Christmas Movies with Emma Hannigan!

I’ve got a special author post for you today! As part of her blog tour, Emma Hannigan, author of the new release; The Heart of Winter, is here talking about her favourite Christmas movies that get her in the spirit. Personally, I’ll be watching festive films all December so if you want to know some great options, look no further…


Christmas means different things to different people. Some loath it, finding all the fuss and expenditure infinitely stressful. I can appreciate that line of thinking, but I’m afraid I’m one of those annoying people who gets excited from October onwards!

I also like to be organised. I never do all my shopping in one swoop. I begin picking up bits and bobs from September. I know, feel free to groan. I’m an unashamed Christmas smug. If it makes you feel any better, I still tear off to the shops on the 23rd and panic buy. Why? Because I suddenly think the things I’ve bought aren’t good enough! Agh!

As I write this with full on excited Christmas anticipation I would like to share with you, the things that give me that magical feeling. I wonder if any of you have the same little triggers?

I know there are a load of new movies with Christmas themes, but I tend to fall back on the ones I grew up with. Yule tide wouldn’t be the same without The Wizard of Oz. I know I’m free to watch it at any time of the year, but for some reason I never do. The ruby slippers, Munchkins and dulcet tones of Judy Garland take me back to Christmases past, when I counted down the days to Santa Clause’s arrival.

Home Alone was another stalwart in our house. It’s one of those fabulously violent yet hilarious movies that appeals to all ages.

My daughter is utterly obsessed with The Grinch so it’s been added to the list. Even in her teens she still lights up when it’s on. Her word-for-word recitation alongside the actors can be slightly annoying after half an hour. So she’s been instructed to say the words on the inside now!

I have a confession to make. I’ve never seen It’s a Wonderful Life. I have heard so much about it and for some reason I cannot fathom, I haven’t managed to watch it. Now that I’ve made this confession, I’ll make it my business to rectify the situation before the dawn of 2016.

Needless to say, the movies all must be accompanied by treats. I’ve never been a crisps or savouries type of gal. So it’s chocolate all the way. I still get giddy with excitement at the sight of a selection box. Tins of Roses, Quality Street or Heros are my idea of heaven. The only down side is that it’s impossible to step away from the tin once it’s open. Those divine jewel coloured wrappers seems to call out to me in high-pitched tinny voices saying “eat me”. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.

After all, what good would January be if I wasn’t feeling over-fed and slovenly? My post chocolate binge is the best reason in the world to get myself back to the swimming pool. Herbie my dog is the world’s biggest January fan. Our walks increase and he never needs to sit at my feet with those please-bring-me-for-a-walk eyes. Movies with chocolate guilt kick start my year with a splash and a strut.

I hope you watch all the movies that warm the cockles of your heart. I hope you are surrounded by the people you love and most of all, I hope there’s chocolate – and lots of it! 

Thank you to Emma for this post! You should definitely watch It’s a Wonderful Life, it’s a great film and on Netflix! Don’t forget to check out The Heart of Winter and look for my review coming next week.


What are your favourite Christmas movies?

Barbara Nadel: Research Trip on a Budget!

I love travel, and I love when books take me away to places that I’ve never visited. Barbara Nadel writes detective novels based in Istanbul and she’s here today to talk about her last research trip and her experience travelling on a budget. Her new book is Land of the Blind, the 17th Inspector Ikmen mystery!


Every so often my life falls apart. It’s nothing to worry about, that’s just the way that it is. I’m accustomed to frequent upheavals and so it’s probably better that they happen to me rather than to someone who is used to a more even keel.

So it was last year, we hit the financial rocks again just as I was planning my next research trip to Istanbul. I’m always budget conscious when it comes to flights and so I will often fly at bizarre times to save a few pounds. My flights were fine. I frequently stay with friends and so accommodation is generally taken care of too. But this time I had to find a place to stay and pay for it. It was then that I discovered that even my usual haunts were now beyond my etiolated pocket. So I picked a cheap place that was in an area I know and crossed my fingers.

