#BlogTour #BookReview THE OLD DRAGON’S HEAD by JUSTIN NEWLAND #LoveBooksTours #JustinNewland

Delighted to bring you my thoughts today on THE OLD DRAGON’S HEAD by JUSTIN NEWLAND as part of the fabulous Blog Tour. My thanks to the author, publisher and Kelly of  LoveBooksTours for putting it all together and letting me be part of it!

Blurb

Constructed of stone and packed earth, the Great Wall of 10,000 li protects China’s northern borders from the threat of Mongol incursion. The wall is also home to a supernatural beast: the Old Dragon. The Old Dragon’s Head is the most easterly point of the wall, where it finally meets the sea.


In every era, a Dragon Master is born. Endowed with the powers of Heaven, only he can summon the Old Dragon so long as he possess the dragon pearl.It’s the year 1400, and neither the Old Dragon, the dragon pearl, nor the Dragon Master, has been seen for twenty years. Bolin, a young man working on the Old Dragon’s Head, suffers visions of ghosts. Folk believe he has yin-yang eyes and other paranormal gifts.

When Bolin’s fief lord, the Prince of Yan, rebels against his nephew, the Jianwen Emperor, a bitter war of succession ensues in which the Mongols hold the balance of power. While the victor might win the battle on earth, China’s Dragon Throne can only be earned with a Mandate from Heaven – and the support of the Old Dragon.Bolin embarks on a journey of self-discovery, mirroring Old China’s endeavour to come of age. When Bolin accepts his destiny as the Dragon Master, Heaven sends a third coming of age – for humanity itself. But are any of them ready for what is rising in the east?

Purchase on Amazon UK

Author Website

MY REVIEW

Show me a book with a dragon in it and I want to know about it! And this fabulous adventure didn’t let me down as it had a little bit of everything in there for me to enjoy – mystery, humour, fantasy, power struggles and good old fashioned treachery!

At the heart of the story is Bolin who is coming to terms with having strange visions and headaches and wondering what to make of it all. He lives a simple life as a fishermans’ son so to have visions is something unheard of. There has always been a dragon master around but none has been seen for 20 years – with it comes great power.

AT the same time there’s an awful lot of power struggles going on with various other characters. And woe betide you if you get in the way! As Bolin goes looking for answers, we also find the character Feng looking to find answers to the goings on in his life and there are plenty of people who don’t want them to find out the truth.

With the threat of the Mongol Army attacking the town never far away, he tension is always rising and I loved all the little subplots coming together and keeping you on your toes as to where the story was going, and what secrets from the past were next to be revealed – and what consequences they would lead to!

This book was an enjoyable mix of history with the supernatural and was really well paced. Destiny plays a big part in this story too and I’m hoping there will be further adventures featuring these characters so we can watch them on their journey!

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#BLOGTOUR THE HUNTINGFIELD PAINTRESS by PAMELA HOLMES #BOOKREVIEW #LoveBooksTours @UrbaneBooks @Pammieholmes

Hugely delighted to be the latest stop on the Blog Tour for The Huntingfield Paintress by Pamela Holmes!  My thanks to the Author, Publisher and Kelly of Love Books Tours for the copy of the book and putting together such a great tour for me to be part of!

ABOUT THE BOOK

Plucky and headstrong Mildred Holland revelled in the eight years she and her husband, the vicar William Holland, spent travelling 1840s Europe, finding inspiration in recording beautiful artistic treasures and collecting exotic artifacts. But William’s new posting in a tiny Suffolk village is a world apart and Mildred finds a life of tea and sympathy dull and stifling in comparison. When a longed-for baby does not arrive, she sinks into despondency and despair. What options exist for a clever, creative woman in such a cossetted environment? A sudden chance encounter fires Mildred’s creative imagination and she embarks on a herculean task that demands courage and passion. Defying her loving but exasperated husband, and mistrustful locals who suspect her of supernatural powers, Mildred rediscovers her passion and lives again through her dreams of beauty. 

Inspired by the true story of the real Mildred Holland and the parish church of Huntingfield in Suffolk, the novel is unique, emotive and beautifully crafted, just like the history that inspired it.  

