This week I have been invited to take part in a blog tour called Meet My Character, where you get to find out more about the main character in my latest book!
Thank you to Shannon Pemrick for the invitation to take part! Shannon is the author of the epic Experimental Heart series, the first book 'Pieces' is available on Amazon. Click here to go to the UK Amazon site. Almost 800 pages of pure escapism for just £2.45!
For this blog tour I have been asked to answer several questions about a character in my current work in progress, I have chosen what will be my next release - Pieces of Me.
Thank you to Shannon Pemrick for the invitation to take part! Shannon is the author of the epic Experimental Heart series, the first book 'Pieces' is available on Amazon. Click here to go to the UK Amazon site. Almost 800 pages of pure escapism for just £2.45!
For this blog tour I have been asked to answer several questions about a character in my current work in progress, I have chosen what will be my next release - Pieces of Me.
Pieces of Me - Celeste | What is the name of your character? Is he/she a fictional or a historic person? The main character in my newest book is Celeste, and she is a fictional character. Her name means 'heavenly'. When and where is the story set? My current work in progress is set in modern day Britain, although it opens in a scene set in the 1980's where Celeste is first found, and moves in to the near future as she grows older. What should we know about your character? Celeste is a seemingly normal girl but we learn at the beginning of her story that she suddenly 'appeared' aged 5 on a busy street with no knowledge of who she is or where she has come from. What is the main conflict? I.e. what 'messes' up her life? Celeste comes in to the lives of those who need her at that particular point in time. The problem is, the more that she gives of herself, the more she risks simply fading away. What is the personal goal of the character? Ultimately she wants to know who she really is and where she comes from, she knows that there is a purpose to her being alive but doesn't know what the greater picture is. |
Is there a working title for this novel, and can we read more about it?
The novel will be called Pieces of Me and you can view regular updates both here on this website and on my Facebook fan page. I hope to have the book ready for publication by Winter 2014. Below is the 'blurb' and the unedited Prologue from the book for you to check out.
The novel will be called Pieces of Me and you can view regular updates both here on this website and on my Facebook fan page. I hope to have the book ready for publication by Winter 2014. Below is the 'blurb' and the unedited Prologue from the book for you to check out.
About Pieces of Me...
Celeste was just five years old when she 'appeared'; she had no memory of where she came from or who she was. After a missing persons campaign failed to offer any answers, Celeste went to live with Mrs Potts, the kind lady who first came across her.
Mrs Potts named her Celeste, meaning 'heavenly', because Celeste simply appeared as if fallen from the heavens themselves with no explanation.
At sixteen Celeste leaves in the middle of the night, ready to move on in her life. Before she leaves, Celeste passes a piece of herself to Mrs Potts by way of a simple kiss. Here lies the first piece of her.
During her lifetime, Celeste leaves other 'pieces' of herself with others she learns to love. But at what price? By leaving parts of herself behind, can she ever remain complete?
Mrs Potts named her Celeste, meaning 'heavenly', because Celeste simply appeared as if fallen from the heavens themselves with no explanation.
At sixteen Celeste leaves in the middle of the night, ready to move on in her life. Before she leaves, Celeste passes a piece of herself to Mrs Potts by way of a simple kiss. Here lies the first piece of her.
During her lifetime, Celeste leaves other 'pieces' of herself with others she learns to love. But at what price? By leaving parts of herself behind, can she ever remain complete?
Prologue (Unedited)...
HUSH now. Just a little further.
Keep moving, it’s all okay.
This – here – is where you begin again...
Bright light blinds me as I open my eyes; blinking, I try to make out where I am. The gentle voice that had been guiding me was now gone and the busy hustle and bustle of the street takes its place.
I hold my hands out in front of me and turn them slowly, taking in the smallness of them. Resting my arms back at my side I begin to look around where I stood; I didn’t recognise the scene around me.
In fact, it occurs to me that I didn’t even know who I am. My lip quivers and tears begin to roll down my cheeks as pitiful sobs escape from my lips. People rush around, not noticing me in their haste to reach their destinations.