My arrival at the Hotel Blah (name changed to protect the guilty) was hardly auspicious. The man in front of me in the immigration queue at Ataturk Airport fell to the ground fitting and, despite the best efforts of a nurse, died in front of me. Now I’ve worked in a hospital and so I’ve seen death before. But this was death of a sudden, out of context nature and was a deeply distressing incident all round mainly because the poor man’s wife could speak neither Turkish nor English. So no one could communicate with her. She just howled.

I arrived at my hotel in a bit of a state. Luckily for me a friend was there to meet me and whisked me off to a local restaurant for many calming cups of tea. Only when I returned to the hotel later that night did I realise that it was semi derelict. There was a vast hole in the wall beside the staircase which allowed for excellent views of the house next door and was a wonderful source of draughts. But I was tired and skint and so what the hell?

My room, which was basic Turkey circa 1978 was comfortable and clean. It was a pity that the sexual athlete next door, an imposing Russian man, was so noisy in his congress with several women but I assumed he wouldn’t be doing that every night.

And so day dawned on a creature more zombie than human which I attempted to revive with a bit of breakfast in the breakfast room or garden shed out the back. It had a wonderful view of the Sea of Marmara and the food was good enough to set me up for a day of relentless walking. I needed to visit a cemetery in one of the northern suburbs of the city and had decided that, rather than use up valuable cash on my Istanbul Kart travel pass, I’d use my legs.

They didn’t like it, my legs. Six miles on a right leg held together by plates and pins that stick in your flesh when you exert yourself too much isn’t a whole load of fun. I had to get the metro back after limping around cemeteries talking to cats and finding some very disturbing statuary. Night-time in the hotel was once again a lively Russian themed event so, again, it was a good job I was knackered.

The other problem was food. Breakfast was taken care of, now in the company of many large women from somewhere in the Balkans, all very jolly. But what of the rest of the day? When you’re really skint you eat weird stuff. If you’re at home you can cobble together a meal from a load of old lentils and tomatoes. But out in the ‘wild’ you have to graze where you can. So it was things like a cup of coffee with a complimentary biscuit, chocolate bars and a plate of rice with some veg. Long gone are the days when I could get a man to buy me a meal. The amount of scaffolding and paint needed to hold my face up and make it respectable looking do not exist in this galaxy. But I did have a very nice cuppa with a priest and a lovely meal, at the end of my stay, with friends.

The Russian next door was on a sexual roll for all of that week. But human beings are adaptable and so I learned how to drop off to the sound of multiple orgasms. As I checked out, the police arrived to shut the place down which was a shame. Cheap, clearly doubling as a knocking shop (for those who don’t speak East End this is a brothel) it was clean, if cold and when you returned at night you did feel a bit like you were living in some sort of espionage novel. Did I mention that you had to knock and then show you face to get in? You did, it was wonderful.

So no Rolls Royces for me. But then I’m not really a Rolls kind of a girl. My life’s a bit more back together now and so I expect if I go to Istanbul again soon I’ll bung a whole load of cash on my Istanbul Kart and eat some protein. But maybe not. Maybe that would be too much like tempting fate…

Thank you to Barbara for this post! It sounds like it was a very interesting trip. Land of the Blind is available now here!

What are your budget travel tips? 

Sheila O’Flanagan: Top 5 Holiday Reads!

Today I have a very exciting post for you! Sheila O’Flanagan, the author of If You Were Me, has written a list of her top 5 holiday reads. For me, reading on holiday is the best reading you can do- there’s no internet, no distractions, it’s just relaxing entertainment and I’ve written two posts; here and here about my choices for holiday books so I thought it would be interesting to see Sheila’s. So here we go!