PUBLISHED BY URBANE PUBLICATIONS

PURCHASE LINKS

Amazon UK  £8.46

hive.co.uk  £6.69

whsmith  £6.47

Author Info


Pamela Holmes was born in Charleston, South Carolina. At the age of eight, she moved with her family to England. She studied nursing at London University as a mature student having spent three years living on a commune in Somerset where she developed a love of gardening, milking cows and laying hedges. She became a health journalist and on-screen reporter. She now works and volunteers to improve the lives of older people including those with dementia, and she sings in a rock band. The Huntingfield Paintress is her first novel. She won the Jane Austen Short Story Award in 2014 and her latest work was awarded Highly Recommended in the HISSAC competition 2015. Pamela is the mother of two boys and lives in London with her husband.

MY REVIEW

Enchanting and Inspiring  were the first words I thought of after finishing this charming story, based on real characters and a true story and it makes you realise the little acts can often be the most impressive and the devotion shown by Mildred Holland shows towards her project was extremely powerful and has meant this story has really touched me.


In 1848, Millie and Wiliam arrive at their new home at the rectory in a quiet little village in Suffolk,  a world away from their normal exotic travels and the routine life that awaits them seems to fill Millie with dread.  She does her best to fit in but often finds the villagers wary of her despite her best efforts to help them and be part of things.  Her husband is busy with his work amongst the parishioners but notices the ever changing moods of his wife but seems unable to lift her spirits.


The church of St Mary’s the Virgin is a very run down little church and captures Millie’s heart and attention and she has the amazing idea to paint the ceiling – she’s seen so many churches on her travel and was drawn to those beautifully decorated so why can’t she do the same in their little church?!  So that’s what she sets her mind to – most unheard of especially by a woman at that time, and even a woman buying a pair of trousers to hide her modesty while she paints turns out to be a big shock!


Her determination is truly mind blowing! she’s not put off by having to lie down for long periods to adorn the ceiling but once she decides on something, she’s not one for turning! Not all the locals are keen on her project though and some will go to desperate lengths to stop her.


As the story progresses you learn more of what drives her – the heartbreaking reasons behind her changing moods, and even her own failiing health fails to stop her as she is determined to finish what she started.


I just loved everything about this book – the characters, the setting and to feature such an amazing woman who I’d never heard about was a revelation and has had me researching her more and the amazing work that she did.  A real treat of a read and a such a wonderful first novel from this author – I can’t wait for more!!


★★★★★


While researching more about this  amazing woman I discovered this great blog post about the church at Huntingfield over at East of Elveden which you can read here

Don’t forget to check out more of the Blog Tour for this amazing book!

#BlogTour The Wrong Direction by Liz Treacher #BookReview @liztreacher @LoveBooksGroup #LoveBooksTours #TheWrongDirection

Extremely delighted to be the latest stop on the Blog Tour for THE WRONG DIRECTION by LIZ TREACHER. My thanks to the Author and Kelly of Love Books Tours for putting it all together and letting me be part of it all!

About the book

Autumn 1920. When Bernard Cavalier, a flamboyant London artist, marries Evie Brunton, a beautiful Devon post lady, everyone expects a happy ending. But Evie misses cycling down country lanes, delivering the mail, and is finding it hard to adapt to her new life among Mayfair’s high society.

Meanwhile Bernard, now a well-known artist, is struggling to give up his bachelor ways. The Wrong Direction is as light and witty as The Wrong Envelope, with racy characters and a fast-paced plot. Wild parties, flirtatious models, jealous friends – Bernard and Evie must negotiate many twists and turns if they are to hold on to each other…  

PURCHASE LINKS

Amazon UK  £8.99

hive.co.uk  £8.19

waterstones £8.99

About the Author

Biography

Liz is a writer, a Creative Writing teacher and an Art photographer. She lives in the Highlands of Scotland with a view of the sea. Her love of images influences her writing. 
Her debut novel, ‘The Wrong Envelope’, is a romantic comedy, set in 1920 in Devon, England. It tells the story of Bernard, an impulsive artist and Evie, his beautiful post lady. You can watch the trailer on this page, under ‘Videos’. Light and witty, and full of twists and turns, ‘The Wrong Envelope’ captures the spirit of another age – when letters could change lives.
The sequel, ‘The Wrong Direction’, follows Evie and Bernard to London, and charts their further adventures in Mayfair’s high society. Wild parties, flirtatious models, jealous friends – Bernard and Evie must negotiate many twists and turns if they are to hold on to each other.