I stood there for what felt like an age, the crowds begin to disperse and the pace of people slows down. My sobs become laboured and my nose is blocked now from crying so I try breathing from my mouth instead, which is difficult since I ‘m still crying.
An older lady approaches me through the thinned crowd of people; she has a concerned look on her face and is pulling a small fabric shopping trolley behind her.
“Oh dear, are you lost?” She leans down to look me in the face and pulls a clean tissue from her pocket. She wipes my tears and nose in a well-practised motion.
“I don’t know,” I pout as fresh tears well up. My bottom lip sticks out as the lady stands back to look at me properly.
Taking my hand she looks around, searching for anyone who might be looking for this pitiful little girl beside her. There is no one.
“My name is Mrs Potts,” she tells me in a gentle voice. “Can you tell me your name dear?”
I think hard about this; if I have a name I don’t remember it. I don’t know how I got here or where I am from.”I – I don’t know.”
She purses her lips; trying to decide if I am being deliberately difficult or if I have simply been traumatised in to some temporary amnesia.
“Were you here with your mummy or daddy?” She tries again.
I shrug and sniffle some more as my nose begins to unblock. “I’m sorry,” is all I can manage.
Mrs Potts squeezes my hand and smiles gently at me. “That’s okay dear. We do need to get you back to your rightful place though young lady. Would you come with me?”
I look up at her friendly face and the around us. I don’t know where else to go so I look back at her and nod my head.
The policeman is visibly irritated as I shake my head in response to his latest question. So far I haven’t been able to tell him anything at all.
I don’t recall my name or how I came to be standing in the middle of the busy street this morning and I don’t know where my mummy is. Or if I even have a mummy.
“Well, how old are you?” his annoyance shows now as he slaps his pen down on the desk, not even bothering to wait for a response.
“Five,” the word pops out of my mouth from nowhere; I don’t know how but I am certain that this is true.
The policeman looks up at me in surprise and Mrs Potts pats my back gently in encouragement and I grin, pleased with myself for giving the right answer at last.
He is about to ask another question when he is interrupted by another policeman who opens the door to the small interview room we are sat in.
“Ted, social worker’s here,” the new policeman says. They nod at Mrs Potts and disappear for a moment.
When he reappears a lady is with him. She is wearing a grey trouser suit and her blonde hair is tied into a high ponytail. She smells of strong perfume that makes me sneeze.
“Bless you,” she smiles, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes and she seems to be weary. She holds her hand out to Mrs Potts and they shake hands in greeting. “Mrs Potts? My name is Rachel.”
“Hello,” Mrs Potts responds. I watch them size each other up.
Ted breaks the silence. “We’ve taken a statement from the lady and a picture of the girl is being processed for the MisPer appeal.” Mrs Potts looks at him blankly. “Missing Persons,” he explains as he passes a brown paper file to Rachel.
Rachel flips through the folder and holds a sheet of paper up to Ted and raises an eyebrow at him.
“Kid couldn’t answer a single question,” he shrugs.
“I’m five,” I remind him of my one small victory just a few moments ago when I remembered this thing about myself.
“We’ll have to get a doctor to check her over, memory loss could mean a bump to the head,” Rachel ignores me and I pull a pout at Mrs Potts.
“Excuse me dear,” Mrs Potts places her hand on my shoulder protectively as she addresses Rachel. “Perhaps you might care to explain to the little girl what is happening. Also I would imagine that she would like something to eat and drink. Are you hungry dear?” She leans down and smoothes my red hair back in to the slide behind my ear.
“Yes Mrs Potts,” I reply and my tummy grumbles in agreement. We turn to look at the policeman and the social worker.
Ted clears his throat. “I’ll go and get something from the canteen while you fill them in,” he tells Rachel.
With that he leaves the room and Rachel now stands alone facing us.
“Perhaps we can all take a seat?” She gestures to the small table and plastic chairs at the side of the room.
Mrs Potts and I take the seats on the nearest side and she holds my hand reassuringly and offers me a small smile as Rachel takes seat and opens the file again.
My face has been in newspapers across the country in several television appeals now. There have been some false leads from calls received on the back of the nationwide missing person appeal. Which puzzles me since I have been found rather than lost.
