The Cherry Tree Cafe by Heidi Swain

Head over heels in love with the enigmatic Giles Worthington, Lizzie Dixon feels that this year her birthday will be a special one. Giles has sent her for a day of pampering at an exclusive spa and she is expecting a marriage proposal at dinner.

Instead, Giles informs her that he is going to marry Natasha – the woman he jilted prior to meeting Lizzie – and so their relationship is over. While Lizzie was at the spa Giles had sneakily moved out of the penthouse flat they shared.

With her job in the same company as Giles under threat Lizzie resigns and, feeling emotionally vulnerable, returns to her home town of Wynbridge, humiliated and nursing a broken heart.

Best friend Jemma and husband Tom are soon to launch their new venture, The Cherry Tree Café, and offer Lizzie a place to stay in the flat above. Rediscovering her passion for sewing – and herself along the way – Lizzie begins to get her life back on track and realises just how much she had changed to accommodate Giles.

And then there is Ben…

Mystery shrouds the circumstances in which Ben, too, has returned to Wynbridge after a failed relationship. Lizzie finds the crush she had for Ben as a teenager reigniting and there is also another man clamouring for her attention. Lizzie, desperate to find love again, is not sure whether she can she trust either.

Written in first person the story takes you on the journey with Lizzie as she struggles to reclaim her life, on her own terms, after her ill-fated relationship with Giles. Sometimes her capricious nature can be frustrating but there is always that desire to see her fulfil her ambitions and find love.

It is a contemporary love story that has all the heady mix of love and friendship, lies, betrayal and forgiveness. One of the commendable things about Heidi’s writing is the ease with which the story carries you along. It is like a good conversation between friends, flowing seamlessly from one chapter to the next,  and before you realise it you have been reading for much longer than you thought.

For those who enjoy romantic fiction The Cherry Tree Café will not disappoint. Curl up on the sofa – nice and warm with a hot drink – and indulge yourself this winter!

The Cherry Tree Cafe was published by Simon and Schuster in July 2015

You can follow Heidi on Twitter: @Heidi_Swain

You can follow Heidi on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/WriterHeidiJoSwain?ref=hl

IMG_20151017_141953_kindlephoto-76121270 (1)Heidi Swain lives with her  family in Norfolk. She has always had a passion for writing and has been scribbling away from a very young age. Heidi has a degree in Literature but it was only when she joined the RNA New Writers’ Scheme and submitted her manuscript for The Cherry Tree Cafe that her debut novel was recognised and published. I wish Heidi every success for The Cherry Tree Cafe and all her future writing – of which I think there will be plenty!

The Law of Reflection

“The more a characteristic in someone else bothers you the more your soul is trying to draw a reflection to your attention.”  - A Little Light on the Spiritual Laws by Diana Cooper.

I have read this Law many times and had always failed to see the logic in this premise. How can a characteristic that annoys me be reflecting back an aspect of my own personality?  The reason it irritates me is because I don’t behave in that way – at least I didn’t think I did.

What is it that piques you most?

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Do grumpy people irritate you? Are you just a little bit more grumpy than you think? Picture courtesy of Pixabay

On reflection (no pun intended) I realise that I am increasingly irritated by those who are so strongly opinionated that they refuse to listen to anyone else’s views. On the radio and TV everyone talks over each other, determined to assert themselves. The ego demanding to be heard because of ’the need to be right‘.

Our opinions are formed by our life experiences and no two people see things in the same way. Some have privileged lives and others have difficult lives. Even those who share common experiences view them differently, so how can our perspective be the same? Yet often this is not taken into consideration. How often do we take the time to listen to others and try to understand why they believe what they do?

The ossification of our ideas leave us as brittle as our old bones; and as inflexible. We can become hard and uncaring, discarding any form of compassion. I heard someone talking in a café the other day about those fleeing Syria. The woman was adamant that ‘those people are just leaving to have a better life on benefits’.  This was her opinion (and that of many) and she would not shift from this view. I’m sure, if asked, many of those fleeing would provide a different perspective.

