Express yourself meme

Express Yourself is an awesome, weekly blog hop that is hosted by the lovely Jackie and Dani, in which, each week, the entrants answer a specific question, then we all hop from blog to blog, reading everyone’s entries.

           

If you would like to join in with this blog hop or simply check out all the other awesome blog posts for it, then click here.

This week, we are to share some first line, book openers that we enjoy. With my memory, this is going to involve grabbing all the books off of my "Shelf of Awesomeness" and having a browse, lol. 

So, after having a little browse, I've decided to cheat a little with this one by doing a small excerpt from the beginning of each  book, instead of just the first line. I will also be dedicating this post to the lovely Jane Wenham-Jones; not because she died or anything, just because she is dead funny and I love her writing. 

Let's begin:

1) One Glass is Never Enough, by Jane Wenham-Jones

Welcome to Greens. Kiss. Welcome to Greens.

How lovely to see you. Kiss. Welcome to Greens.

Welcome to Greens. Kiss. Now under sparkling new management. Kiss. (Whoops - don't know her.) 

Please help yourself to a complimentary glass of Fleur de Lys - our specially-selected house wine in red or white. Kiss, Kiss. (Mmmm. Ooh yes...) Welcome to Greens. (Oh, That must be his wife glaring.)

Do come in. Kiss, A warm welcome to Greens. Kent's Premier wine bar and... 

"A bottomless money-pit run by three mad women who don't know what they are doing."

If you like the excerpt, you can check out this awesome book here

What I love about this~

Well, I love how it kind of falsely makes you think, "Hmmm..." in a sort of, "...not too impressed by this" way, only to suddenly turn around and yank a chuckle out of you. Plus, it lets you know the story is set in Kent, and although I adore Cornwall, I also have a soft spot for Kent; after all, I was born there. :)  Plus, you have to love anything that involves three mad women who haven't got a clue what they are doing. 

2)  Prime Time, also by the lovely Jane Wenham-Jones (If you're female, you'll really love this one) 

Recent research has shown that the kind of male face a woman finds attractive can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle. For instance, if she is ovulating she is drawn to men with rugged, masculine features. Whereas if she is menstruating she is more prone to be attracted to a man with a heavy pair of scissors shoved in his forehead...

I'm pretty sure I don't have to explain why I like this one; but, if you are intrigued to see more, you can check it out here 

3) Wannabe a Writer? - by(I bet you can't guess) Jane Wenham-Jones (What do you mean, you guessed? Shakes head.) 

I have heard many authors tell the story - with varying degrees of truth or accuracy - of how they first got into print. I have listened as certain of them have stood up in a roomful of writers, all of whom desperately want to be published, and have made it sound as though, when they very first tried their hand at the writing game, it all fell into their laps. 

Typically, they woke up one morning with this little idea that they might write a novel. So they dashed one off over the course of a few rainy weekends, found an agent on the Monday, were in a frenzied auction with ten top publishers by the Tuesday and banked their six-figure cheque on Friday just before they flew off to the states to discuss the screen-play. 

They seem touchingly bewildered by their overnight success. 

But not as bewildered as I am when I have known for a fact that the author in question had written three previous novels before the one that made it and had burst into tears at the Writers' Circle Christmas Party when the twenty-seventh agent had written to suggest she stuck to crossword puzzles instead. 

I have looked at the audiences at these talks, their faces crossed with a mixture of envy and despair, and thought how unfair it seems. 

I vowed, when I was a much-rejected wannabe, that when I was published I would tell the truth about how long it took and how difficult it was. 

Nobody fought over my manuscript. Rather, they unplugged their phones, switched email addresses, took long sabbaticals on the other side of the world and instructed their assistants to tell me they'd died of a rare and sudden tropical disease. 

This book, by the way, is amazing. If you haven't read it, you so should. You'll chuckle away and learn a lot. (Best writing book I've ever read) Get your copy here; or somewhere else if you must, but get it :) 

If you want to know more about Jane, you can check out her blog that has links to all of her social sites. She must be so busy, as there are lots and lots of linkys. 

So, that's it for me and my Express Yourself meme. I hope you enjoyed it.

Love and hugs, Joss xxx

Haunted Bodmin moor Part 1, A brief history of Bodmin moor, and the famous Jamaica Inn.

