It may have managed to slip past your fiercely concentrating selves, but I have an upcoming release with Choc Lit, tabled for next year. It’s called Hubble Bubble, it’s about amateur witchcraft, and it looks like this..
You know, just in case you hadn’t seen it.
Anyway. Witchcraft and I have always had a passing fascination for one another. I come from a line of hedge-witches, on, oddly enough, my father’s side. My mother comes from London and wouldn’t know comfrey from a poke in the eye, but my father was born and grew up, as did his father before him, in very rural South Devon. And this was in an age when rural meant properly isolated, not only having the one pub and being two miles at least from the nearest Waitrose. I remember my Grandad teaching me dowsing and corn-dolly making, and my dad could always tell the weather from the feel of the air and the look of the sky. I learned the proper uses of plants, how to tell if a cow was about to calve and how to hypnotise a chicken at an early age and all this probably accounts for my extreme ‘Nanny Oggness’ at times.
And while I remain unable to cast love spells, or perform any damage to enemies at a distance, I can still brew up a cough syrup and a poultice, if called upon to do so. So a book which deals with the repercussions of attempting magic whilst not quite in possession of the necessary skills, seemed only natural; and no, before you ask, I didn’t run around naked in the woods waving a wand and trying to claim it was ‘research’…