Many of those escaping war ravaged countries know the risks when they leave but are trying to keep their children and families safe. It is desperation that drives them to take their families on a dodgy boat, or trudge miles across land, leaving behind everything they own. I’m sure some are economic migrants but I’m sure most aren’t (my opinion for what it’s worth!) How does it reach the stage where, after seeing a few programmes on TV about benefit cheats and migrants sponging off the state, that our opinions become so entrenched that we lose our humanity?

I’m ashamed to admit that I can finally see the logic behind the Law of Reflection because –  and I’m reluctant to admit it – I do exactly the same as the people who annoy me. I often have strong views and am not shy to express them. I have even been know to talk over others and interrupt (yes it’s true!).

thoughts-101033_1280We have all been blessed with the gift of thought and our thoughts are free. We have the opportunity to change them at any time. I will use this Law to change my way of thinking by ensuring that my opinions, which can be very forthcoming after a glass or two of wine (culminating in full eruption after three) are not forced on others. I will  shut my mouth and open my ears and ask myself: Do I really believe this or do I need to re-evaluate the judgements I’ve held close for so long?…And then I’ll give my opinion!

Tying Down The Lion by Joanna Campbell

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Tying Down The Lion tells the story of Roy Bishop and his half- German wife Bridget as they travel to Berlin in the summer of 1967 in an old Morris Traveller. Accompanied by their children, fourteen year old Jacqueline and seven year old Victor, along with Roy’s mother Nell they set off from their semi in Audette Gardens, foregoing their usual holiday to Clacton, so Bridget can meet the sisters she hasn’t seen since the war.

Berlin at this time is divided by the Cold War and Bridget has one sister living in the East and the other in the West.

Jacqueline is working on a school project with the theme of ‘contrasts’ and, inspired by an article about Berlin and their forthcoming trip, she chooses Berlin as the subject. With pen and paper in hand she takes notes during the journey but discovers more about her mother’s early life in Berlin than she was expecting.

Grandma Nell has a dislike for anything foreign and criticises her daughter-in-law at every opportunity – whilst busy knitting and eating sweets of all descriptions. She’s also a little uneasy about the travel arrangements as she believes the Morris Traveller is “held together by no more than a couple of sticking-plasters and an overstretched rubber band”.

Teenager Jacqueline is desperate to be allowed to grow up and finds Victor a ‘pest’ a lot of the time, while Bridget and Roy have their own demons to deal with.

The story is told in first person by Jacqueline with wit and humour, mixed with doses of tenderness. She records the interactions between family members that includes the unavoidable bickering which accompanies five people thrown together in a small space for long periods of time. References to Opportunity Knocks, crimplene frocks, Biba and The Beatles keep you immersed in the 60’s for the duration of the novel.

Tying Down The Lion is a book about division but also about reconciliation. It shows the necessity of family love and understanding. There is warmth and humour mixed with the reality of the prejudices and bigotry which inevitably came in the aftermath of World War 2. It is an amusing and entertaining story but equally moving.

Joanna has taken an entirely unique approach to tell the story of the Cold War and the suffering of Germans during WW2, including those who were not Jewish. It highlights the fact that everyone endures misery during war whichever side they are on. There is a lovely sentence towards the end which links to the title and encapsulates the whole essence of the story. A delight to read.

Tying Down The Lion is published by Brick Lane Publishing 

DSC04248Joanna was born in 1960 and grew up in Hayes, Middlesex. Many of her short stories have been published in magazines and she has had fiction shortlisted in many competitions: the Bridport and Fish prizes­­ and the Flannery O’Connor Award to name just a few. A collection of Joanna’s prize-winning short stories, When Planets Slip Their Tracks, is due to be published later this year.

Joanna answers questions in A Conversation with Greenacre Writers.

You can follow Joanna on twitter: @PygmyProse

 

 

 

Everything In Moderation.

“Everything In Moderation” – My Uncle Peter (and, I believe, Oscar Wilde)

This has always been Uncle Peter’s philosophy in life: Everything in moderation; nothing to excess. This is such a sensible way to live but, for me anyway, impossible to abide by. As much as I hate to admit it I lack self-discipline. This theme runs through all my activities including mediation practise and eating habits. It’s usually all or nothing!