Smuggling, mining, beasts, and ghouls; Bodmin moor has them all and for the month of October, in celebration of Halloween, I’m going to be exploring some of the moor's spookier goings on.

My fascination with Bodmin moor started at a young age. Growing up, not far from its granite Tors and rugged, untamed landscape meant that I was frequently able to explore the area with family and friends; which, for a child with a big imagination, was a dream come true. 

Although incredibly beautiful, there is a sense of foreboding that comes over you at times, as you stand looking out across the moors, and perhaps there should be. 

            Bodmin moor can be a deadly place, where thick fog descends quickly with little warning. This fog can completely disorient even the most experienced moorland walkers and can make it difficult to see hidden dangers, such as an old mine shaft or boggy pit underfoot. Tales of those who have been turned around on the moors and subsequently become lost are common. 

            Bodmin moor is situated in North-East Cornwall and covers approximately 80 square miles. It's recorded history dates back to 10,000 BC, when it would have been covered in trees and the home to hunter-gatherers, who would have been bringing down deer and other wild animals with which to feed their communities. 

The woodlands; however, were slowly cleared over time, until only small clusters of trees remained. This paved the way for the farms that are now a huge part of moorland life.

Today, there are around 500 farm holdings on the moors, with about 10,000 cows, 55,000 sheep, and 1,000 horses and ponies, residing on the moors; some of which roam freely around the unfenced areas. 

Evidence of old cairns and Bronze-age round houses and villages can still be seen on the moors and pottery, dating back to 15,000 BC, has also been found here by archaeologists, along with fine flint work that suggests the hunters that once roamed here were skilled in the art of flint knapping (The process of shaping a piece of flint into a sharp useful tool). 

Over 200 settlements have been recorded and found on the moors over the years, showing that despite it's unforgiving landscape, it has for centuries been home to the human race. 

Roughtor
© Copyright Humphrey Bolton
and
 licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

As a writer, Bodmin moor's history, unforgiving nature, and amazing beauty, have proved inspirational and I am not alone in this. Many writers and artists have gained inspiration from this rugged landscape, including the famous, Daphne Du Maurier, who has been a huge inspiration to me and my own writing.

It is no surprise perhaps to hear (for those of you who don't know) that my first published novel, Insane Reno, is set on Bodmin moor and grew from my fascination with this magical place.

When reading Insane Reno, you can travel with my characters, Lizzy Bray, Jem Trerise, and their families, as they explore and enjoy the moors, Lizzy and Jem sharing a kiss at the spot pictured above, and in Tizzy's case, fighting for her life with Roughtor as her backdrop.

If you have not read Insane Reno and wish to do so you can get it in both paperback and Kindle format on Amazon. If you wish to know more, please read the back cover splurge below:

What happens when you have a secret so dark and disturbing that uttering it could result in your death? Would you keep quiet? Perhaps the stakes have risen and you find that suddenly your silence could mean death for those you love the most. Now what?

Take a seat, get comfy, and join Lizzy Bray, as she sets out on an emotional journey to discover the whole truth behind the secrets and lies that riddle not only her family’s past, but her new home, too. You never know; you might just discover more than you bargained for.

For those of you who have read Insane Reno already, you'll be aware of the secrets that Lizzy Bray's new home hides. I don't want to give too much away and spoil things for those who have yet to read the book, so I will simply say that the secret is connected to a past owner, who was involved in the Cornish smuggling trade.

  Jamaica Inn       

      

© Copyright Miss Steel
and
 licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

Another place on the moors that is famous for its smuggling connections is Jamaica Inn, which is our first spooky destination in this month-long exploration of the moors.

Before we dive in and explore the ghosts of Jamaica Inn, I'd like to tell you a bit about its history.

Jamaica Inn was built in 1750, as a coaching inn. Coaching inns were like our modern day services, providing a place to feed, water, and rest horses, riders, and passengers, who were on long journeys.

It was used by people travelling the turnpike between Launceston and Bodmin and would have proved a welcome break on a long journey over the bleak moors.

The inn; however, was not frequented, solely by weary travellers. It also opened its doors to smugglers; providing them with a place to hide and store the illegal contraband that was regularly smuggled ashore, after customs dues were put in place, back in the thirteenth century.

Unlike criminals today, the smugglers were highly regarded by the local people, who would turn a blind eye to the sound of many horse's hooves, late at night, and keep their lips, tightly shut, whenever they came across any of the smugglers' illegal contraband. 