For more information visit:  https://www.liztreacher.com

Follow on Twitter: @liztreacherFacebook: 

https://www.facebook.com/LizTreacherAuthor/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/liztreacher/

MY REVIEW

Back with Evie and Bernard and the story continues seamlessly from book one, The Wrong Envelope, as we follow their lives from the quiet streets of Cornwall into the frenetic pace of London as a newlywed couple and life definitely doesn’t get any easier for them as reality hits!!

I loved The Wrong Envelope for the way it took you back to a much gentler pace of life, and this sequel transports you so effortlessly to the change of life that Evie faces – not only is she getting used to married life and all that entails, she’s not a post lady anymore and has to deal with the boredom and trying to find out what her new role will be in life.  Not easy for a woman in the 1920’s but the wonderful thing about Evie as a character is that she has a brain and she’s not afraid to use it! I loved how much she evolves during this book – while marriage is extremely daunting for her at first and she’s lost the comfort zone of being with her family, she gains so much confidence in herself and starts aiming for her dreams and fulfilling her potential.

Bernard is back to living life in a whirlwind while being back in London – out with friends a lot of the time, working hard and doesn’t seem to realise how much Evie relies on him to help her adjust.   She soon makes some new friends though who expose her to the social side of London and she doesn’t always like what she sees. 

 I absolutely loved seeing these different sides to these characters – there’s so much going on and so many changes for them to deal with that we get to discover the attitudes of the time that looked down so much on women and the role they played – they were supposed to stay and home and keep everything nice for their husbands! That’s not Evie!  And the more she gains in confidence, the more Bernard realises how lost he is without her – will it be enough to make him change his ways though?!

I adored this book and loved how it put you through a wide range of emotions!  It captures a bygone age perfectly and I enjoyed being totally transfixed  from start to finish!!


★★★★★

#BlogTour Urbane Extravaganza!! Song Castle by Luke Waterson #excerpt @UrbaneBooks @Lukeandhiswords #LoveBooksGroupTours

Extremely delighted to be taking part in the URBANE EXTRAVAGANZA as it’s a publisher I’m very fond of – even if Matthew does support a rubbish football team!!😂 – so today I’m happy to be sharing an extract from Song Castle by Luke Waterson.  My thanks to the author, publisher and Kelly of LoveBooksGroup for letting me be part of it all! 


So many good books to share with you over this tour, so here’s a bit more about Song Castle before you get to enjoy an extract!

About the book

Song Castle vividly brings to life the Wales of the 12th century: its extreme wealth, its abject poverty, its senseless violence, the growing tension between the Normans and the native Welsh and the region’s increasingly pivotal place in medieval culture. In doing so, this book touches on a time and place rarely tackled in literature, a time when Welsh national identity was in the first stages of its development. But Song Castle also tells, through the colourful voices of its characters, a true story. It tells of one man’s desire, in a land rocked by upheaval, for the territory over which he presided to be remembered for something truly remarkable.

Published by Urbane Publications

Purchase Links

Amazon UK

About the Author

Luke Waterson has plied a trade from writing for over a decade, often with a travel slant. A Creative Writing graduate from the University of East Anglia, Luke has written for publications including the BBC, the Independent, the Telegraph, the Guardian and travel publishers Lonely Planet, for whom he specialises in telling the world about the Amazon Basin – present and past. His travels here inspired his debut novel, Roebuck (2015).

His second novel, Song Castle, set in 12th century Wales, and following a disparate group of bards on their hazard-fraught journey to perform at a festival of song, published in April 2018.

Twitter

Song Castle – the extract

Preface

The land that for simplicity’s sake is referred to in this book as Wales was, in the 12th century, a very fragmented place.

To the Welsh their native land was perhaps already called Cymru, although what that really meant was liable to interpretation. They perhaps also knew it still as Britannia, even though that referred to the lands of the Brythonic-speaking peoples generally, including areas of northern England and southern Scotland. To the Anglo-Normans Wallia might have been the term used, but this in turn could refer to Marchia Wallie or the Welsh Marches, the part of Wales they believed they had brought under their control and Pura Wallia or native Wales, the part they had not.