I have lost my first tooth and I have run away from the home they put me in five times and another four times from different foster families.
Each time I find myself on Mrs Potts’ door step. I don’t know how I found my way here the first time since I had not known her before she found me that day in the town.
It’s been raining so my usually bright red hair is dark and I can see my breath in misty clouds. I am standing on her door step once more and before my hand reaches the letterbox to knock the door swings open and Mrs Potts stands back as I rush in and climb on to the sofa in her living room.
“Shoes,” She reminds me. I kick my shoes off quickly and they land haphazardly on the floor. She tuts playfully and holds her hand out as I pass her my damp coat..
We have a routine now, Mrs Potts and I. She makes me a hot chocolate to warm me up and a ham sandwich; I know that there will be two chocolate digestives to follow, but not until I finish my sandwich – even the crust. I tried to tell her one time that my hair is already curly but I didn’t get chocolate biscuits that time so I didn’t say it again.
Then she switches the television on to a cartoon channel and calls the social worker to let her know I’m here... Again. Rachel is getting increasingly frustrated with my knack of finding my way back here no matter how far away the foster homes that she places me in are. I’m usually here by the time anyone even realises I’ve ‘escaped’.
“I don’t know what to do with you” has become her catch phrase now and she says it as she enters the living room, hands on her hips and a cross look on her face.
I’m lying on the sofa with a knitted blanket over me and I lift my eyes from the large television set to look at her.
“Madam,” she shakes her head at me as she speaks. “What is it going to take to stop you from running away all the time?”
An idea has been growing in my mind for some weeks now and I decide to say it out loud.
“I could live here,” I answer, “with Mrs Potts.”
Mrs Potts’ mouth opens in surprise but I notice that she doesn’t try to argue with my suggestion. Rachel turns to face her, she has an exasperated look on her face and moves her lips to speak a couple of times but apparently she can’t think of an argument against it either.
“Mrs Potts?” She asks finally.
“Well, if the child would like to stay with me until we find her family then I suppose that would be okay,” Mrs Potts says carefully.
“She’ll have to stay with a foster family while I look in to the possibility,” Rachel turns to look at me once more. Mrs Potts copies her.
“We’ll have to give the child a name of course,” Mrs Potts muses. She tips her head to one side, taking me in with her light blue eyes.
“I suppose ‘her’ and ‘she’ aren’t particularly healthy labels,” Rachel agrees. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Mrs Potts motions for me to come to her so I sit up and put the blanket to one side before making my way over to her. She cups her hand under my chin and turns my head this way and that. “Celeste,” she says softly.
I like the sound of the name on her lips, it makes me smile.
“Celeste?” Rachel questions.
“If I recall correctly, it means ‘heavenly’, and it seems to me right now that this little girl as good as fell from the heavens,” Mrs Potts responds, not taking her eyes off me.
I don’t know what Rachel and Mrs Potts had to do to manage it, but a couple of weeks later I was back in the little cottage. This time I was dropped there by Rachel with a bag of second hand clothes and a rag doll that my most recent foster mother had given me.
Mrs Potts opened the front door with a smile, her crinkled eyes showing me that the joy at seeing me was genuine. Rachel handed my things to her and I made my way through the small hallway and into the living room on the left hand side of the house. I pulled my shoes off and placed them neatly on one side then sat quietly on the sofa waiting for Mrs Potts to join me.
Within a few moments the front door clicked shut and she appeared in the living room doorway. This was to be my home now and I was glad. I felt safe with Mrs Potts and I had a sense that this was supposed to be, although I could never explain it.
Some nights I dreamed of a voice, so quiet I could barely make out what it said.
HUSH now. Just a little further.
Keep moving, it’s all okay.
This – here – is where you begin again...
And then there is a blinding white light...
Keep moving, it’s all okay.
This – here – is where you begin again...
Bright light blinds me as I open my eyes; blinking, I try to make out where I am. The gentle voice that had been guiding me was now gone and the busy hustle and bustle of the street takes its place.
I hold my hands out in front of me and turn them slowly, taking in the smallness of them. Resting my arms back at my side I begin to look around where I stood; I didn’t recognise the scene around me.