I like a mixture of genres when I go on holiday. I always pack at least one light book, and something humorous because its nice to chuckle on the sunbed. I also enjoy a thriller, as well as a historical read, either fiction or non-fiction. Hopefully youll find this a nice summer mixture of light and a little more challenging:
I love Ciara Geraghtys writing and the fact that all her books are quite different from each other. This one is a love story but its more about finding yourself again. Part of it is written from a male point of view and its brilliantly done. Saying something is funny and poignant is a bit of a cliché but its definitely true about this lovely book and its my top choice for summer reading this year!
I really enjoyed both of these novels when they were first published. They shed a different light on the Tudor court of Henry VIII and some of the most memorable characters in English history. Even though the TV series was really good (if a bit dark indoors!) nothing compares to the books.
The Jack Reacher series is my go-to series for a thriller with an iconic hero whos always a match for the bad guys. Sometimes a series with the same character can get a little stale but one of the ways Child manages to keep Reacher interesting is by not being chronological with all of the novels and occasionally going back to a previous time in Reachers life. This one takes us back to his time in the US army and his investigation into the sudden death of a General.
Sophie is one of the funniest writers around. I prefer her stand alone novels to the Shopaholic series and I think my favourite of her books was Ive Got Your Number which was laugh-out-loud hilarious. Finding Audrey is a YA novel about a girl with Social Anxiety Disorder and it sounds just as good as Sophies adult novels so has to be worth a read.
Confessions by Jaume Cabré
This is a 750 page novel translated from Catalan and you need a nice stretch of free time to read it. Its about a man who begins to examine his familys past after the death of his father. In fact its the story of Europe from the Inquisition to Auschwitz but it was the opening line that made me buy it: It wasnt until last night, walking along the wet streets of Vallarca, that I finally comprehended that being born into my family had been an unforgivable mistake. Who hasnt thought that at some point!!!

Thank you to Sheila for sharing her top 5 holiday reads. My book wishlist has definitely grown! 
What are your holiday reads?

What’s on Anne Plichota’s Bookcase?

Today I have another author post for you! And I’m pretty excited to get a sneaky look at what is on Anne Pilchota’s bookcase, as she is half of the duo that is writing the Oksa Pollock series. A series about a eleven year old girl with strange magical powers who discovers that there is a lot she is yet to learn, and it’s not all maths from her horrible teacher. I’m currently reading the first book and I’m finding it quite fun so far!



So I now pass you over to Anne Plichota!



On my bedside table are the books I am currently reading and those waiting to be read, my favourites at the moment being Rachel Cusk (for the razor-sharp wit and language), Sue Townsend (for her eccentricity) and Gillian Flynn (for her sense of suspense).




On my shelves are my literary heroes, models, examples, teachers… Goolrick, Cheever, Larry Brown, Sharpe, Hiaasan, Palahniuk, Iain Levison… Some make me die laughing, others move me to tears, but all are part of my universe. I love photo books as well, especially the work of Martin Parr for its stupefying normality, and photos of industrial, urban ruins with their sense of pride, decadence and volatility.


My reading habits? I don’t go a day without reading a few pages, and if I do, I feel like something’s missing. My favourite times to read: at lunchtime, at the end of the afternoon, sometimes in the bath, and especially before going to sleep. And never forget: a book in the handbag is indispensable when waiting at the doctor’s or for a late bus, even if it means being disappointed when it arrives or your turn comes…


















Thank you Anne for writing this and adding to my ever growing Amazon wish list of books. It’s been a long time since I read a Sue Townsend novel but they just got bumped up my TBR!


What’s on your bookcase? Have you read the Oksa Pollock books?

Katherine Clements: Why I Developed the First A-Level in Creative Writing

I am very lucky to have Katherine Clements, author of The Crimson Ribbon* and creator of the A-level in Creative Writing here on my blog today as part of The Crimson Ribbon Blog Tour, talking about why she developed the first A-level in Creative Writing. Personally I took A-levels in every English subject I could get my hands on (English Literature, English Language, Theatre Studies) and the two months of English Language where we wrote our own pieces was my favourite. This led me on to start a BA in Creative Writing so I’m massively jealous of everyone who gets to do the Creative Writing A-level and was fascinated about how it came about. So without further ado! Katherine Clements.

I’m in an English lesson. Miss Taylor announces that she’s going to read a short story to the class. She waits for the class to settle and then begins. In one wonderful, terrible moment, I realise – the story is mine.