            As a result, smugglers were rarely caught and even when they were, they were often dealt with leniently by the magistrates, who, more often than not, were customers of the men brought before them. 

A poem by Rudyard Kipling expresses this well. 

You can listen to the famous poem below:

           Half the brandy and tea, smuggled into Britain was brought ashore along the Cornwall and Devon coasts. All of this needed to be hidden from the authorities, until it could be transported around the rest of the country and Jamaica Inn, with its isolated and remote position on the moor, was the perfect spot. 

          Goods such as silk, tobacco, tea, and brandy would, no doubt, have been hidden at the inn, back in its smuggling days, and some believe that the inn's name came about, due to its considerable trade in smuggled Jamaican rum. This; however, is not the case. The name actually originates from the Trelawney family; two of whom, served as governors of Jamaica, in the eighteenth century.

I have only just touched on the smuggling history of this amazing inn; but, if you wish to know more about Jamaica Inn and its past, a good place to start would be the inn, itself, where they have a smugglers museum that boasts one of the finest collections of smuggling artifacts in the UK.

I have been there myself, with my family, and it is incredibly interesting and very reasonably priced.

Jamaica Inn and its smuggling past were immortalised in Daphne Du Maurier's fictitious novel, Jamaica Inn, which she penned in 1936. 

Daphne Du Maurier was a famous author, who loved the moors and frequently stayed and wrote at the inn. Her life and work are also represented at the museum and you can even see the desk, at which she would write, when she stayed at inn, as well as purchase her books in the gift shop.

If you want to know more about her book Jamaica Inn, check out the back cover blurb below:

On a bitter November evening, young Mary Yellan journeys across the rainswept moors to Jamaica Inn in honour of her mother's dying request. When she arrives, the warning of the coachman begins to echo in her memory, for her Aunt Patience cowers before hulking Uncle Joss Merlyn. Terrified of the inn's brooding power, Mary gradually finds herself ensnared in the dark schemes being enacted, behind its crumbling walls and tempted to love a man she dares not trust.

I've read a lot of Daphne Du Maurier's books and have loved them all. They really are worth a read.

Now that you have a better understanding of the inn's history, lets see how its past has resulted in Jamaica Inn earning the title of one of the most haunted inn's in Britain. 

When the inn was featured in the popular TV show, Most Haunted, the team filming there said that it was, "One of the spookiest programmes ever recorded..." and it's not surprising, as the inn boasts a wide variety of strange goings on. 

 © Copyright Chris Coleman
 and
licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

Stranger at the bar

Perhaps one of the best known ghosts connected to the inn is that of an unknown man, who sat, late one night, at the bar, enjoying a tankard of ale, unaware, it seems, that his life was about to come to an early end.

At some point during the night, the man was summoned outside to the courtyard, leaving a half-finished drink behind; a drink that he would never return for, at least not in a living state, as his lifeless body was found the next morning,  alone, out on the windswept moors. The local authorities believed the man to have been murdered, but his killer was never found. 

           After the murder, people started to report that they had witnessed a man, matching the description of the murdered stranger, sitting on the low wall that surrounds the courtyard, outside the inn. The man was reported to sit very still and to appear so real that many who were witness to him even offered up a greeting which he neither seemed to acknowledge or respond to. 

           Footsteps, believed to be that of the murdered stranger, are also heard heading for the bar and many believe that he is returning, in spirit form, to finish his ale. 

Smugglers from the past

Some of the most common incidents at the inn occur late at night, when most of the guests are silently tucked up in their beds. These include footfalls, which echo through the hallways, reminding people of someone nervously pacing, and the sound of horse's hooves and metal-rimmed wheels on the cobblestone courtyard below. Despite people investigating the sounds, the courtyard and halls appear empty and no explanation can be found. 

           Is this perhaps the sound of a nervous landlord, waiting for the latest shipment of smuggled goods to arrive, and the latter sound, that of horses, pulling carts carrying the goods themselves? 

The man in the Tricorn hat

           Another very visual ghost that haunts Jamaica Inn is a man wearing a black cloak and a tricorn hat. Tricorn hats were popular in the 1800's and worn by all classes, so who this man is, no one is sure; but, he has been seen moving about the inn and disappearing through solid doors by many of the inn's staff and visitors.

Lone rider

             Another ghost that prefers the night is that of a lone rider on a large horse. He appears often on foggy nights on the road that runs in front of the inn.



