The title and colourful cover design are an instant attraction and offer an insight of what to expect when you pick up a copy of Do Not Wash Hand in Plates. Many years ago, three friends left America to explore the delights of Europe – having survived to tell the tale (and with a few years of life experience under their belts) they decided to take another trip. This delightful book is a quick, humorous account of Barb’s trip across India with her best friends, Jaya Ayyer and Janine Smith. Continue reading “#BookReviews Do Not Wash Hands In Plates by @BarbTaub #humour #Travel”→
I’m delighted to have the deliciously funny, Kitty French on my blog today to talk about her new release, Melody Bittersweet and the Girls’ Ghostbusting Agency.
The Fun Stuff:
What part of the world do you come from?
The UK. I’m a Black Country lass!
What did you want to be when you grew up?
Being a writer in some form was all I ever really wanted. Originally I wanted to go into journalism, but I’m pretty happy writing books.
List three words to describe yourself.
Disorganised. Scatty. Bibliophile.
Who would play you in a film about your life?
That would be a very niche film!
What’s your favourite snack food when writing?
Something small and sweet and not very good for me that I can keep picking at! Wine gums, that kind of thing.
If you had a super power, what would it be?
I’d like to write faster than the speed of light. 😉
The Sensible Side:
Tell us a little about yourself. (How did you get started writing? What do you do when you’re not writing?)
I’m happily married with two young sons, and I live in the UK in a house that seems to be perpetually messy! I started writing during maternity leave, because it was something I’d always wanted to do but never had the time to have a proper go at before. Having a lap top was a bit of a turning point, it meant I could write anywhere, often next to a sleeping baby in the middle of the night back then.
What do I do when I’m not writing? That doesn’t happen very often! But I like spending time doing stuff with the family, and going on holiday to somewhere sunny with a pool, a sunbed, good book and of course, a big G&T.
Where did the inspiration for Melody Bittersweet and The Girls’ Ghostbusting Agency come from?
Unusually for me, it came to me almost fully formed. I generally have to work hard to develop a new idea, so to have Melody stroll into my head and almost shout ‘write my story’ was a welcome change!
If your book was made into a film, who would you love to play the lead character?
Melody, for me, would be played by the actress who played Clara Oswald in Doctor Who.
Which of your books was the most fun to write and why?
Definitely Melody Bittersweet! It’s my most humorous book to date, and I love how Bookouture let me have free reign to unleash the crazy!
Can you give us a brief excerpt from your latest novel?
This is the opening from Melody Bittersweet:
‘So, what do you do with your spare time, Melody?’
I look my date square in his pretty brown eyes and lie to him. ‘Oh, you know. The usual.’ I shrug to convey how incredibly normal I am. ‘I read a lot . . . Go to the movies. That kind of thing.’
I watch Lenny digest my words, and breathe a sigh of relief when his eyes brighten.
‘Movies or books?’ I ask, stalling for time because, in truth, I don’t get much in the way of spare time to do either.
‘Movies. Action or romance? No, let me guess.’ He narrows his eyes and studies me intently. ‘You look like a sucker for a rom-com.’
‘Do I?’ I’m genuinely surprised. I’m five foot three and look more like Wednesday Addams than a Disney princess. Maybe Wednesday Addams is over-egging it, but you get the idea; I’m brunette and my dress sense errs on the side of edgy. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me and thought whimsy. Maybe Lenny sees something everyone else has missed, me included. I quite like that idea, mainly because everyone who knows my family has a head full of preconceptions about me, based on the fact that my family are all crackers.
‘Four Weddings?’ He shrugs hopefully.
I nod, not mentioning that the only part of that particular movie I enjoyed was the funeral.
Again, I try to look interested and hold my tongue, because I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear that I’d rather stick needles in my eyes than ever watch an over-optimistic Kate Winslet drag some old guy around a swimming pool again.
I’m relieved when the bill arrives and we can get out of there, because so far Lenny has turned out to be a pretty stellar guy and somehow I’ve managed to convince him that I walk on the right side of the tracks. Maybe this time, things will be different.