More meaningful points of reference for most were the warring factions into which Wales had split. It was divided into dynasties: principalities and lordships that often vied against each other for increasing amounts of power and the territory that would augment it, rather than unite. Conflict between different domains was more or less constant, and invariably violent. Loyalties were localised: most likely to one’s family, quite possibly to the nearest village, perhaps to the cantref (district) and at a stretch to the region or realm. But when boundaries between these zones were changing almost as often as the famously fickle weather, and with dangerous consequences for those caught on the wrong side of the line, conceiving of an amalgamated country was not at the forefront of people’s minds. There were more pressing concerns.

In fact, there were but a few things capable of bringing this fractious collection of territories together. One of these things was language. And the mouthpieces for this were the bards: through the tales that they told and the songs that they sung.

And in the 12th century, the bards changed their tunes.

In their performances, the bards of the land that would become Wales had always drawn on a rich history of spectacular people, spectacular deeds, spectacular places; they had probably instilled in their audiences a certain shared nostalgia for when Britons still ruled Britain. But now they stepped up their act. Menaces to all of Wales-to-be—the Anglo-Normans—were encroaching from the east, pushing into its territory with unprecedented ferocity. And the bards, the gogynfeirdd as they became known, responded in kind. Performing in courts and halls from Gwynedd to Gwent, they used ever stronger, more evocative, more elegiac verses to call on the leading men of the land to rise up as one and repel these invaders. In the words of these bards, Wales became geographically and spiritually united. A disparate people were given cultural cohesion. Wales got its Welshness.

With clatter of meadhorns,

great liberality!

From The Hirlas of Owain by Owain Cyfeiliog

Written by various monks in various abbeys over several hundred years, the Brut Y Tywysogion chronicles Welsh history from the 7th century to the 14th. In this, one of the principal historic sources for Wales during this tumultuous period in its past, is a somewhat scant paragraph for the year 1176 beginning as follows:

‘And the lord Rhys held a grand festival at the castle of Aberteivi [Cardigan], wherein he appointed two sorts of contention; one between the bards and poets, and the other between the harpers, fiddlers, pipers and various performers of instrumental music; and he assigned two chairs for the victors in these contentions; and these he enriched with vast gifts.’

Those monks left out the juiciest bits.

Part One:

A SLAP OF STRONG WIND IN THE FACE

Rhys

(March, 1194)

“My son…”

The trapdoor opened. He struggled to prop himself on his elbows and better see the figure framed in the torchlight above, but his eyes were too long accustomed to the gloom of the cell and the glare blinded him. He could discern no features. Yet he was certain, now.

“I know it is you. A father knows his first-born…”

The figure started on the descent, taking the rungs of the ladder hesitantly: bare feet, and bad-smelling ones.

“Why, son? Why are you doing this?”

A pause. It was a moment of consideration, perhaps. Even when the figure stood still, the toes twitched. Then, still saying nothing, they rapidly clambered back up. The trapdoor banged shut; the bolts shot across. He was alone again.

“Why?” When he had voiced the word, it had seemed an admission of age. He was an old man alone on a bed in the darkness.

Those first few days of his imprisonment he had felt too despondent to do much besides tend his wounds as best he could. They had been none too serious, but he was none too good at tending wounds. The back of his head had caused him most pain.

Whoever dealt that blow must have come at him from behind, the coward. He preferred dealings with brave men. There was brute’s honesty in the duel or the raid or the battle. You charged, and your weapons clashed, and you lived or died. But the coward was a cat backed into a corner, could spring at you in a way you did not anticipate.

He dreamed a lot those first few days. Such dreams. The early times came back most vividly. Attacking some fortress or other with his brothers. A band of desperate gaunt men in threadbare tunics, they had been. Mostly up against Englishmen or Frenchmen or Flemish men with superior arsenal and greater numbers but often battling other Welshmen, too; often up against themselves. The fight against one’s own: the hardest fight of all.

Once the pain had dulled he had begun to focus on where he was. The basement of a tower. Gaps in the stonework through which the wind shrilled. An odour of damp earth. No light save for a grill about head height, which emitted a pale grey chink of the morning but lapsed back into shadow again by mid-afternoon. This was March, after all, and a particularly foul one. Somewhere else, spring was coming.

He had not been captive long before the visits commenced. At first the figure had seemed contented with a head through the hatchway, but that had not been enough. Soon they were venturing several steps down the ladder. Soon the scrutiny was lasting longer. The watcher had uttered no words as yet. But he sensed that was about to change.