The inn still allows guests to stay overnight and regularly hosts Haunt Nights, which you can learn more about on the Jamaican Inn website.  If you wish to stay in the most haunted bedrooms of the inn, then rooms 3 through 6 are the ones to go for.

One lady, who stayed the night at the inn, reported waking to the sound of her TV, despite being sure that she'd turned it off, before going to sleep. On reaching for the control on the bedside cabinet, it shot across the room and she was unable to find it, despite a thorough search. Turning the TV off manually she returned to her bed and sleep.

Before leaving the next morning, she again searched for the remote, eventually discovering it, beneath the bed, in the centre of the floor. With the walls being quite far from the bed, it was deemed unlikely that the remote could have hit them and rebounded to end up in the position it was later found. Stranger, still, is the fact that after leaving the inn, the lady's flash drive was later found by the cleaner in the same position as the remote control had been earlier that day. The woman was confused as to how this could have happened and adamant that the area beneath the bed had been free of items, when she'd left.

Have you ever visited the Jamaica Inn? Did you witness something strange? I love to hear your stories. If not, I'd still love to hear your thoughts about Bodmin moor and the Jamaica Inn, so feel free to leave a comment, below. 

Love and hugs, Joss xx

© Copyright Steve Daniels
 and
 licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

Celebrate the small things.

It's Friday. YAY!!! I love Fridays for a whole host of reasons; some examples are...

Last day of school runs; although, I actually escaped school runs, both yesterday and today. (More on that later)

Asda delivers all the scrummy foods to our door that will probably be scoffed up by Wednesday. Nothing good lasts long in this house; although, I do still have chocolate from last week's shopping. That's rare.

And, of course, it's time for Celebrate the Small Things. the awesome blog hop hosted by...

(Drum roll, please. This is actually where I run and grab the lovely link to the host blog, but "drum roll" sounds so much better)

...Viklits writing blog.

So, without further ado, or quick trips to retrieve links, here's what I am celebrating:

Firstly, my son, bless him, or more specifically his complete bravery and the fact that he has not yet developed the ability that, as a man, he will surely develop of turning even the smallest bug into the greatest illness human-kind has ever known. He has a very bad sore throat that is making him lose his voice and making it incredibly hard for him to swallow without pain. He even struggled to eat chocolate buttons yesterday, which is practically unheard of for Kye, who can normally devour them in seconds. Still, instead of rolling over, as most men will, and proclaiming that he is dying, he has instead been soldiering on and staying very upbeat, bar a few little tears yesterday, when it was very sore, bless him. The only change from normal is being a lot more cuddly, a little more sleepy, and sounding like an old man, when he talks, which he is finding quite amusing. He also declared earlier that this was a day we would always remember, because Kye never stops talking and now he nearly has because it hurt too much to talk.

Next on the list is escaping the school run, especially yesterday, when the weather was vile and Kye and I got to go back to bed and snooze away the morning instead. Lovely. We didn't get up until the sci-fi ringtone kicked in on my phone, announcing that my very geeky editor, the lovely Chuck Jolly, had got my text message, asking him to ring me if I wasn't on Skype as normal and wake me up; which he did brilliantly, as he called just in time to get me out of a horrible nightmare I was having.

MY HERO!!

Moving on.....

Another celebration I am having is my recent wins. I won a couple of books from the Jill Robinson series, T. Deckers blog. (If you're reading this T.Decker, could I have them in Mobi please? I do intend to email you about it; just haven't had time yet, but thought I might be able to cheat this way, lol.) 

And, as if that wasn't enough, I also won another couple of books thanks to the lovely Milo James Fowler and his blog. 

 

Those books are: 

Redshirts, by John Scalzi, and The Sheriff of Yrnameer, by Michael Rubens.

So, a big thank you to both of them for hosting their awesome competitions and giving me a little something extra to celebrate this week. 

The next celebration is again thanks to the lovely Milo James Fowler and one of the books I won from him. It is the celebration of trying something new and that's what I did when I read Redshirts, as it's really not my normal genre and something I wouldn't even normally bother to look at; but, I picked it up yesterday, when it arrived, and finished it this morning. That's why I was a little later than normal getting my celebration post up. I actually quite enjoyed it and it has now left me a little more open to this genre and that's never a bad thing; so, thank you again, Milo. I also did a review, which, if you are interested, you can check out here. if I got the link right, lol. Let me know if I didn't, and I'll try again. 

