Blog Tour: Extract from Guilty by Laura Elliot

I’m thrilled today to have an extract from Guilty on my blog.  My to-read pile is so huge that I haven’t read this book but having read the extract I am definitely adding this to my list.  Read on and you’ll see why, the beginning of this book is gripping and I, for one, can’t wait to read the rest!


It begins with a phone call. It ends with a missing child.

On a warm summer’s morning, thirteen-year-old school girl Constance Lawson is reported missing.

A few days later, Constance’s uncle, Karl Lawson, suddenly finds himself swept up in a media frenzy created by journalist Amanda Bowe implying that he is the prime suspect.

Six years later …

Karl’s life is in ruins. His marriage is over, his family destroyed. But the woman who took everything away from him is thriving. With a successful career, husband and a gorgeous baby boy, Amanda’s world is complete. Until the day she receives a phone call and in a heartbeat, she is plunged into every mother’s worst nightmare.

An utterly compelling psychological thriller that will keep you guessing to the very last page. Perfect for fans of The Girl on the TrainGone Girl and Sarah A. Denzil’s Silent Child.




The night has laid claim to Cherrywood Terrace. Street lamps pool the pavements and burglar alarms wink from the walls of slumbering houses. A chink of light escapes between old Mr Shannon’s bedroom curtains. He never sleeps at night, or so he tells her, staying awake with crosswords and books of poetry in case death comes calling in the small hours to catch him unawares.

In the room next door her parents are sleeping. Her father’s faint, rhythmic snoring is the only sound to break the silence as she rummages through the clutter at the bottom of her wardrobe. From deep in the toe of a boot she has outgrown, she removes a phone and reads the last text she received. The one she has ignored until now. The challenge is clear. It’s dangerous, high-risk, reckless, unnecessary. She doesn’t have to take it on yet, even as she repeats these words to herself, she feels a coiling excitement, the giddy fever of knowing she can do it – will do it – and no one will ever call her a coward again.

She shoves cans of spray paint and a torch into her backpack, along with the phone. Better change her trainers for boots. Turnstone Marsh will be swampy in places. She pauses on the landing. Madness, she thinks. Why am I doing this? But anger has pushed her this far and it remains the barb that drives her down the stairs.

Out on the terrace she hesitates and looks towards a house on the far side. She was there earlier, silently entering and leaving the same way. She shrugs the memory aside and walks swiftly to the end of the terrace where a pedestrian lane provides a short-cut to Turnstone Marsh.

It’s darker here. Her footsteps sound too loud. The wind tosses her hair as it tunnels between the high walls on either side of her. She sees it flailing in the shadow cast before her and pauses, afraid she is being followed. All is silent when she looks back. No footsteps behind her, none coming towards her. She reaches the end of the lane and crosses the road to the marsh.

Bells of white bindweed flutter like spectres in the roadside hedges and she hesitates, torn between the desire to return home and burrow under her duvet and the need to continue on and complete the challenge. She climbs an embankment and jumps down on to the spongy grass. The humps and hollows of the marsh are familiar to her. This is where she used to ride her mountain bike when she was younger, but her surroundings look different now, eerie and threatening. She takes the torch from her backpack and sweeps it over the jagged outline of Toblerone Range. She remembers the struggle to cycle to the top peak, then the exhilarating ride across the humps. The thrill of descending without stopping or falling off. Now, she is facing an even bigger challenge and she is anxious to complete it before her parents awaken and discover she is missing.

She follows the path by the river. The ground is firmer here, safer than walking along the grassy trails. At the end of the marsh, she crosses Orchard Road and stops outside the haunted house. The gate is padlocked. She shines her torch along the boundary wall and finds a gap where the bricks that have broken away provide her with a foothold to climb over.

The outside walls of the house are covered in graffiti. Last year, the front door was removed and used for a Hallowe’en bonfire. At the entrance, the smell of mildew forces her to a standstill. She asks herself once again why she has taken on such a senseless dare. It’s white-knuckle, crazy stuff. A man died in this house. Seven days dead before he was discovered by the postman. His ghost could be waiting inside, ready to wail at her when she steps over the threshold. Even if ghosts don’t exist, there will be rats watching her, waiting to bite.

She turns to leave, then changes her mind. She must go forward if she is to reclaim her position with The Fearless. She climbs down the steps into the basement. In the beam from her torch, she sees old, mouldering furniture, rusting pots and pans. She almost trips over a horse’s saddle. Slashed open, its fleece, scraggy as a crow’s nest, spills from the interior. She takes the cans of paint from her backpack. The walls are already covered in graffiti, stupid swirls and squiggles and angles and curses. That’s just vandalism. She believes graffiti should have a purpose. It should make a statement. A protest against authority, particularly parents who’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young. She positions her torch on the floor and sets to work.