I decide on a Monday morning – it has to be Monday because I can’t ever begin something mid-week – to go on a ‘healthy eating’ plan and commit to 30 minutes meditation each morning. This usually follows a few weeks of self-indulgent eating and drinking resulting in my jeans getting tight. (How this phenomenon happens I don’t know, I think there needs to be a study of the correlation between eating too much and clothes shrinking in the wash).

Monday passes well. Meditation achieved. Lots of salad and veg with grilled salmon or chicken. No wine or chocolate. I’m so good! Tuesday very similar although a chocolate biscuit is added at the very end of the day due to sugar craving. Wednesday morning a friend invites me to lunch at Al Fresco’s, a lovely Italian restaurant.  Do I decline or just vow to eat something healthy?

Of course I don’t decline – I love to meet for a chat and Alfresco’s is the perfect place. I have a food shop to fit in before I go so I decide to meditate in the evening instead. My foot has just stepped onto the slippery slope.

On arrival my friend is sipping a glass of chilled white wine with an almost full bottle glistening in the cooler beside the table. Our usual ritual. Help!

Not wishing to offend I allow the waiter to pour and I indicate to stop when the glass is a quarter full. (I’m trying).

After a quick catch up I look at the menu. Now it gets tricky. I refuse point blank to pay £10 for a plate of a-whole-pizzalettuce and tomatoes and the fish is a little beyond my lunch time budget so I opt for something middle of the range: a delicious, thin based anchovy and black olive pizza. My favourite.

As we eat the waiter tops up the glasses.

Then, having ruined my healthy eating plan for the day I follow up with a coconut meringue thingy. Absolutely delicious. I arrive home stuffed and a little tipsy (I didn’t drive by the way, hubby dropped me off. Somewhere in my subconscious I knew I would have the wine!). Needless to say I fall asleep in the evening after thirty seconds meditation.

The trouble with all this is that having broken my strict regime I can’t recapture it. Now I will have to wait until next Monday to start again.

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Just 2? I don’t think so!

Why is it so difficult to have a small glass of wine and not half the bottle? A few squares of chocolate rather than the whole bar? Or two biscuits instead of half the packet?

I know it’s all to do with mind set and mine is obviously malfunctioning. I need to come up with a new strategy otherwise I will end up overweight and alcoholic and walking in the opposite direction on the path to self-awakening.

I will have a think…

The Attic Room by Linda Huber

 

THE ATTIC ROOM EBOOK COMPLETEIMG_0733Linda Huber lives in Arbon, Switzerland. Although Linda has been writing throughout her life she considered it a hobby until the publication of her first novel, The Paradise Trees, In September 2013. Just a year later, in August 2014, The Cold Cold Sea, was published and her third novel, The Attic Room, was released in July 2015.

The Attic Room is a suspense/thriller that spreads over three generations: Nina, her daughter Naomi and her mother Claire. When Claire dies following a car accident Nina is trying to cope with the deep grief she feels for the loss of her mother when she receives a telephone call from a lawyer.

Nina discovers she has been bequeathed a substantial estate from a man she does not know: John Moore. From her home on the Isle of Arran she travels to Bedfordshire, leaving Naomi with a friend to run their bed and breakfast business, to see the house she has inherited.

Once there she becomes embroiled in blackmail and lies as she uncovers dark family secrets involving her mysterious benefactor.  Who is John Moore and what happened in the attic?

Like Linda’s other two novels, The Attic Room is packed with suspense and intrigue. It explores a difficult topic which Linda has weaved into the mystery in a sensitive way. Her research into the subject results in authentic characterisation which enhances the tension and secrets the story reveals. A well written book and a good read.

Watch the trailer to get a taster

You can also see the trailer for Linda’s new book Chosen Child:

 

You can follow Linda on Twitter: @LindaHuber19

Things We Have In Common by Tasha Kavanagh

things we have in commonThings We Have In Common is Tasha Kavanagh’s first adult novel, having written books for children under the name of Tasha Pym. She has also worked as an editor on films such as Twelve Monkeys and The Talented Mr Ripley.