I feel a hot flush of pride as Miss Taylor reads on. Then, utter terror, as I understand that my story is about to be judged. It’s the first time I’ve had an audience, outside my immediate family, and I’m not prepared. I’m nine years old.

Many writers recount similar emotive memories: the book that kept them reading beneath the covers, the dutiful parent typing out manuscripts on duplicate paper, the passionate English teacher who first encouraged them to put pen to paper or, these days, fingers to keyboard. These early experiences help make writers. They are important.

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to lead the development of the UK’s first A-level qualification in Creative Writing. By then, I was a writer of short stories, with a few publications under my belt and a novel in progress. I felt passionately about this project. It mattered to me. Not only did I believe it was valuable, exciting and long overdue but it mattered personally too.

My early journey as a writer is fairly typical. I made up stories when I was a kid, devoured the contents of the library, and attempted my first novel when I was twelve. But then, sometime in my early teenage years, I just stopped writing. Life happened. Other things took over.

It took me another 15 years to pick up my pen.

It’s often said that you need life experience to be a decent writer, and perhaps I needed that time, but I sometimes wonder what would have happened had I continued writing. Think of all the stories that went un-written, all that practice, all that learning. Would I be a better writer now? I expect so.

The first time I read my work aloud, much later, to a small, friendly local writers group, I panicked. I couldn’t get the words out. In the end another member read on my behalf.

I couldn’t understand what had happened. In my professional life I regularly spoke in public and ran events for hundreds of people, so why couldn’t I do this one simple thing? Because, this time, it was personal. It was Miss Taylor’s classroom all over again.

I never had the chance to explore writing at secondary school, much less work towards a useful qualification in the subject. I could have made art, learned to dance, specialised in drama performance or music composition, but creative writing wasn’t an option. Now, here was an opportunity to change that for thousands of students.

Anyone who does something creative, and puts part of themselves into their work, becomes vulnerable. Any creative pursuit has value beyond the output itself. The drive to explore and make something new, the desire for self-expression, is a good human thing. There’s learning, growth and sometimes joy, to be found in the process. And sometimes there’s fear and self-doubt and an overwhelming conviction that the thing you’ve made is the worst thing in the history of the world, ever.

When I did eventually begin writing again, I joined an evening class. Since then I’ve been to writers groups, conferences, residential courses and writing retreats, of varying quality and usefulness. I’ve met and been taught by amazing teachers, read books on writing, seen some of my favourite writers speak and been lucky to find supportive and inspirational mentors. All these things have contributed in some essential way to my experience of learning how to be a writer, and that means taking the bad stuff along with the good. It means doing it when you think you can’t. It means facing that self-critical voice head-on, learning when to listen and when to ignore it. My teachers – and among them I count all the fellow writers I’ve met and talked with, in all kinds of situations – have helped me to do that.

There’s been a lot in the press over the years about whether or not creative writing can be taught. I’ve never been taught creative writing at a university, but I do know how much it’s possible to learn about the craft of writing from others. I’ve learned the value of intelligent, sensitive and well-judged feedback. I’ve learned by reading things that have been suggested to me, or by taking apart a well-loved piece and seeing it in a new way. I’ve had teachers who were perceptive enough to say the things I didn’t want to hear, who pushed and encouraged and allowed me to get things wrong, so that I could, eventually, get things right. Writing involves a set of skills, tools and techniques that can be taught. Regardless of innate talent, everyone can improve.

We need teachers, editors, mentors and other writers to facilitate this. Writing is so often considered a solitary pursuit but it can and should be a collaborative process. I don’t underestimate how challenging this can be, but it is so valuable. That doesn’t mean you can’t go it alone, but learning from others certainly speeds up the process.

So, convinced of the value of teaching creative writing, I still had many questions to answer: Could we get teachers and students working together, as writers, in the classroom? Could we create a meaningful, rigorous course that promoted genuinely useful real-world skills? Could we give students the time and space to take themselves seriously, as writers?

