fatten for Christmas. There have been no pigs this year. The Germans have ‘requisitioned’ ours and everybody else’s in the area. ‘Pigs eating pigs,’ we muttered amongst ourselves.
‘
A golden gateway to a Victorian Christmas framed the 
Scrooge sat in Tredegar House counting gold, and bringing a distinct chill to the room. The embers in the fire did not warm Scrooge’s welcome. He stared, in disgust, at his guests and did his best to make them feel unwelcome.
A young boy stamped his foot on the oak floor. “I like Christmas. I’m getting a new bike,” declared the fair-haired boy. He looked up at his father for reassurance.
I heard the guests’ ‘laughter and good humour’, and this melted the frosty reception of Scrooge. I heard parents retelling 
Many thanks to the 
John was on holiday, in Lincoln, with his wife, Maria, and was also taking the opportunity to complete some research. John offered to give me a brief tour of the cathedral before we discussed his books. I had climbed Steep Hill to reach the cathedral but was mightily impressed by the cathedral. John explained that Maria would meet us later in the coffee shop.
John: 
Maria was sipping her espresso while absorbed in the book. She smiled at John and handed over the paperback. I noticed that she removed another copy of the book from her handbag. 
Jessie: Wow! The reviews are very positive, and I can’t wait to read the books. Can you give me an extract from the books to tempt the reader? 
It was like opening a book jacket into a giant book, when I opened the door into ‘
Passing through magical corridor from the main bookshop, I heard a little boy saying, “Wow!” to his mother, as they followed a staircase down into the children’s section.
A gentleman, wearing a white shirt and waistcoat, looked up from his book. “Oh dear!” he declared. “I think there’s more seating upstairs.” he muttered, into his book.
Clearly, this bookshop has been set up by a true book lover who values time to read, chat and eat. The ‘Book-ish’ cake menu has been designed to tempt the reader to stay. I chose The Queen of Hearts’ Bakewell Tarts. ‘
Indeed, I was delighted that Sara Gethin’s book, ‘
My Twitter and Facebook friends will understand my delight when I was handed my treasure in a brown bag that read, ‘BOOKS ARE MY BAG.’ I also discovered that the bookshop opened in the same month I launched my Books in my Handbag Blog.
It is great to challenge ourselves with new genres, and ‘
In this extract we meet Jess Morgan, a loner who doesn’t fit in and has few friends. Her life is about to change in ways she could never have imagined.
And then looking through the opening into the final gallery, Jess caught sight of a large painting hanging by itself. Her breath quickening with excitement, she walked rapidly towards it.
Everyone else had somehow left too, she realised. She could see people strolling around the other galleries through the archways. But here, she was alone. In the sudden stillness Jess caught her breath. The painting was revealed to her in its entirety. Or as she thought oddly, it revealed itself to her.
I was that kid in a class of pink tutus who was dressed as a vampire bat. I never wanted high-heeled dancing shoes, I wanted sturdy boots to go tramping around forests looking for the shapes of goblins in the trees.
Today, I attended the Bennet household. Alas, Elizabeth was not at home. I was rather shocked to be greeted by her father, Mr Bennet. I did not see a servant.
Finally, he asked the parlour maid to show me into the library. Strangely, every book on the shelves has been penned by a Jane Austen. I was most impressed with a book entitled, ‘
Lost in Austen’s books, I read until the clock struck four and my stomach rumbled. Venturing into the corridor, surprised that the house was silent, I decided to depart. A Miss Austen opened the door and insisted on my company. She informed me that Mr Bennet lives in her imagination, but he had been seen loitering on the doorstop on many occasions.
Amused by my breeches, Miss Austen invited me to take tea with her. She smiled when I explained they are cropped trousers. We sat in a very modest parlour. The maid served tea and a buttered apple tart. Delighted that her books had made me forget time, Miss Austen commented that. ‘…for my own part, if a book is written well, I always find it too short.’
As it is almost the weekend, I have asked Jan Brigden to present an extract from her romance novel, ‘
I am delighted to present ‘
As much as he hated how big-headed it sounded, even to himself, he was used to people staring at him. Fact. He also knew that what had happened back there was in no way premeditated on her part; the deep blush and dip of her head when he’d first spoken to her had told him that. How small she’d tried to make herself appear during the ensuing chaos in reception, standing there nervously pulling on the bottom of her ponytail, looking so desperately sorry.
When Rebecca’s friend Abi convinces her to get away from it all at the fabulous Hawksley Manor hotel in York, it seems too good to be true. Pampering and relaxation is just what Rebecca needs to distract herself from the creeping suspicion that her husband, Greg, is hiding something from her.
Jan is a South London-dwelling all-round book devotee, married to Dave, and one eighth of online-writing group The Romaniacs