The figure tried to conceal things from him. The fact they suffered from a diabolical cold, for instance: after the bolts thrust home their racking cough would start up, although there was no coughing during the visits. They kept the left side of their face turned away from him, too. But whilst most of the country had their health afflicted on account of this damnable weather, and whilst a fair few of those might choose to hide any disfigurement upon their countenance, something else put the matter of the figure’s identity beyond doubt. Madness. Once the trapdoor had closed, his gaoler’s footfalls receded only so far then broke into a horrible, erratic little dance. Whoever was holding him prisoner was plainly deranged, and in the entire realm it was known such madness coursed through the veins of one man alone: his son.

His first-born had always embarrassed him. At the zenith of his power—the victory banquets, the meets with the King—there had always been that anxious glance over his shoulder partway through proceedings at what his eldest might be doing.

The visit of the Archbishop, for example: it should have been his proudest moment. The kind of moment chroniclers should chronicle.

His castle had been the equal of any Norman: sheer walls of stone, dominating the horizon. The whole town had turned out to the river bridge for the welcome. The Archbishop had been impressed, quite possibly awed; he had endeavoured to put the reverent fellow at ease; the procession had filed up towards the castle gates where, as he recalled, he had arranged for musicians to serenade them all.

Then—he would never forget it—came the squeal from the Archbishop’s attendant as, whilst passing the assembled townsfolk, the poor man had been pinched hard enough on the buttocks to startle him right out of formation and trip over his cassock. His suspicions as to the cause were confirmed a moment later when he and that company of upstanding churchmen had observed several of his younger sons fleeing shrieking from the scene and his eldest, a brawny man in body by then, but still with the mind of a wilful child, smirking with the glee only the orchestrator of an event can muster. Of the entire mortifying occasion, what lodged most firmly in his memory were the words, murmured disapprovingly as an aside later that same evening between two of his guests but overheard by him: ‘if only he could control his children.’

He slumped back on the bed, exhausted through inertia. That was some clobber about the head he had received. A column of ants swarmed over the dirt floor. He wondered briefly whether it was the same few hundred, disappearing through that crevice then circling around the tower wall in order to repeat the procedure, or whether there were thousands more out there, lining up to march across the mud in front of him. Wales was going to the dogs, he thought.

When he opened his eyes, it was to the torchlight again. His captor stood at the foot of the bed, the scar gouging out the left cheek hideous in the flame.

“My father,” the figure sneered, “the greatest of all the great men in Wales.”

And this was true: he had been. There had not been a realm to rival his. Others had asked him how he achieved it and he happily told them: revelry. No hall in Christendom had witnessed the like. The best men had come to pay their respects. And the best women, he allowed himself a smile at this, thinking now of that time; that feast to end all feasts; those weeks that changed everything. It had been spectacular; despite the atrocities, spectacular. He had surpassed himself. Only great men could do that.

“What is it you want?” he asked, but on sighting the knife his son brandished, the question stuck in his throat. “So you have come to end it,” he said quietly.

“End!” his first-born repeated mockingly. “My dear father, I have not even begun!”

He had imagined death. One did not rise to where he had risen without having imagined it. But he had imagined a cathedral, and his coffin being borne with much ceremony down the aisle, not murder in the darkness at the hands of a snivelling, scarred wretch, his own flesh and blood.

“At least tell me why,” he said again. “Why, when I gave you everything?”

“Because of that,” his son advanced to the bedside, stroking the knife blade with absurd tenderness. “Because you were always so damnably perfect.”

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Don’t forget to check out all the other stops on this amazing Urbane extravaganza!