Lenny pulls his dull, salesman’s saloon into the cobbled cartway beside my building and kills the engine. I don’t mind dull. In fact, my life could really use a bit of dull right now, so I shoot him my most seductive smile, cross my fingers that my mother will be in bed, and invite him in for coffee.
Oh, just when it had all been going so well. Why couldn’t I have just given him a goodnight kiss, with maybe the smallest hint of tongue as a promise, then sent him on his way? He’d have called for a second date, I’m sure of it.
But no. I got greedy, pulled him by the hand through the dark back door, placing my finger against my lips to signal he should be quiet as we tip-toed past my mother’s apartment and up the old wooden staircase to my place.
He rests his hand on my waist as I turn the key, and a small thrill shoots down my back. Look at me, winning at this being-an-adult thing today! Dinner with an attractive man, sparkling conversation, and now back to mine for coffee . . . and maybe even a little fooling around. It’s not that I’m a virgin or anything, but it would be fair to call my love life patchy of late. By ‘of late’ I mean the last two years, ever since Leo Dark and I called things off. Well, by Leo and I, I mean Leo called things off, citing conflict of interests. Ha. Given that he was referring to the fact that my mad-as-a-bag-of-cats family are the only other psychics in town besides him, he was, at least in part, right.
But enough of Leo and my lamentable love life. Right now, all I want is for Lenny not to know anything at all about my peculiar family, to keep seeing me as a cool, regular, completely normal girl, and then to kiss me.
‘You remind me of Clara Oswald,’ Lenny whispers behind me at the top of the stairs. ‘All big brown eyes and clever one-liners. It’s very sexy.’
Lord, I think he’s just brushed a kiss against the back of my neck! My door sticks sometimes so I shoulder it open, aiming for firm and graceful but, I fear, ending up looking more like a burly police SWAT guy ramming it down. Thankfully, Lenny seems to take it in his stride and follows me into my apartment. Then I flick on the table lamp only to discover that my mother is standing on my coffee table in a too-short, too-sheer, baby-blue negligee with her arms raised towards the ceiling and her head thrown back.
‘Shit!’ Lenny swears down my ear, clearly startled. He isn’t to blame. My mother’s a striking woman, ballerina-tall and slender with silver hair that falls in waves well beyond her shoulder blades. It isn’t grey. It’s been pure silver since the day she was born, and right now she looks as if she’s just been freshly crucified on my coffee table.
I sigh as I drop my bag down by the lamp. So much for me being normal.
Slowly, she takes several heaving breaths and opens her eyes, changing from crazy lady to almost normal human lady. She stares at us.
‘For God’s sake, Melody,’ she grumbles, taking her hands from above her head and planting them on her hips. ‘I almost had the connection then. He’s hiding out in the loft, I’m sure of it.’
I risk a glance over my shoulder at Lenny, who sure isn’t kissing my neck anymore.
He lifts his eyebrows at me, a silent ‘what the hell?’ and then looks away when my mother beckons to him like a siren luring a fisherman onto the rocks.
‘Your hand, please, young man.’
‘No!’ I almost yell, but Lenny is already across the room with his hand out to help her down. My mother eyes me slyly as she steps from the table, keeping a firm hold of Lenny’s hand.
‘Long lifeline,’ she murmurs, tracing her red talon across Lenny’s palm.
‘Mother,’ I warn, but my somber, cautionary tone falls on her selectively deaf ears. I expected nothing else, because she’s pulled this trick before. Admittedly, the standing-on-the-table thing is a new twist, but she’s got form in scoping out my prospective boyfriends to make sure they’ll fit in with our screwball family from the outset. Not that her romantic gauge is something to put any stock in; Leo passed her tests with flying colours and look how that ended up. I got my heart broken and he got a spot on morning TV as the resident psychic. Where’s the justice in that?