It’s done. She videos her art with the Fearless phone. The cover loosens and flaps against her hand. Impatiently, she pulls the phone free and films the junk strewn across the basement. This will add atmosphere to her video. Paws skitter across the floor. She sprints towards the stairs.

At last, she’s out in the open. The fresh air feels damp on her skin and she can breathe freely again. The anger that gave her the courage to complete the challenge turns to relief but she feels regret, also. She has broken a promise she made to someone special. She pushes this stab of guilt aside and argues with herself that friends are more important. Belonging matters. And she will be back in the circle again – right in its centre – after tonight.

A briar snags her jeans. In the darkness, it feels as if a hand has gripped her ankle to prevent her escaping. She bends and pulls at the material, swears softly as the phone slips from her hand into the long grass. By the light of the torch she finds it. The cover has fallen into a patch of thistles. Prickly leaves sting her fingers as she tries to pluck it free. She leaves it there, anxious to be gone from this spooky, derelict site.

She clambers through the gap in the boundary wall and jumps down on to Orchard Road. Once outside, she videos the gate and the exterior of the bleak house where the ghost of Isaac Cronin roams through the mouldy rooms.

She presses record on her phone and shouts, ‘A message to The Fearless. It’s done. No one can ever call me chicken again.’ She spins across the road, giddy with triumph and a story she is longing to tell. The moon pearls the sky, shining coldly and mercilessly down on the last exhilarating moments of Constance Lawson’s young life.



About the author
Laura Elliot is an Irish novelist and lives in the coastal town of Malahide, Co. Dublin. She loves travelling. The beautiful South Island of New Zealand was the inspiration for her setting in The Prodigal Sister. The Burren in County Clare became the mysterious setting for Stolen Child and the Broadmeadow Estuary behind her home provides the background for The Betrayal. She has worked as a journalist and magazine editor
For more details check








Blog Tour: Extract from Nailing Jess by Triona Scully

Nailing Jess eBook Cover (1)

NJ postcard back

EXTRACT:  This extract is taken from a restaurant scene in Chapter four. It is a conversation between two main characters about meninism – the fictional political equivalent of feminism in a matriarchy, which is where Nailing Jess is set.

‘Look, don’t shoot the messenger!’ Wayne exclaimed. ‘I’m not saying you shouldn’t be a meninist, in your free time, I’m just saying, a meninist group in Withering police station, is probably not a good idea. Let’s be honest, most of our boys couldn’t even spell meninist!’

‘Because we’re men and we’re too stupid, yeah? I get it. But it’s 2017. The argument that men are naturally stupid, their brain size being inversely proportionate to their intellect, has been completely disproven,’ Ben replied.

‘See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about, all that pseudo intellectual crap. I’m telling you Campbell, cops aren’t big thinkers. You know Peachy still hasn’t finished that copy of 50 Shades of Pink I bought him, says he’s seen the movie now, so there’s no point.’

Wayne wiped her masala gravy in some naan bread and swallowed it whole, groaning with pleasure.  She glanced at the dishes filling their small table and decided on the prawn balti, heaping four spoonfuls on to her plate, then added some rice. Ben tucked into the lamb jalfrezi between gulps of beer, loosening his shirt as the heat of the dish kicked in. Wayne finished the balti and then searched in her pockets for her wallet. Finding it, she retrieved a small white card from her pocket and handed it to her colleague. The words S.W.P. Membership Card were printed on it.  Wayne’s name was handwritten underneath.

‘There, look! Do I tell everyone in work about this? Do I suck?  Because it’s not relevant to how I police and because it sucks both my workmates and the public off! Why would I do that?’

‘It’s not the same thing,’ Ben replied.

‘Why not?  Everybody hates socialists. Everybody hates menenists. If you ask me, I’ve found the perfect comparison.’

‘And how about I ask you this, why are you a socialist?’

‘I’ve always been a socialist. My mother was a socialist. My mother’s mother was a socialist. My Grandma was one of the founding members of the miners’ union in this country. It’s in my blood.’

‘So, you don’t actually know why you’re a socialist, do you? If your mother had been a catholic you’d be showing me a crucifix instead. Why don’t you ask me why I’m a menenist?’

‘Because I don’t care why you’re a menenist. You should keep that sort of thing to yourself.’

‘My dad certainly wasn’t a meninist, that’s for sure.  Dad was a broken man, right from the day my mum walked out on us. I don’t think I ever saw him smile after that, like really smile. I don’t think I ever heard him laugh. I hated him drinking, but I understood why he did. It was the only time he ever looked alright, not happy or anything, but okay. The rest of the time, he was trapped in this god-awful place in his mind.’ Ben paused and took a gulp of his drink. ‘He saw so many different doctors, and was in and out of the local institution so often, he had his own bed, but nothing ever seemed to help. Every new pill he took just deadened his eyes a little more. He’d swallow a month’s supply about twice a year, and we would have this mad dash to hospital and he’d have his stomach pumped and his bed made up for a few nights.  Eventually, he beat the surveillance team that was me and my two sisters, and the ambulance team that actually knew us by name.’ Ben blinked back a tear. ‘He was pronounced dead as we turned into the hospital car park.’

