The ceiling fan whirred noisily above Lily as she lay in bed. She had always been nervous of its wild gyrating, fearing it would spin loose any moment and slice her to pieces. In over thirty years it had neither been fixed nor fallen. She wasn’t sure if this should worry or reassure her... She closed her eyes. She could hear birdsong and shuffling footsteps along the dirt road outside the house. She looked up at two geckos on the peach walls that seemed on course for a collision. Nothing seemed to have changed from her childhood, yet everything had.
Tag: British writing
A snowy extract from my debut novel, Waking hours. Spanning over fifty years, from 1950s Ceylon to twenty-first century England, it follows three generations of one family.
If you're looking for some reading to snuggle up with (or enjoy in the sunshine, depending on what hemisphere you're in), or perhaps a last minute Christmas present, can I humbly suggest my new book, Waking hours. It's available in paperback and ebook format, with special discounts over Christmas. I would love to hear your thoughts on it. If you've previously read my blog you may have already had a sneak peek! Here are the opening few lines, written during a snowy London January a few years back. More to follow over the new few days...