My final celebration and this might be a little premature, but I am going to celebrate it anyway, because positive thinking does work (please please let positive thinking work); I have signed up to read the ARC for Dangerous Depths, by the oh-so-awesome Karen Amanda Hooper, who wrote the first book in this series Tangled Tides. If you have not read Tangled Tides, what the hell are you waiting for? Go get it, now! It's awesome! I have waited for Dangerous Depths for what feels like forever, so to be one of the first mere mortals to read it would be epic. Please, please keep everything crossed for me. If you loved Tangled Tides, too, and want to sign up for the ARC you can do so here.

So, those are my celebrations. What are you celebrating this week?

 

Love and hugs, Joss xx

P.S. OK, I lied. There were more trips to run and get links, quite a few of them actually; so my bad. :)

P.P.S  If you are reading this and it is still full of epic fails (due to my rushing) then the awesome CJ has not yet edited it, and it is more a reflection of why I need him than a sign that he is a terrible editor; he really isn't. If you are reading this pre-edit you can see just how much work I give him. So, Yay CJ!

What's up Wednesday, and express yourself

What's up Wednesday is run by the lovely Jaime Morrow. You can check out her blog here. It's a really simple blog fest. Each week we answer the questions below and you get to learn a little about what we are up to. So, lets get started. 

1. WHAT I'M READING
2. WHAT I'M WRITING
3. WHAT INSPIRES ME, RIGHT NOW
4. WHAT ELSE I'VE BEEN UP TO

1) What I'm reading:

Well, I am still finishing Dangerous Lady at the moment, by Martina Cole; only a few more pages to go, though. 

I've really enjoyed this one, too, although it hasn't gripped me quite as hard as the other Martina Cole books have. It probably has nothing to do with the book and more to do with the fact that I am ready to move onto a different author. 

The books I have lined up to read next are:

The 13th Floor: complete collection, by Christine rains. I'm very excited about this one. 

Then I'll be going Maggie Stiefvater mad, because I just bought a load of her books. 

I first read her Shiver, Linger, and Forever books and fell in love with her writing style. I've been seeing a few of her newer books being talked about around the blogger-sphere and decided it was time; so, heading my way right now, thanks to Amazon, are the following books. 

2

2) What I'm writing:

Quite a lot at the moment. As well as doing my blog posts, I've been editing Memory book, which is going really well and working on two other novels; Rehabilitation Girls and a very new novel that I'm keeping quiet about, as far as plot is concerned, for now. 

I could try to explain Rehabilitation Girls to you, but instead I thought I would share the first chapter with you, as that seems to have gone well with those I've already allowed to read it. It's just a first draft, so still needs some polishing. Don't feel you have to read it. I know that often time can be lacking; but, if you do, please let me know what you think. :) 

Chapter 1

Placement day, the day every inhabitant of Ridmore dreaded; a day in which anyone who'd received their pink slips, regardless of age, was at risk.

Riley Carson had escaped eviction, as the residents liked to call it, for three years. Up until this point, she had been deemed too damaged for placement; however, a month ago, on her sixteenth birthday, she'd received her pink slip and now she faced the all too real risk that placement days posed.

Standing in the large viewing room, Riley pulled at the rolled neck of her top as she gazed blindly ahead of her, trying to look past the parade of people that slowly made their way along the opposite side of the glass partition. Each was dressed in their own way, some bright and colourful, others dark and bland, but still able to be who they wanted to be and wear what they wanted to wear.

Riley had once been just like them, a unique individual; but, Ridmore had eradicated any sense of individuality as soon as she had stepped through its huge doors and earned the title of rehabilitation child.

Before losing her parents, she had visited this very centre and wandered in front of the same glass partition that she now stood behind while her parents examined the lines of uniformed girls. Now, as then, they’d been ordered from shortest to tallest. At the time she’d paid little attention to any of them, never for a moment considering how they might feel.

Now, here she was, standing with them, wondering just what fate had in store for her. Would she be one of the lucky ones, who went to a good home with good people? Would she become a part of a nice family, either as their daughter or a well-treated servant? She could only hope.

It was a difficult situation. Her longing to be free of the centre was great, but there was no guarantee that a better life awaited her outside and so it seemed to her and many at the centre, that to remain was the best option. Here, at least, you knew your place; knew that, unless you broke the rules, you would be safe.