Yasmin is 15 years old, very overweight and has no friends. Her fixation with the pretty girl in her class, Alice, alienates her further from the other children and she retreats deeper into her own world of fantasy and obsessions. Yasmin lives with her mother and Gary – her stepdad – which creates additional issues for the troubled teenager.

Yasmin, convinced Alice is to be abducted by a man she knows is watching Alice, becomes embroiled in a rather one sided friendship with the potential paedophile/murderer.

Kavanagh has captured the voice of the lonely and complex Yasmin – desperate for love and attention – very convincingly and it leaves you wondering where the boundary between fantasy and reality lie for Yasmin; they appear to merge, leaving you to speculate on whether the events she relates have really occurred or whether they are just flights of her imagination.

Although a monologue of Yasmin’s confused and unhappy existence – and I have to admit that at times she left me exhausted – it is also a novel of twists and turns. Unpredictable and intriguing. Just when you think you have worked out what is happening – you discover you haven’t.

The novel had an excellent start and then the voice of Yasmin became a little tiresome. However, once accustomed to her expression the novel was all-absorbing. It is a story that flows well and begs you to turn the next page. The only failure, in my opinion, was the ending. I didn’t find it as satisfying as I would have liked.

Published May 7th 2015 by Canongate

 

Night Train to Lisbon by Pascal Mercier

 

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Steady and predictable Raimund ‘Mundus’ Gregorius has his life turned upside down one day when he meets a beautiful woman on a bridge. Fifty seven year old Gregorious, a classical languages teacher at a school in Berne, decides it is time to evaluate his life. On impulse he abandons his classroom during the middle of the day’s teaching and embarks on a journey of discovery.

By luck or providence, whilst browsing in a second-hand book shop, Gregorious picks up a book written by a Portuguese doctor, Amadeu Inacio de Almeida Prado, who died over thirty years ago.  The book, A Goldsmith of Words, is written in Portuguese – a language Gregorious does not understand. The book shop owner translates the first page and Gregorious immediately feels the words speak to him.

Gregorious begins to learn Portuguese in order to translate the slim book containing the philosophical jottings of Prado, who, as well as working as a doctor, became involved as a resistance fighter during the dictatorship of Antonio de Oliveira Salazar. Gregorious takes a train to Lisbon to unravel the threads of Prado’s life.

Although Gregorious makes the bold decision to take control of his life it feels as though he has exchanged his own uneventful, mundane existence to live it through Amadeu Prado. His desire to understand the complex life of the doctor appears to control his new existence as he meets Prado’s family and friends to learn what it was really like to be Prado. However, as Gregorious slowly settles into his new life, and reflects on the past, memories of a spontaneous younger self emerge. He realises he wasn’t always so unadventurous and begins to alter the way he has perceived himself for so long.

The philosophical musing of the sometimes self-indulgent Prado can be a challenging read but reveal some thought provoking insights. I have an interest in meditation and often reflect on the meaning of life, which was why I selected the book  to read. Because of this I paid particular attention to the sections regarding Prado’s thoughts. That said, some parts took a second reading to grasp their meaning. Although Mercier has tried to reveal Prado in small chunks, parts are a little long which very occasionally slows the book down.

In Night Train to Lisbon Peter Bieri, himself a philosopher writing under the pseudonym of Pascal Mercier, has managed to merge reflective thinking with a classic novel of intrigue, love, passion and adventure mixed with a dose of humour. It is not a book with peaks and troughs but maintains a steady pace. Although it sometimes needs patience and slow digestion – more easily absorbed in a quiet place – I found it very enjoyable.

 

 

 

Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

half of a yellow sun

Half of a Yellow Sun follows the lives of five ordinary people through a decade of Nigerian history. After receiving independent federation rule in 1960 the country was thrown into civil war in the late sixties when Biafra, a state in Eastern Nigeria, was granted secession.

