In this series starting in March you are invited to share an extract of 500 words from your most recent book published within the last 12 months
The aim of the series
- To showcase your latest book and sell some more copies.
- Gain more reviews for the book.
- Promote a selection of your other books that are available.
What will be in the post?
- I will top and tail in the usual way with your other books and links, bio, photo and social media.
- I will also select a review from Amazon or Goodreads that I feel has the best selling pitch for the book.
- If your book is very recent and as yet has not received a review then I will share one from a previous book.
- This series is open to all authors both those on the Bookshelf or new to the blog
- I suggest an extract of approximately 500 words or a poem that you feel best reflects the theme of your collection.
- If you have an illustration or images you can attach to the email for me to include. No need to send the cover as I will have that or will access from Amazon.
- If you have not featured on the blog before then I will need Amazon link, Goodreads, blog or website plus your social media links (main three you use)
- Please send your extract and any accompanying images to email@example.com
To give you an example of what the post will look like, here is a post from the previous series with an updated review and more recent releases
Today bestselling author of the Howarth Family Saga, Judith Barrow shares an extract from her compelling family drama The Memory. A book that I can highly recommend.
About the book
Mother and daughter tied together by shame and secrecy, love and hate.
I wait by the bed. I move into her line of vision and it’s as though we’re watching one another, my mother and me; two women – trapped.
Today has been a long time coming. Irene sits at her mother’s side waiting for the right moment, for the point at which she will know she is doing the right thing by Rose.
Rose was Irene’s little sister, an unwanted embarrassment to their mother Lilian but a treasure to Irene. Rose died thirty years ago, when she was eight, and nobody has talked about the circumstances of her death since. But Irene knows what she saw. Over the course of 24 hours their moving and tragic story is revealed – a story of love and duty, betrayal and loss – as Irene rediscovers the past and finds hope for the future.
An extract from The Memory
The baby was in the old blue carrycot that had been mine and stored in the attic. I’d helped Dad to clean it up ages ago.
‘What’s she called?’ Mum didn’t answer. When I glanced at her she’d come out of the covers and was looking away from me, staring towards the window. Her fingers plucked at the cotton pillowcase. ‘Is she okay?’ I asked. The baby was so small; even though I could only see her head I could tell she was really little. I leaned over the carrycot. ‘Can I hold her?’
‘No,’ Dad’s hand rested on my shoulder, warm, gentle. ‘She’s too tiny.’ He paused, cleared his throat. ‘And she’s not well, I’m afraid.’
That frightened me. I studied my sister carefully; tiny flat nose between long eyes that sloped upwards at the outer corners. A small crooked mouth pursed as though she was a bit cross about something. I could see the tip of her tongue between her lips. ‘She doesn’t look poorly.’
I tilted my head one way and another, studying her from different angles. Nope, except for the little twist in her top lip, which was cute, she looked fine. ‘What’s she called?’ I asked again, watching her little face tighten and then relax as she yawned, then sighed.
Turning on her back, Mum slid down under the eiderdown. ‘Take it away,’ she mumbled.
At first I thought she was she talking about me. Had I done something to upset her or the baby? But then I thought perhaps having a baby made you cross so I decided to forgive her. In the silent moment that followed I heard the raucous cry of a crow as it landed, thump, on the flat roof of the kitchen outside the bedroom window.
‘What’s she called?’ I whispered to Dad, determined one of them would tell me. When there was still no reply I looked up at him and then back at my sister. ‘I’m going to call her Rose, ’cos that’s what her mouth looks like; a little rosebud, like my dolly’s.’
Dad gathered both handles of the carrycot and lifted it from the stand. ‘I’ll take her,’ he said and cocked his head at me to follow.
‘Do what you want.’ Mum’s voice was harsh. ‘I don’t want that thing near me.’
Then I knew she meant the baby; my baby sister. I was scared again. Something was happening I didn’t understand. But I knew it was wrong to call your baby ‘it’. It made me feel sick inside.
‘That’s mean,’ I whispered.
Mum held her hand above the covers. ‘Irene, you can stay. Tell me what you’ve been doing in school today.’ She pointed to the hairbrush on the dressing table, pushing herself up in the bed. ‘Fetch the brush; I’ll do your hair.’
The words were familiar; it was something she said every day. But her voice was different. It was as though she was trying to persuade me to do it. Like in school when one of your friends had fallen out with another girl and she was trying to get you on her side.’ It didn’t seem right; it didn’t seem like the mum I knew.
‘No, I’ll go with Dad.’ Suddenly I couldn’t bear to be anywhere near my mother. I held the end of the carrycot, willing Rose to wake up. And then she opened her eyes. And, even though I know now it would have been impossible, I would have sworn at that moment she looked right at me and her little mouth puckered into a smile.
That was the first time I understood you could fall in love with a stranger, even though that stranger is a baby who can’t yet talk.
And that you could hate somebody even though you were supposed to love them.
One of the recent reviews for the book
Having read The Heartstone by the same author, I was looking forward to reading another of her novels. Wow, I was captured from the very start. With a perfectly pitched dual timeline, the story is told with such intensity of emotion that I felt every frustration and twist and turn as the heroine battles with her own feelings of bewilderment and exhaustion. As someone who nursed a parent with dementia, her understanding of the mental stress is superb, and yet Irene has far more to occupy her mind than that – notably the memory of something appalling she witnessed many years earlier and has dogged her ever since. The unexpected revelation at the end of the book is sheer genius, and although the story is very dark, the love of the ever faithful Sam and the uplifting ending make it a triumph. Absolutely compelling read. Mind-blowing.
Also by Judith Barrow
About Judith Barrow
Judith Barrow,originally from Saddleworth, a group of villages on the edge of the Pennines,has lived in Pembrokeshire, Wales, for over forty years.
She has an MA in Creative Writing with the University of Wales Trinity St David’s College, Carmarthen. BA (Hons) in Literature with the Open University, a Diploma in Drama from Swansea University. She is a Creative Writing tutor for Pembrokeshire County Council and holds private one to one workshops on all genres.
Thanks for dropping in and I hope you will leave with a book or two of Judith’s but will also share an extract from your most recent book with us. Sally.