Everything in the centre was certain. There were strict schedules and rules, right down to the style of your hair, a highly unflattering crew cut, and the clothes you could wear:

·         2 roll neck cotton tops with chocolate brown, faux leather shoulder yokes

·         2 pairs of wide leg linen trousers with one sharp crease running down the front of each leg

·         2 pairs of white linen socks

·         1 pair of chocolate coloured, leather, flat soled shoes

·         2 sets of chocolate, cotton underwear that, depending on physical development, either came with knickers and vest or knickers and a basic bra.

These outfits came in three colour sets, which were used to indicate a girl’s status at the centre. Most started out in black and Chocolate, the colours for those in rehabilitation, before progressing to white and chocolate, which signalled that you’d moved past any emotional distress or behaviour problems and were ready for placement. The third and final colour, which was an outfit made up completely of chocolate brown, marked you out as difficult, a lost cause, or as the centre put it impossible to rehabilitate. Anyone receiving their browns knew they were headed down into the bowels of the centre, a fate believed to be worse than death.  Although very few wanted to earn their pink slips and make it into the white outfits, no one dared fight it, because the alternative didn’t even bear thinking about. 

So, Riley stood there, alongside all the other girls dressed in white, and prayed that she would either go unpicked or be one of the lucky ones chosen by a loving family; however, luck hadn’t seemed to be working in her favour, since her parent’s death.

Every time she heard the now familiar click of the speakers coming to life followed by a few seconds of static before the names of the chosen were called, she would hold her breath, eyes closed in prayer, as each name was announced. She’d only allow herself to open them again, once the black containment tubes of the chosen had thudded into place and the speakers had gone silent, once more.

For an hour, things continued in this manner. The remaining girls were beginning to sag under the strain of standing still and rigid for so long, each within their own little circle. Their view of one another was now blocked by containment tubes, all of which indicated a chosen child. People on the other side of the glass partition continued to move back and forth, pointing at this girl or that, as they tried to decide which to take home.

Riley reached a hand up to pull at the rolled neck of her collar. She was feeling unbearably hot under the gaze of the beady-eyed man who had been scrutinising her for the last fifteen minutes. It didn’t help matters either, when, without returning his gaze to any of the others, he disappeared from sight.

His disappearance was quickly followed by the click of the speakers, then a short burst of static, and a sharp, firm voice which hissed, "Riley Carson.” Riley’s eyes grew wide and her hands flew to her mouth, as she brought the image of the beady-eyed man to the forefront of her mind. She prayed desperately that it wasn’t him who’d chosen her. Leaning forward slightly, hands clasped about her waist, she fought the urge to vomit.

 “You are reminded that all girls are to remain standing at all times, arms by their sides, feet together, facing forward, and are not to try to engage those beyond the glass in any way.” The words echoed around her head, leaving her uncertain as to whether she had been chosen or not.

“Failure to comply, Riley, will result in punishment.” The voice added, causing her to quickly drop her arms to her side, once more, and resume the expected position.

With the click of the speakers turning off and the lack of a containment tube raising around her the reality slowly began to sink in. She hadn’t been chosen; she hadn’t, at least not this time, she just prayed her luck would hold out.

Another twenty-five minutes passed; the speakers, occasionally crackling into life, followed by the raising of a containment tube or two. Riley’s remained firmly down.

There were only two people on the other side of the glass now, compared with the thirty odd girls, still stood ramrod straight alongside her. Surely this meant the odds were now stacked in her favour.

She eyed the remaining patrons carefully. One was an elderly lady, who continuously raised theatre glasses to her squinting eyes. Her expression was one of distaste, as if none of the girls could quite match up to some imagined image she’d built up in her head. The second was a tall, thin man with a half halo of hair. He was plain and simple in appearance, and wore black-rimmed spectacles that encircled soft, hazel eyes. Riley watched him with interest, as he sat in one of the hard plastic chairs, up on the highest viewing platform, carefully scrutinising the girls below. Neither of these people seemed a threat, but Riley knew that you could never be too sure.

She ignored the old lady, in favour of the man; for she felt drawn to him in a way she could not explain and found herself watching his every movement, as if by doing so, she’d be able to accurately gage his character. She watched as, gnawing on his lower lip, he raised a hand to his chin, where he began to rub at his neatly trimmed beard. Instinctively his fingers drew together, causing his bottom lip to pucker out, while his attention remained still deeply absorbed in the little white book that he held between the long, supple fingers of his left hand.