The characters are introduced during a time of peace and plenty. Twin sisters Olanna and Kainene, educated and wealthy, live very different lives. Olanna is introduced as kind and thoughtful as she reassures an elderly lady at the airport that the plane carrying her son will stop on the runway. Olanna gives up her luxurious lifestyle in Lagos to live with her lecturer lover, Odenigbo. Kainene, strong, wilful and less beautiful than her twin, helps their father to run the family business and becomes involved with an Englishman, Richard, who has a fascination for Igbo art.

Odenigbo, a university lecturer in Nsukka, entertains friends where food and alcohol flow and lively intellectual debates ensue. His strong political views cause Kainene to refer to him as Olanna’s ‘revolutionary lover’.  Ugwu is Odenigbo’s thirteen year old houseboy who loves to cook for Master and his guests while absorbing fragments of their lively discussions.

Biafra’s secession in 1967 brings a Nigerian blockade and eventually war; the mostly Muslim dominated north against the Igbo population in the south.  The world, with the exception of Tanzania, refuses to recognise the State of Biafra.

The novel moves successfully between the early sixties and the late sixties to provide a contrast between the indulgent lifestyle of peace time and the famine and hardships that inevitably come with war. The early imagery of Ugwu’s pepper soup and spicy jollof rice reinforce the horrors of eating roasted bush rats to stave off starvation.

As the war progresses, Odenigbo, Olanna and daughter Baby have to leave their home in Nsukku. Their descent into poverty forces them to live in a single room of squalor, join food queues for any scraps they are able to receive and the need to hide in air raid shelters, which they share with an assortment of small creatures. Relationships that were easy when life was good are put under enormous strain when food is scarce and the people they love are brutally murdered. Kainene has a different experience of the war as she sets up and organises refugee camps for all of those forced from their homes. Her life with Richard is stable and he tries hard to integrate and become accepted by the Igbo people. Ugwu faces challenges as he explores the natural inquisitive passions of a teenage boy.

Half of a Yellow Sun is named after the emblem for Biafra, worn on the sleeves of soldiers fighting the war. This three year war has been consigned to distant memory for most of the world and the word Biafra synonymous with starving, large bellied children in Africa.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche has done an excellent job of bringing the war back to the attention of the world whilst telling a beautifully written story. The account of history, which members of her family experienced, is related through these five wonderful characters in a moving and empathetic manner. She has captured the human condition well: during times of suffering some find a deep inner strength whereas others flounder and surrender, unable to cope. The changes in each of the characters also reinforce that although we often have little control over external circumstances we do have a choice in our personal response to them. An inspirational read

Failing memory or just half asleep?

One definition of mindfulness:  “The quality or state of being conscious or aware of something”.

I find that with each passing birthday since graduating to the wrong side of fifty I can’t forget anything or lose an item without thinking that I’m getting old and losing my memory (and my family readily agree). It’s true that I have a particularly irritating issue with my mobile phone. Due to an absence of pockets in my clothing I’m constantly moving the phone to different locations and then not remembering where I last left it.

forgetful-woman-19493586Now where did I leave that damn phone…and this is not a picture of me!

I know friends that have a similar problem with their reading glasses – and yes, I am aware that reading glasses are the need of the ageing! But when I look back at my younger days, I used to ‘lose’ things then. All the time. I was never accused of getting old. My adult children frequently dash around the house while getting ready for a night out because they can’t remember where a particular pair of shoes are, or they can’t find their Oyster card.

I have gone along with the annoying quips of ‘Alzheimer’s’ and ‘old age’, even to the extent of believing it myself, until I recently read a book by P.D. Ouspensky called Conscience – the search for the truth. At the very beginning of the book Ouspensky links consciousness with ‘self-remembering’. This means being aware of yourself, and the things that you do, which is analogous to that of mindfulness and present moment awareness. These topics are very trendy at the moment but from what I can understand it’s very similar to the basic concept of what my mum used to call ‘paying attention’.

Where am I going with all this you wonder?