Look, we may as well get the clanky old skeleton out of the family closet early on here, people. It’s going to come out sooner or later, and despite my attempts to pull the wool over Lenny’s eyes, there’s never any running away from this thing for long.
My name’s Melody Bittersweet, and I see dead people.
It’s not only me. I’m just the latest in a long line of Bittersweets to have the gift, or the curse, depending on how you look at it. My family has long since celebrated our weirdness; hence the well-established presence of our family business, Blithe Spirits, on Chapelwick High Street. We’ve likely been here longer than the actual chapel at the far end of the street. That’s probably why, by and large, we’re accepted by the residents of the town, in a ‘they’re a bunch of eccentrics, but they’re our bunch of eccentrics,’ kind of way. What began as a tiny, mullion-windowed, one-room shop has spread out along the entire row over the last two hundred years; we now own a run of three terraced properties haphazardly knocked into one, big, rambling place that is both business and home to not only me, but also to my mother, Silvana, and her mother, Dicey. Gran’s name isn’t actually Dicey, it’s Paradise, officially, but she’s gone by Dicey ever since she met my Grandpa Duke on her fifteenth birthday and he wrote Dicey and Duke inside a chalk heart on the back wall of the building. He may as well have written it on her own racing heart.
Speak of the devil. Does no one go to bed around here?
I open my door to find Gran on the threshold with her hand raised, poised to knock. I guess I should be glad she’s slightly more respectably dressed, if a floor-length, purple shot-silk kimono, bearing huge technicolor dragons could be considered as such. Her usually pin-curled gold hair is piled elegantly on her head and she wears a slash of fire-engine-scarlet lipstick for good measure. Most people couldn’t carry the look off, but thanks to her poise, confidence and couldn’t-care-less attitude, Grandma Dicey wears it with artful success. She glides past me without invitation and gazes at my mother and Lenny, who are still hand-in-hand on the rug.
First thing tomorrow morning, I swear, I’m going to look for a new place to live, somewhere, anywhere, that is not in the same building as my mother and my gran. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a charming old place and I love my family dearly. It’s not even as if I don’t have my own space here, because, theoretically at least, I do. Mum and Gran have the ground floor apartment behind Blithe Spirits, and I have the smaller flat upstairs, at the back. In lots of ways this makes me fortunate; I get to have a nice little home of my own and stay close to my family. It would all be fine and dandy, were it not for the fact that my family are officially bonkers and liable to come up and let themselves into my flat – using the spare key I gave them for dire emergencies only – and embarrass the shit out if me.
‘Why is Silvana entertaining a man half her age in your flat?’ Gran looks from me to my mother. ‘You should have said you were expecting company, darling. I’d have gone out.’ She touches her hand lightly against her hair. ‘Put a towel on the doorknob or something, isn’t that the modern way to signal these things? Don’t come a knockin’ if the caravan’s rockin’?’
She looks spectacularly pleased with herself, and one glance at Lenny tells me that he knows he’s way out of his depth with these two and is in the process of writing me off as the worst date he’s ever had. His eyes slide from me to the door, and I can almost hear him begging me to let him go unharmed.
‘He’s not mum’s date, he’s mine. Or else, he was,’ I mutter, and then I’m distracted as a beer-bellied pensioner in a soup-stained shirt slowly materialises through the ceiling, his flannel trousers not quite meeting his bony ankles. Stay with me; I see dead people, remember? As do my mother and my grandmother, who also watch him descend with matching expressions of distaste.
‘Finally,’ my mother spits, dropping Lenny’s hand so she can round on the new arrival. ‘Two hours I’ve been chasing you around this bloody building. Your wife wants to know what you’ve done with the housekeeping she’d hidden in the green teapot. She says you better not have lost it on the horses or she’s had it with you.’
Grandma Dicey rolls her eyes. ‘I rather think she’s had it with him anyway. He’s been dead for six weeks.’
‘You’re a fine one to talk, given that you still sleep with your husband twenty years after he died.’ Mother flicks her silver hair sharply. Touché.