The first intake of students sat their first exams this summer and the signs are good. I’ve heard from teachers, examiners and students and they all report good things. Teachers are enjoying the freedom, flexibility and democracy in a course necessarily led by students’ individual interests. And students are embracing the ideology of the subject, reading, writing, sharing, improving their work and growing in confidence. I’m delighted, and just a little bit jealous.

Miss Taylor never knew it but she gave me something that day in the English classroom: a little seed of hope that maybe, one day, I might be good at this. Doubt is an intrinsic part of any creative endeavor and it took me a long time to find the guts and determination to put my own writing out into the world. I’m pretty sure that without the teachers who’ve helped along the way, I wouldn’t have got this far. And, perhaps, if I’d been given the chance at school, it wouldn’t have taken me quite so long.

Thank you Katherine! My review of The Crimson Ribbon will be up tomorrow. Spoiler alert: It’s great.
Do you wish you could take the Creative Writing A-level? Are you taking it?

*I received this book as part of the blog tour. It has not changed my opinion at all.

Cate Sampson: Young Women who Fight

It’s midnight, I’m sat on a plane next to a middle-aged man who has fallen asleep on his wife and I’ve just finished Splintered Light by Cate Sampson*. I put it down and smile because it was a really good book and I loved Leah, the female character. I’m inspired, I loved her, I put her in the kickass female characters category with Katniss and Michonne.
A couple of days later this posts drops into my inbox and I’m grinning from ear to ear. Today on Imogen’s Typewriter I give you Cate Sampson, the author of Splintered Light, talking about Young Women who Fight.

I was worried about making my female protagonist a kickboxer. I didn’t want the ghost of Karate Kid hanging over her, and I didn’t want kickboxing to be the most important thing about her. Nor did I want the fact that she was a fighter to become shorthand for ‘feisty’ or ‘gutsy’, the kind of patronising adjectives which suggest girls in skirts and sensible shoes from the Famous Five. But after I’d visited Massimo Gaetani’s Carisma Kickboxing club in Cambridge, I knew I wanted to place her in a club just like that, with its mixture of explosive energy, ritualised aggression and camaraderie. It’s a place where there is danger, but it is also a place of self-control.

I keep talking about ‘her’ and ‘she’. ‘She’ is Leah, one of three teenagers at the heart of my new book, Splintered Light. Leah’s mother was murdered twelve years before the book begins, and Leah lives with her father, a police officer, who wants her to learn to fight to protect herself from the kind of danger that killed her mother. He is endlessly anxious about Leah’s security, urging her always to fear. And yet he spends swathes of time away from her, leaving her to look after herself while he vanishes on jobs Leah knows nothing of.

Leah pretty much brings herself up, and mostly she does the opposite of everything her father wants her to do. He says no social media, she’s on everything. He says don’t ask questions about the past, she asks questions. She loves kickboxing despite the fact it was her father’s idea. Not because she’s afraid, but because she’s good at it, because she likes the way it makes her feel in her skin, and because she’s found a loose-knit home there, among her fellow students. Most importantly, it’s a place where she’s in control, of her body, and her mind.

At the Carisma kickboxing club the day I went to watch the class there was a scattering of girls among the men, one or two young teenagers still early in their training and women in their twenties who were already kicking machines, focused and disciplined, their muscles performing exactly as they were told. There were powerful men and weaker, or less confident, men, just as there were powerful women and weaker, or less confident, women. There were men who didn’t mind getting hit, and men who did. So with the women. And make no mistake, this is a contact sport. When you get hit, it hurts. You could see it in the flinching, eye-closing moments when less advanced students let their guards down. But what was almost palpable was the focus and the discipline, and the mutual respect, the weaker for the more powerful, and the other way around. No one blindly hits out. If a strong boxer finds himself up against a weaker boxer, he holds back. It might be different in competition, but in the gym there is recognition that just because you can hurt someone doesn’t mean you should. Indeed, Massimo Gaetani always tells his students that the best defence is to run away – you never know when someone’s got a knife or a gun, and that trumps any clever move.