‘Shit happens,’ said Wayne, moving uncomfortably in her seat.

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought at the time, and for the next ten years. That was until my old girl walked out on me – then I finally understood the root of my dad’s problems. Sucking women! My dad didn’t just wake up crazy one day.  He was driven there, because he couldn’t cope with the stigma and shame, not to mention the reality of single parenthood. He couldn’t understand why my mother had left him, left us all. The poor bastard didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but he figured it must have been something big. He had no idea that women behave the way they do because they can. Thousands of years of matriarchal rule had left the world in a state of complete imbalance. He probably didn’t even know what a matriarchy was, which is ironic, when you think it killed him.’

‘Did it though?’ asked Wayne. ‘Couldn’t we look at it from a purely Darwinian angle? Your dad just couldn’t hack it?’

‘Okay, let’s look at it from Darwin’s perspective, remembering first that Charlotte Darwin was a woman. All her theories were based upon the observations of humans within a matriarchy.’

‘You’re losing me here. Science is science. Facts: plain and simple.’

‘Is it though?  Science, philosophy, medicine, theology, psychiatry, psychology, and of course art, all disciplines created and maintained almost exclusively by women, until about a hundred years ago. How much truth can any of these teachings hold if they were the preserve of only one gender? And how about the questions we asked, the answers we sought, the language we sought them in? All feminine. Yet females make up half, in fact a little less than half, of the population. What about the second half? Us? Or the Other, as we came to be known?’

‘Look, you can’t argue that. Science is science. It doesn’t matter which of us heats water, it will still boil at 100 degrees.’

‘But why did we choose to heat water?  Because some woman decided it was worth trying. And how did we end up walking on the moon, because some woman was feeling stir crazy. And why did we build nuclear bombs? Because some girl wanted to see if she could wipe us off the face of the planet. Of course, the other girls thought it sounded cool, so they signed off on her right to do it. Do you get me now, Wayne?’

‘Nope, science is science, and politics is politics. Look, all I’m saying is you’re a bright boy Campbell, and you’re educated, and Withering is crying out for a sophisticated male presence to hide behind. You could go the whole way, if you just worked a bit harder on your physical appearance and worked a little less hard on your politics.’

‘Shave, get myself a hair implant, and leave the meninist books at home. That’s your advice?’

‘And don’t forget the walk,’ Wayne added. ‘You’ll go a lot further if you learn to stoop a bit.’











COVER REVEAL: The Missing Girls by Carol Wyer

So excited to be able to share this cover with you all tonight.  How intriguing is this cover!?!!  I want to know where the girl is going…………

The usual pre-order links and synopsis are below so soak up the cover, read all the writing and then click on one of those links.  Go on, you know you want to!



An absolutely nail-biting serial killer thriller with a heart-stopping twist (Detective Robyn Carter crime thriller series Book 3)

Out on 14th September 2017

One girl found dead. Another girl gone…

Long shadows danced on the tin walls. Inside the trunk lay Carrie Miller, wrapped in plastic, arms folded across her ribcage, lips sealed tight forever…

When, a girl’s body is found at a Midlands storage unit, it is too decomposed for Detective Robyn Carter to read the signs left by the killer.

No one knows the woman in blue who rented the unit; her hire van can’t be traced. But as the leads run dry another body is uncovered. This time the killer’s distinctive mark is plain to see, and matching scratches on the first victim’s skeleton make Robyn suspect she’s searching for a serial killer.

As Robyn closes in on the killer’s shocking hunting ground, another girl goes missing, and this time it’s someone close to her own heart.

Robyn can’t lose another loved one. Can she find the sickest individual she has ever faced, before it’s too late?

An utterly gripping and darkly compelling detective thriller that will have fans of Robert Dugoni, Angela Marsons and James Patterson hooked from the very start. You will not guess the ending!