He looked for all the world as if he were just relaxing in the sun with a good book, not perusing the local rehabilitation centre for a living, breathing girl. His legs were stretched out before him, long and thin, his shoes plain and simple, and the soles clean and unblemished. He’d be looking for a diligent servant and not a wife, Riley was sure. Why else would he spend so much time studying the book that listed each of the girls name and attributes?

Riley suddenly found herself wondering what had been written about her. Perhaps that she was a good cook, for she excelled in her food preparation lessons. Perhaps that she was diligent when it came to eradicating dirt, dust, and all forms of grime. Surely that she was obedient, well-mannered, and honest too; all points that might raise her status in his eyes, if he was indeed looking for a good servant.

However, if it was a wife he was looking for then she was certain she would fall short. She wasn’t pretty like the some of the other girls here. She didn’t have rosy cheeks, fluttery lashes, or pretty eyes to make her stand out amongst all the other crew-cut statues around her. She was simply average without the long, auburn curls that had once cascaded down her back and over her shoulders.

She suddenly found herself in a very unexpected situation. A situation, in which, she actually longed to be chosen. It wasn’t that the man on the other side of the glass had captured her heart, far from it. It was more a certainty that he was good and kind. That he would not hurt her. He was, in short, her best chance of a pleasant freedom.

She pondered the book in his hands, hoping that it expressed how well she cared for the babies here at the rehabilitation centre. She hoped equally that it did not allude to her lack of interest in the residents more her own age.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like people, because she did. She just couldn’t cope with the worry that would ultimately follow, when they were placed. Never knowing what had become of them; never knowing if they were happy. With the babies it seemed easier, somehow. After all, how could anyone hurt something so small and delicate.

She knew also that the screening process for baby adoption was far more stringent than that of the older girls. They were to be guaranteed family members, only placed where both their future mother and father were equally enthralled by them. She had seen it for herself; had sat in the room as potential parents spent time with the children and had observed the love and devotion in the eyes of those people as they held the child they had chosen in their arms.

Months would pass before they would even come close to being allowed to take the child home, hours and hours of careful observation on the part of the staff at the centre. They wanted no mistakes when it came to the babies. If only they cared so much for the older girls too.

So deep in her reverie was Riley that she didn’t notice the speakers clicking to life. Only when the harsh voice of a matron kicked in did her head shoot up, her eyes scanning the area behind the glass partition, only to find it empty.

This was it, the final name calling. Soon they would all be sent back to the dining hall to eat their dinner with relief, thankful in the knowledge that they, at least, had survived to live another month at Ridmore.

 "Final placements are Vicky French, Gina Gatsby, Hannah Martin, and Riley Carson. The rest of you may now make your way to the exit, in an orderly fashion.”

The containment tube, black as pitch, slowly began to rise from the floor, as Riley stood frozen, trying to process what had just happened. Fear held her breathless in its cruel, relentless grasp as she watched the line of girls, the lucky ones, slowly moving past her, while the tube continued to steadily rise, engulfing her in blackness. Stumbling back against it, Riley slid to the floor, tears gently escaping the corners of her eyes.

Four girls had been chosen; four girls, when there had only been two patrons. The old woman flashed before her eyes, her distasteful stare fixing in Riley’s head and successfully eradicating any hope, she’d once had. Her fate now rested in the hands of two unknowns and all seemed bleak as she sat there in the darkness, waiting for her rebirth for with the light she would discover her fate, her new life, and only time would tell if she was lucky or not.

3) What inspires me right now:

How motivated I am feeling. I go through stages where I just really struggle to push myself to get working and so the fact that I am really enjoying my work, at the moment, and feeling productive is really inspirational. 

Also, making lots of new writer friends, via the follow fest, and seeing how hard they are working and hearing about their work is very inspirational as well. 

4) What else I've been up to:

Well, at the weekend, I went to Threthorne Leisure Park with my son, Kye, my hubby, Dan, and the in-laws for Kye's birthday. It was a great day and the first real test for my new scooter, which performed brilliantly; even managing to get around some really tight spots. 