24th NovChat About Books@chataboutbooks1 

25th NovOver The Rainbow Book Blog@JoannaLouisePar

26th NovBeing Anne@Williams13Anne

27th NovOn The Shelf Bookblog@OnTheShelfBooks

28th NovNicki’s Book Blog@nickijmurphy1

29th NovMy Reading Corner@karendennise

30th NovPortable Magic@bantambookworm

1st DecBlack books blog@SimonJLeonard

2nd DecRae Reads@rae_reads1

3rd DecSo Many Books, So Little Time@smbslt

4th DecOrchard Book Club@OrchardBookClub

5th DecZooloo’s Book DiaryZooloo2008

6th DecNemesis Book Blog@NemesisBlogs

7th DecKatie’s Book Cave@katiejones88

8th DecBooks and Me@bookkaz

9th DecTangents and Tissues@tangentsbb

10th DecGo Buy the Book@karen55555

11th DecCheekypee reads and reviews@cheekypee27

12th DecNicki`s Life Of Crime@NickiRichards7

13th DecEmma the Little Bookworm@EmmaMitchellFPR

14th DecRather Too Fond of Books@hayleysbookblog

15th DecSeansbookreviews@Seant1977

16th DecLizzums Lives Life@LizzumsBB

17th DecThe Magic Of Wor(l)ds@MagicOfWorldsBE

18th DecOn The Shelf Reviews@ljwrites85

19th DecGrab This Book@grabthisbook

20th DecLife Of A Nerdish Mum@NerdishMum

21st DecThe Quiet Geordie@thequietgeordie

22nd DeceBook Addicts@ebookadditsuk

23rd DecOn The Shelf Reviews@ljwrites85

24th DecVarietats@Sweeet83

25th DeceBook Addicts@ebookadditsuk

26th DecPortable Magic@bantambookworm

27th DecLove Books Group@LoveBooksGroup

28th DecA Little Book Problem@book_problem

29th DecIt’s all about the books@DeeCee334

30th DecThe Quiet Geordie@thequietgeordie

31st DecZooloo’s Book Diary@Zooloo2008

#CoverReveal Sea Babies by Tracey Scott Townsend #LoveBooksGroupTours @Wildpressed @authortrace

COVER REVEAL

A huge delight to be taking part in this cover reveal today and my thanks to the author and Kelly of LoveBooksGroup for letting me be part of it all!


About the book

In September 2016, Lauren Wilson is travelling by ferry to the Outer Hebrides, about to begin a new job as a children’s social worker. She’s also struggling to come to terms with the recent drowning of a Sheena, a teenage girl she had deeply cared for.

Engrossed in her book, when somebody sits opposite her at a table on the ferry, Lauren refuses to look up, annoyed at having her privacy disturbed. But a hand is pushing a mug of tea across the table, and a livid scar on the back of the hand releases a flood of memories.

Lauren studies the hand on the table in front of her, the line of the scar drawing a map of the past in her mind. She was the one who created the scar, not long before her relationship with the love of her life ended almost thirty years ago. Lauren hasn’t seen Neil since she walked out of their shared life, unable to forgive either herself or him for a decision he strongly pressured her to make.

She’s not ready to meet his eyes, not yet. From his scar to his wrist bone, following his arm upwards and across his shoulder to his collarbone, his chin and the lower part of his face; Lauren remembers incidents from their past and tries to work out what caused their life to go so horribly off-track.

When she finally meets his eyes and they speak to each other for the first time, Lauren believes she has set her life on a new course. But her gain will result in losses for others. Is this really what she wants to happen?

Some people believe in the existence of a parallel universe. Does Lauren have a retrospective choice about the outcome of her terrible recent accident, or is it the bearer of that much older scar who has the power to decide what happens to her life now?

The gripping story of Sea Babies is inspired by the vast and raw landscapes of the Outer Hebrides, by the fraught journeys of refugees from one home to the hope of another across the sea, and also by artist Marina Abromovic’s 2010 MoMA performance: The Artist is Present, in which she spent sixty seconds staring into the eyes of her former lover.

Set mainly in the Outer Hebrides and Edinburgh from the 1980s to the present, Sea Babies is a potent emotional, psychological drama with a poignant twist in the tale. Sea Babies explores the more difficult aspects of relationships, the idea of choices and responsibility, and the refugee in all of us.

Published by Wild Pressed Books

About the Author

Tracey is the author of The Last Time We Saw Marion, Of His Bones, The Eliza Doll and Another Rebecca. Her fifth novel, Sea Babies will be released on 1st May 2019. Her novels have been described as both poetic and painterly. Her first poetry collection, So Fast was published in January 2018.

Tracey is also a visual artist. All her work is inspired by the emotions of her own experiences and perceptions.

Tracey is the mother of four grown-up children and now spends a lot of time travelling in a small camper van with husband Phil and their rescue dogs, Pixie and Luna, gathering her thoughts and writing them down.

And here it is!!

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