Lenny whimpers and bolts for my front door, turning back to me just long enough to splutter ‘something’s come up, gotta go,’ before he hoofs it out and down the stairs two at a time.
I listen to the outside door bang on its hinges and wonder what came up. Probably his dinner.
What can we expect from you in the future?
Well, Melody Bittersweet is the first in a series, so more adventures with the Bittersweet crew lie ahead. Yay! 🙂
How can we contact you or find out more about your books?
Melody Bittersweet and the Girls’ Ghostbusting Agency.
An absolutely hilarious, totally entertaining, spookily sexy read that you won’t be able to put down!
Life’s tricky for Melody Bittersweet. She’s single, she’s addicted to sugar and super heroes, her family are officially bonkers and … she sees dead people. Is it any wonder no-one’s swiping right on Tinder?
Waking up lonely on her twenty-seventh birthday, Melody finally snaps. She can’t carry on basing all of her life decisions on the advice of her magic 8 ball; things have got to change.
Fast forward two months, and she’s now the proud proprietor of her very own ghostbusting agency – kind of like in the movies but without the dodgy white jumpsuits. She’s also flirting with her ex Leo Dark, fraternising with her sexy enemy in alleyways, and she’s somehow ended up with a pug called Lestat.
Life just went from dull to dynamite and it’s showing no sign of slowing up anytime soon. Melody’s been hired to clear Scarborough House of its incumbent ghosts, there’s the small matter of a murder to solve, and then there are the two very handsome, totally inappropriate men hoping to distract her from the job…
Welcome to Chapelwick, home of the brand new and hilarious Girls Ghostbusting Agency series, where things really do go bump in the night.
This is the PERFECT choice for fans of Marian Keyes, Sophie Kinsella or Lindsey Kelk, with an extra helping of hauntings and hilarity!
Sarah Archer is a witch. She comes from a long line of witches. They were bad. She doesn’t want to be.
At the back of this book, the author has written a personal message to her readers, and I think her final sentence sums it up perfectly for me. ‘Surely there’s a little bitch witch in all of us, and even when we follow the light there’s just no getting rid of her completely, is there?’
From the first page, I felt an instant connection to Sarah Elizabeth Archer as she battles against her inherited ‘bitch witch’ legacy. We’ve all been there haven’t we – wanting to do the right thing but getting a little side-tracked. Stephanie Karfelt ensures that her protagonist is as down to earth and engaging as she can be. It’s this personality that hooks the reader in and helps us empathise with the main character. Continue reading “#TuesdayBookBlog Bitch Witch by @SRKarfelt #Humour”→
When I started on my personal development journey and devoured every self-help book on the market, I discovered an author who managed to combine life, love and goal setting with a huge dollop of humour. This man became my go-to resource when I needed a metaphorical kick up the behind. After reading all of his self-help titles, I tentatively connected with him on Facebook and found him to be gracious, witty and charming. He welcomed me into his ‘gang’ and that, as they say, was that. He has allowed me to stalk him ever since!
Peter Jones (not that one!) is one of my favourite authors and a thoroughly fabulous chap. In 2015, he released The Good Guy’s Guide to Getting the Girl, his debut fiction novel. It was very well received, racking up the five-star reviews, such as this one from a Mr Caulfield:
Loved it! This was such an easy read, the story flowed effortlessly even with the jumps in time. I could so see this as a movie and was mentally casting it as I read. The beauty of this book is that every misfortune, mistake, blunder and block that our hapless hero, Jason, endures, is feasible, not overblown or unrealistic. I’m sure there are many men who would identify with him. I loved the author’s writing style and humour. There were plenty of laugh-out-loud moments, and I can’t wait for the sequel. According to the author, it took ten years to get this book out; if the sequel isn’t out in the next 12 months I shall hunt him down and become Cathy Bates!!
Much to everyone’s delight (especially Mr ‘Bates’ Caulfield), Peter has now released his second novel, The Truth About This Charming Man and I am honoured that Peter has joined me on my blog to talk about his latest release.