I found my inspiration for Leah in British women who have become champion fighters. Nicola Adams was the first female boxing champion at the Olympics, and then at the Commonwealth Games. In an interview with The Guardian newspaper she described how the boxing club had become a refuge for her in her teen years, ‘almost like another family,’ the coaches becoming father substitutes. Brought up by a single mother, who nearly died when she was thirteen, Nicola Adams faced similar hardships to those faced by my fictional Leah.

So too Ruqsana Begum, British women’s Muay Thai champion. As a Muslim teenager, she had to overcome the cultural expectations of her family to become involved in martial arts. Both Nicola Adams and Ruqsana Begum have been involved in the Fight For Peace organisation, which works worldwide to redirect the energy of young people who might become gang members. They teach young people control and discipline, and that fighting can be kept off the streets and inside the ring.

In Splintered Light, when Leah comes across a young man who is involved in crime and violence, it is a similar message that she passes on. There may be pain in boxing, but there is pleasure too, and much of that pleasure and the confidence that comes from the discovery of self control.

I really recommend Splintered Light if you’re looking for a good contemporary YA novel. And thank you to Cate for this post!

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*I received this book as part of the blog tour. It has not changed my opinion at all.

Fiction Friday: Book Review: Outshine by Nola Decker

When I was emailed about reviewing Outshine by Nola Decker* as part of the blog tour I was immediately excited, this is a YA Science Fiction novel which is a nice break from the usual dystopian and it just sounded great; 

When agoraphobic Gabe and his outgoing nemesis Jessa go on a moonlit road trip to locate Gabe’s missing brother, the two teens discover they are both hiding unnatural abilities:  Gabe is a living lie detector and Jessa is a kick-ass powerhouse pretending to be a delicate diva.

Gabe’s sole reason for searching for Watts, his overbearing younger brother, is to clear his own name: he’s been framed for Watts’ alleged murder.  Jessa is after Watts because she is, well, after him.
They find him with Deacon, the twisted eugenicist responsible for their unusual powers. He encourages them to stay and join his “Family” where they’ll be able to live openly as the genetically-modified freaks that they are. When Jessa and Gabe uncover the truth about Deacon’s past–and what he wants for the future–they band together to stop him. Watts, however, might have other plans…



This book starts fast, switching between Gabe and Jessa quickly as you’re punched straight into the story and the lives of the characters. Neither characters were relatable to me personally but surprisingly I liked them both, they weren’t maybe the best people but they had taken two very different- and understandable- paths to dealing with similar problems. With the science-fiction aspect, especially Gabe’s ‘power’ I realised that this book is everything I wanted Drawn by Cecilia Gray (currently hanging out on my paused shelf with Insurgent and Shatter Me) to be and more. 

It was a quick read, and got me in a real reading mood! I feel I devoured this book with it’s interesting plot, fast pace and action packed prose. There wasn’t a single boring moment and even the romance aspect of it was well thought out. Yes, there was a bit of a love triangle but it went beyond the usual teenage girl indecision and into the science fiction aspect. I loved it anyway and for once I wasn’t scolding the character on the right choice, but sympathising on the situation she was in. All in all I really enjoyed this book, I wasn’t quite as hooked as I’ve been with other books but it was seriously good, especially for self-published. I need the sequel now!

This was my first book tour! And the first book I’ve ever read completely on my phone since I lack a tablet. I think I’ll stick to paperbacks in the future but it was fun to try a different form! I may end up buying the paperback for shelfporn/re-reading purposes!
August 9th Aisha Reads Books 
August 10th Twistedity
August 11th Journey Through Fiction
August 12th Lost in a Good Book
August 13th A Thousand Words A Million Books
August 14th The Beauty of Literature
August 18th Hogwash
August 19th Making My Mark
August 20th My Secret Book Obsession
August 21st my name is Sage
August 23rd BitterSweet
August 24th This Girl Loves Books 
August 27th Donnie Darko Girl
August 31st The Word at my Fingertips 


Be sure to check out my fellow bloggers on this blog tour! What do you think? Will you be buying Outshine?

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*This book was provided for review as part of the Outshine virtual blog tour. This has not changed my opinion.