I believe there is a strong correlation between a lack of mindfulness and what we perceive as forgetfulness. Blaming old age for poor memory is hasty and offensive. I believe it’s not that we lose things, we are simply unaware of where we put them.

Returning to P.D. Ouspensky. We can only become more conscious of our actions if we are aware of ourselves while performing these actions. Ouspensky relates an experience of his own where he made a conscious effort to be aware of himself for a period of time. He was aware of walking along a few streets and arriving at the tobacconist for his cigarettes and then, two hours later, he suddenly ‘woke up’ and remembered himself again. He knew that during that time when he was unaware of himself he had accomplished so many things: called at his flat, telephoned the printers and written two letters. He knew he had completed those tasks but he wasn’t aware of himself whilst doing them.

memory-illustration-head-thinking-other-related-keywords-43900973Where is awareness?

I decided to try this little experiment. I would be conscious of myself and aware of my journey from home to Tesco. A ten minute car ride. How difficult could it be? To answer that question I suggest you try it for yourself  – it is very difficult. The first few minutes I remembered with absolute clarity. A silver Mercedes let me go first on the roundabout (thank you Mercedes driver) and the lights were red when I approached the traffic lights and a young woman and child crossed the road. The child wore a red jumper…then five minutes later I arrived at Tesco only to realise I had been planning what I would have for dinner for the next few evenings. I can’t even remember the point at which I stopped being aware of myself driving.

The interesting point is that the small details about the car that stopped for me and the colour of the child’s jumper were not deliberately remembered but because I was aware of them so clearly I recalled them easily.

So this brings me back to the misplaced phone. It is obvious that my mind is unaware of where I leave it rather than forgetting where I’ve put it. Is this any better I ask myself? I’m either getting old and senile with my memory cells dying at an alarming rate or I spend my days in a semi-somnambulistic state unaware of what I’m doing!

I will make every effort to keep a track of where I place my phone and will update you of my success on the next blog. (I’m absolutely confident, now I know the theory, that I can put it into action).

 

 

 

How dare she?

“Life is my school, and I’m here to learn” Shakti Gawain. Every experience has something to teach us.

Today I woke in a good mood twenty minutes before my alarm was due to ring. I got out of bed and carried out a meditation exercise which left me feeling at peace with the world. Today was going to be a good day.

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On my way to a meeting I was driving along a country road at what I considered to be an acceptable speed. From out of nowhere a large Mercedes GL350 zoomed up and sat a meter behind me. It was probably slightly further back but you get my drift. She was very close.

I looked in my rear view mirror to see a woman at the wheel screaming into her mobile phone. As much as I felt sorry for the poor soul on the other end my irritation was growing at her careless disregard for my safety. She beeped her horn, which I ignored.  My lack of response to her intimidation apparently left her no option but to overtake. As the car screeched past, her hand lingered far too long on the horn while she hurled abuse through her open window. Irritatingly, she then pulled immediately in front of me in an effort to avoid a car on the opposite side of the road forcing me to slam my foot on the break. Although there was no possibility of her hearing, primal instinct took over and I yelled back.

                                             COUNT TO 10……… I DON’T THINK SO!

So where was my calm composure now? It had vanished as quickly as the elephant in the Siegfried and Roy magic trick. My shoulders were so tense they were up by my ears and my knuckles had turned white gripping the steering wheel. How dare she yell such abuse? She was driving appallingly and she was on the phone. If anyone couldn’t drive it was her. I felt irritable and short tempered for about an hour after. Why? Because I felt personally slighted. That woman had implied I was a bad driver.

Now, my personal growth books tell me that when people behave badly it should not be taken personally because it is often an expression of their inner turmoil; their own inner conflict and suffering. If she had pulled up behind someone else – unless the person in front was driving so fast she was unable to catch them in her Mercedes GL350 – she would have treated them exactly the same.

I know all this. But it didn’t help. So I have to ask myself: Should I continue reading the plethora of inner growth manuals that adorn my bookshelves in the hope that someday I will benefit from the wisdom they have to offer or should I give them to the local charity shop and know that at least I’ve helped raise a fiver for a good cause.