Oh no, it’s raining again!

I don’t know where you’re reading this from, but I can only hope that it’s from a place where the sun is shining. Here, we’ve forgotten what that looks like. May you be luckier.

I have a story…

but the backstory will go back a long time.

As you may (or not) know, I grew up in Sydney, Australia, a child of immigrants. I have some memories of my primary school. Good ones.

Most involve sitting on bright cubes in the school library. Reading. Others are winning prizes in art shows. To be fair, my efforts were questionable (or more, the judges were) but I remember the prizes: they were books, all of them. I still have one of them – a tattered picture book of Australian poetry.

I think maybe my love of libraries started there, at Corpus Christi Infant’s School, in St Ives. And then only grew.

We moved to Santiago, in Chile, when I was ten. I spoke barely any Spanish and went from taking the bus to the local school, rambling round the neighbourhood on my bike, and spending free time between the beach and the bush to an all-girls American convent school and a flat in a brutalist block. It was hard. Again, my memories are of the library at school. It was my safe space and where I spent my breaks and pretty much most of my time. By eighth grade, I’d read through the middle school library and was allowed to visit the senior school one. But only the permitted sections. I ignored that. I read it all – it was a convent school so even the forbidden sections were rather tame. But they were books.

Later, when I was allowed to roam the city, I discovered every bookshop in town. Then did so in every city I’ve lived in. Madrid, I knew every bookshop. And in London, every bookshop. And when I travel, I stop at a bookshop even when I don’t speak the language.

You might wonder where this is going. I’m getting there, I promise.

Knowing my obsession and extreme love for libraries and bookshops, you’ll understand how excited I was last November when I realised a bookshop was opening down the road from me. I waited with baited breath till they opened their yellow door and since Funny Weather Books opened across from Hampstead Heath, I’ve ordered all my TBRs from the lovely Celeste and Ed. I’ve proofread my manuscripts, written chapters, banged my head, and started over on their back table to an amazing soundtrack. It’s a bookshop! It’s wonderful! The coffee’s great! And Echo and I are welcome!

The night before last, I checked the proofs for the hardback, the paperback, and the ebook for Touched by Light for the last time. And approved the text. Totally and completely. I’m done. Book’s done. Files at the ready for the printers. I sent the details to the audio guys.

I AM DONE.

So yesterday, I was feeling pretty good. I can see light – or, more accurately, books… and so I went down to Funny Weather to get myself two books by Theodora Goss because it’s what you should do when celebrating: get books and a drink!

I was at Funny Weather and got chatting with Celeste. I noticed an unusual piece of furniture that they use as a desk. It’s a cross between a chest of drawers, an alchemist’s medicine cabinet, and a desk. It’s weathered and lovely. It’s seen stuff. I mentioned how much I liked it. Celeste told me that she and Ed had bought it when the lady who owned the toy shop in Gospel Oak died.

So now you’re probably wondering where I’ve rambled off to. There’s method in the madness. Hang with me a little longer.

The toy shop. A long time ago there was a toy shop opposite the train station in Gospel Oak, in North London, by Hampstead Heath. It belonged to Kristin Baybars who died in 2021, when she was 85. It was pink and faded. And peeling. The windows were dark. I wandered in one day looking for a birthday present. This was probably seventeen or eighteen years ago.

Kristin made dollhouses and furniture for them: every possible kind of thing you can imagine, from little grand pianos to doilies and kettles. There’s no way I can draw it for you properly. The shop was crowded and dim, packed to the ceiling, and filled with detail. It was magical and weird. Wild, spooky, and rather wonderful.

I was already a writer then, I guess, but I didn’t know it yet. After that first visit, I started writing a story. It was a mess that had no idea where it was going, but it started in that toy shop, with a dollhouse. I never finished it and have no idea where the draft went. It’s probably in a notebook somewhere or in the rubbish. But that was the first thing I ever wrote thinking that, one day, I’d write a book.

So now back to yesterday and Funny Weather Books.

I remarked on that piece of furniture that Ed and Celeste, who will eventually stock my books, use as their ordering desk… And realised I’d come full circle – it all started when I pushed open that creaking door into the strange and magical world of the crowded toy shop all those years ago and decided that I’d write a book about that place. And now, such a long time later, the toy shop itself no longer exists, my books feature no toy shops or dollhouses, but they will rest on the desk that was there when it all began.

I sobbed all the way home. Happy tears. Kind of.

An update on Echo

For those who need to know about Echo. She is well. Slowing down a little, but as lovely as ever. She’s taken a shine to my yoga mat, which is not ideal as we don’t both fit. I was trying to push her off yesterday and remembered Oscar.

I once had a different Great Dane: Luna. She was my first one and is the gold standard to which all dogs in our extended family are held – I can’t fathom why as she was a nuisance. Brilliant, but oh was she ever hard work. Unlike Echo, who is the most laidback dog in the world, Luna was manic, completely mad, untrustworthy, and a royal pain. But we loved her and love her still. I used to walk to school to pick up my girls with Luna.

One day Oscar came up. He was five and loved her. He looked her straight in the eye and asked, ‘How many chihuahuas do you think would fit in Luna?’

It wasn’t a question I’d asked myself before. I suspect few have.

But Oscar had obviously considered the matter. Carefully. He carried on, ‘I think 48. Four in each leg. Five in her head if we curl them up. One stretched out in her tail and the rest squashed into her body. Tightly.’

To be fair, I checked his numbers. They worked for Luna. But Echo could take a bunch more chihuahuas. I’m thinking 56. Maybe 60 if we roll them up small.

Oscar’s about twenty now. I don’t think I’d recognise him along the street and doubt he remembers his deliberations on chihuahuas and Luna, but I really hope he’s still asking himself daft questions…

So now what you REALLY want to know…
When can you get your hands on Touched by Light?

Soon, I say. And I mean that.

Being an indie gives you control and creative liberty, but it’s so very hard to walk the tightropes and figure out the steps.

I’m still happy I’m doing so, but is it ever a headache!

So while my own work is done, now I wait on other wonderful people who are doing their bits.

Once the printers send me the proofs and I can check them, I’ll be able to lower the flag and we’ll be off.

Then, I’ll let you know where to go and get them.

It’ll be a one line newsletter saying we’ve got take-off and a blaring of trumpets on social media.

And champagne, because, hey, it’s taken me long enough!

So there we are. Keep reading, keep learning, keep safe. Even when things look bad, there’s hope, so we turn another page and keep smiling because that’s one thing we can do.

Berna

You can unsubscribe at any time (that link is always at the bottom). I’ll be sad to see you go and hope you’ll think kindly of me whenever you see my name on books or come across a Great Dane.