In fact, it occurs to me that I didn’t even know who I am. My lip quivers and tears begin to roll down my cheeks as pitiful sobs escape from my lips. People rush around, not noticing me in their haste to reach their destinations.
I stood there for what felt like an age, the crowds begin to disperse and the pace of people slows down. My sobs become laboured and my nose is blocked now from crying so I try breathing from my mouth instead, which is difficult since I ‘m still crying.
An older lady approaches me through the thinned crowd of people; she has a concerned look on her face and is pulling a small fabric shopping trolley behind her.
“Oh dear, are you lost?” She leans down to look me in the face and pulls a clean tissue from her pocket. She wipes my tears and nose in a well-practised motion.
“I don’t know,” I pout as fresh tears well up. My bottom lip sticks out as the lady stands back to look at me properly.
Taking my hand she looks around, searching for anyone who might be looking for this pitiful little girl beside her. There is no one.
“My name is Mrs Potts,” she tells me in a gentle voice. “Can you tell me your name dear?”
I think hard about this; if I have a name I don’t remember it. I don’t know how I got here or where I am from.”I – I don’t know.”
She purses her lips; trying to decide if I am being deliberately difficult or if I have simply been traumatised in to some temporary amnesia.
“Were you here with your mummy or daddy?” She tries again.
I shrug and sniffle some more as my nose begins to unblock. “I’m sorry,” is all I can manage.
Mrs Potts squeezes my hand and smiles gently at me. “That’s okay dear. We do need to get you back to your rightful place though young lady. Would you come with me?”
I look up at her friendly face and the around us. I don’t know where else to go so I look back at her and nod my head.
The policeman is visibly irritated as I shake my head in response to his latest question. So far I haven’t been able to tell him anything at all.
I don’t recall my name or how I came to be standing in the middle of the busy street this morning and I don’t know where my mummy is. Or if I even have a mummy.
“Well, how old are you?” his annoyance shows now as he slaps his pen down on the desk, not even bothering to wait for a response.
“Five,” the word pops out of my mouth from nowhere; I don’t know how but I am certain that this is true.
The policeman looks up at me in surprise and Mrs Potts pats my back gently in encouragement and I grin, pleased with myself for giving the right answer at last.
He is about to ask another question when he is interrupted by another policeman who opens the door to the small interview room we are sat in.
“Ted, social worker’s here,” the new policeman says. They nod at Mrs Potts and disappear for a moment.
When he reappears a lady is with him. She is wearing a grey trouser suit and her blonde hair is tied into a high ponytail. She smells of strong perfume that makes me sneeze.
“Bless you,” she smiles, but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes and she seems to be weary. She holds her hand out to Mrs Potts and they shake hands in greeting. “Mrs Potts? My name is Rachel.”
“Hello,” Mrs Potts responds. I watch them size each other up.
Ted breaks the silence. “We’ve taken a statement from the lady and a picture of the girl is being processed for the MisPer appeal.” Mrs Potts looks at him blankly. “Missing Persons,” he explains as he passes a brown paper file to Rachel.
Rachel flips through the folder and holds a sheet of paper up to Ted and raises an eyebrow at him.
“Kid couldn’t answer a single question,” he shrugs.
“I’m five,” I remind him of my one small victory just a few moments ago when I remembered this thing about myself.
“We’ll have to get a doctor to check her over, memory loss could mean a bump to the head,” Rachel ignores me and I pull a pout at Mrs Potts.
“Excuse me dear,” Mrs Potts places her hand on my shoulder protectively as she addresses Rachel. “Perhaps you might care to explain to the little girl what is happening. Also I would imagine that she would like something to eat and drink. Are you hungry dear?” She leans down and smoothes my red hair back in to the slide behind my ear.
“Yes Mrs Potts,” I reply and my tummy grumbles in agreement. We turn to look at the policeman and the social worker.
Ted clears his throat. “I’ll go and get something from the canteen while you fill them in,” he tells Rachel.
With that he leaves the room and Rachel now stands alone facing us.
“Perhaps we can all take a seat?” She gestures to the small table and plastic chairs at the side of the room.