I completely fell in love with the spotty piglets they had there and so, while the others were doing the crazy golf, I went back to spend some time with the sweet little pigs. I used to help train pigs for film, way back when I was a teenager, at a film farm where I was doing my NVQ training in animal care, animal management and animal science, and ever since then have had a real soft spot for pigs. My dream is to have one or two or three or... well, you get the picture, lol. 

It's always a little hard, when you go to these places and are disabled, as you often feel a tiny bit on the outside, looking in; but, at Trethorne, it was very easy to get pretty much everywhere and be able to see what was going on, so I didn't get that feeling as badly as I have at other places. It was really great watching Dan, Kye, and my sister in-law, Lisa on the bumpy slide; especially Lisa, because she has lost so much weight since she had gastric band surgery that she is just looking amazing and you can see how happy she is for it. 

 Kye really enjoyed himself though; although, there were a few things he couldn't quite grasp, like air hockey. As hard as we tried to explain it to him, he still kept trying to shoot his little paddle to the goal, instead of the puck, lol. Hey! It was his birthday, so he got to make new rules, right? :) 

My favourite part of the day; however, was watching my beautiful son and my lovely hubby playing on the Bungee Bounce. I've never laughed so much in all my life.

 

 

Overall, we had a really great day and are even considering getting a season ticket, so we can go as often as we like. The staff at Trethorne were also amazing and Dan got in free as my carer; so, that saved us just over 9 pounds, I think.

I narrowly escaped getting "Paid" stamped to my forehead, too; but, thankfully the lady at the till gave the stamp to Lisa and not Dan, and although Lisa contemplated it, at Dan's urging, she was nice enough not to actually follow through with it, lol. Dan, on the other hand, would have. :) 

Overall, it was a lovely day out and I want to say a big thank you to the whole family for ensuring I had someone with me, keeping me company, pretty much all of the time; bar when I forced my lovely mum in-law Jean to go and play mini golf with the rest of them, instead of lingering with me, which she had been doing most of the day, bless her. I didn't mind, as it gave me a chance to sneak back to these guys.

Now, onto the awesome Express Yourself. 

Express Yourself is an awesome, weekly blog hop that is hosted by the lovely Jackie and Dani, in which, each week, the entrants answer a specific question, then we all hop from blog to blog, reading everyone’s entries.

           

          If you would like to join in with this blog hop or simply check out all the other awesome blog posts for it, then click here.

First of all, a big happy first birthday to this blog fest. Being it's first birthday, the question this week is... 

What has been your favourite question during this first year of Express Yourself? 

For me, that was the fairly recent question we had, which was, "Name a movie character, who's personality is exactly like yours." 

The reason it is such a recent one is that, like the post says I am Dori-esque and as a result, have a terrible memory, so I can't remember back, all that far. 

Anywho, if you want to read that post, here's a linky-link. 

Well, that's it from me. I hope you are all having a great week,

Love and hugs,
Joss xx

Nick Wilford, Freelance editing!

Click the picture to take a look

Today, I am having a special guest post from the lovely Nick Wilford. Nick is starting a new editing service to help us lovely writers polish up our finished novels and short stories; in fact, pretty much anything, I'll definitely be saving his button on the side of my page. Right, that's enough from me. Lets see what Nick has to say. :)

Nick Wilford:

With the unstoppable rise of self-publishing, it’s easier than ever to put your words and stories out there in the world. This is a great thing, and I’m all for it. However, it’s not just about the story - although of course, that is the most important part - but the way it’s presented. After spending months or years on a novel, building an incredible world and honing your characters and storylines to perfection, the last thing you want is to be let down by a lack of editing. It’s just as important as an arresting cover image.

Nick Wilford, Freelance Editor is a one-stop shop for affordable editing, proofreading and formatting services. With professional training and ten years of experience as a journalist and editor, the time has come to transfer these skills in order to help out the fellow authors I have come to love.

But it doesn’t stop there. I’m ready to edit anything; from a crucial term paper, to memoirs and other non-fiction books, short stories, articles or job application letters. Let me put that finishing touch on your masterpiece.

Feel free to take a look at my website for further details of my services and prices.

Bio

Nick Wilford is a writer, freelance editor and stay-at-home dad. Fascinated by words from a young age, he trained as a journalist before embracing the calling of fiction. When not writing he can usually be found spending time with his family or cleaning something. He has four short stories published in Writer’s Muse magazine. Nick is also co-running a campaign to get a dedicated specialist college built in Scotland.

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