Mrs Potts and I take the seats on the nearest side and she holds my hand reassuringly and offers me a small smile as Rachel takes seat and opens the file again.
My face has been in newspapers across the country in several television appeals now. There have been some false leads from calls received on the back of the nationwide missing person appeal. Which puzzles me since I have been found rather than lost.
I have lost my first tooth and I have run away from the home they put me in five times and another four times from different foster families.
Each time I find myself on Mrs Potts’ door step. I don’t know how I found my way here the first time since I had not known her before she found me that day in the town.
It’s been raining so my usually bright red hair is dark and I can see my breath in misty clouds. I am standing on her door step once more and before my hand reaches the letterbox to knock the door swings open and Mrs Potts stands back as I rush in and climb on to the sofa in her living room.
“Shoes,” She reminds me. I kick my shoes off quickly and they land haphazardly on the floor. She tuts playfully and holds her hand out as I pass her my damp coat..
We have a routine now, Mrs Potts and I. She makes me a hot chocolate to warm me up and a ham sandwich; I know that there will be two chocolate digestives to follow, but not until I finish my sandwich – even the crust. I tried to tell her one time that my hair is already curly but I didn’t get chocolate biscuits that time so I didn’t say it again.
Then she switches the television on to a cartoon channel and calls the social worker to let her know I’m here... Again. Rachel is getting increasingly frustrated with my knack of finding my way back here no matter how far away the foster homes that she places me in are. I’m usually here by the time anyone even realises I’ve ‘escaped’.
“I don’t know what to do with you” has become her catch phrase now and she says it as she enters the living room, hands on her hips and a cross look on her face.
I’m lying on the sofa with a knitted blanket over me and I lift my eyes from the large television set to look at her.
“Madam,” she shakes her head at me as she speaks. “What is it going to take to stop you from running away all the time?”
An idea has been growing in my mind for some weeks now and I decide to say it out loud.
“I could live here,” I answer, “with Mrs Potts.”
Mrs Potts’ mouth opens in surprise but I notice that she doesn’t try to argue with my suggestion. Rachel turns to face her, she has an exasperated look on her face and moves her lips to speak a couple of times but apparently she can’t think of an argument against it either.
“Mrs Potts?” She asks finally.
“Well, if the child would like to stay with me until we find her family then I suppose that would be okay,” Mrs Potts says carefully.
“She’ll have to stay with a foster family while I look in to the possibility,” Rachel turns to look at me once more. Mrs Potts copies her.
“We’ll have to give the child a name of course,” Mrs Potts muses. She tips her head to one side, taking me in with her light blue eyes.
“I suppose ‘her’ and ‘she’ aren’t particularly healthy labels,” Rachel agrees. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Mrs Potts motions for me to come to her so I sit up and put the blanket to one side before making my way over to her. She cups her hand under my chin and turns my head this way and that. “Celeste,” she says softly.
I like the sound of the name on her lips, it makes me smile.
“Celeste?” Rachel questions.
“If I recall correctly, it means ‘heavenly’, and it seems to me right now that this little girl as good as fell from the heavens,” Mrs Potts responds, not taking her eyes off me.
I don’t know what Rachel and Mrs Potts had to do to manage it, but a couple of weeks later I was back in the little cottage. This time I was dropped there by Rachel with a bag of second hand clothes and a rag doll that my most recent foster mother had given me.
Mrs Potts opened the front door with a smile, her crinkled eyes showing me that the joy at seeing me was genuine. Rachel handed my things to her and I made my way through the small hallway and into the living room on the left hand side of the house. I pulled my shoes off and placed them neatly on one side then sat quietly on the sofa waiting for Mrs Potts to join me.
Within a few moments the front door clicked shut and she appeared in the living room doorway. This was to be my home now and I was glad. I felt safe with Mrs Potts and I had a sense that this was supposed to be, although I could never explain it.
Some nights I dreamed of a voice, so quiet I could barely make out what it said.
HUSH now. Just a little further.
Keep moving, it’s all okay.
This – here – is where you begin again...
And then there is a blinding white light...
Next week's Blog Tour...
And now I would like you to meet next week's authors who will be taking part in the next 'leg' of this blog tour...
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