What readers are saying about the DI Robyn Carter series:

‘This book was fantastic and it kept me gripped from the first page and I read it in a day, I really, really didn’t want to put it down – it’s one of the best I’ve read so far in 2017 … Would not hesitate to give the book 5 stars!!’ Donna’s Book Blog

Fantastic! So good to the point that I finished it in just over a day! … Wow, wow, wow. This was a great book!! … kept me hooked from page one … genuinely didn’t guess who it was until it was revealed! There are lots of twists and turns, and a great ending! I can’t wait for the next book!!’ Stardust Book Reviews 5*

‘I loved every page … captivating and unputdownable. The tension, twists and turns, kept me flipping the pages … 5 shining stars … I loved it!’ Write Escape

What a page-turner! Wow. My head was spinning from the first page to the last. I was so gripped by the introduction to the characters and then just pulled right into the meat of the thriller until the very last page! Five Stars!’ Jersey Girl Forever

‘The suspense was fantastic … the drive to keep turning pages was overpowering … really well written I want more!’ The Belgian Reviewer

‘This book totally gripped me from start to finish. It is a very cleverly crafted thriller which leaves no loose ends. Five stars!’ Sincerely Book Angels

Blog Tour Review: Exquisite by Sarah Stovell

I am thrilled to be on the blog tour today for this intriguing book that kept me guessing all the way through.  It’s a different style of crime story so read on and find out more about it, including my review of the book itself.

Exquisite blog tour poster (1)

Synopsis:  Bo Luxton has it all – a loving family, a beautiful home in the Lake District, and a clutch of bestselling books to her name.

Enter Alice Dark, an aspiring writer who is drifting through life, with a series of dead-end jobs and a freeloading boyfriend.

When they meet at a writers’ retreat, the chemistry is instant, and a sinister relationship develops…

Or does it?



My Rating: 4/5

Review:  This is a brilliantly written book.  I say that first because it is the first thing that I noticed, the writing surprised me.  It was so simple but at the same time wasn’t and that is unusual in the books I read.

This is a story of two people and we get both viewpoints on events but, as with real life, the viewpoints aren’t always identical.  I read through the first half quite intrigued but equally confused as to what was going on.  I understood exactly what I was reading, don’t misunderstand me, but at the same time, it wasn’t clear what was happening, though thankfully the character seemed as confused as I was.  All became clear, however, as I kept reading and more was revealed.  I’m not a stupid person, I have a university degree and am studying for a Masters so I know I have a brain somewhere in my head but this book had me wondering, at times, if I’d missed something significant, maybe skipped a page by accident or something.  I was doubting myself most of the way through even though I had, correctly as it turned out, guessed some of it I wasn’t sure if I was correct as there were so many twists and turns that I just couldn’t be 100% sure of myself.

There’s not a lot I can say without giving anything away so this is a tricky review to write but let me finish with this.  The first book where I can remember spending most of it doubting myself.  Yes, there are times when I come to a conclusion in a book and then later, with more information, wonder if I may be wrong but this, this is different.  Wondering if I may be wrong is fine, we all do it, but this book made me question myself on almost every page.  Things are usually clearer than that and this is the difference.  Even with all the information I had the picture of the story wasn’t clear.  I couldn’t tell who had done or said what, which part was true or imagined and who to believe.  This book is so well-written that I questioned myself all the time while reading.  You could have told me the sky was green and I might have believed you, so unsure was I about what I thought while reading.  It was almost as if someone or something had got inside my head and was tangling my brain, that’s what this book did to me, it tangled my brain and now I need a nice, easy, straightforward read to untangle it again.

Having re-read my review it sounds to me as tangled as I felt reading the book so while that might be confusing it could also be a good thing because if you’ve read this far then at least you have some idea of what to expect when you read the book.  There was a part in the first half where I did find it a little slow, the pace let up for a bit but persevere because it is worth it, the pace picks up again and then it is a whirlwind of a race to the end.  I literally could not put it down in the second half and stayed up later than usual just to finish it off because I had to finish it.

If you want something that is at the same time a relatively straightforward story with few characters, but also confusing, brain tangling and will make you question what you think about it throughout almost the entire book then this is definitely one you want to read.  Even writing this is making my head fuzzy, I need to find some of that de-tangling kids shampoo but for my brain and see if that helps otherwise it might be a while before I am back to normal functioning and all because of one book……


Author bio:   Sarah Stovell was born in 1977 and spent most of her life in the Home  Counties before a season working in a remote North Yorkshire youth hostel made her realise she was a northerner at heart.  She now lives in Northumberland with her partner and two children and is a lecturer in Creative Writing at Lincoln University. Her debut psychological thriller, Exquisite, is set in the Lake District.







Why I became a book blogger.

There have been quite a few posts and comments on facebook and twitter recently regarding book blogging, “free” books and payment for reviews.  I know there are other bloggers who have written about these issues and because of that I’m not going to do the same.  What I am going to do, however, is talk about why I blog, what got me to this point and why I’m still doing it despite the stress and upheaval I’ve experienced in the past few months.


I read a lot when I was younger.  I come from a family of readers and this picture (while not mine) gives an accurate representation of my library borrowing till I was about 15 and reduced it so I could concentrate on my exams.  I easily had 10 books at home at any one time and this continued for years so basically I’ve always loved reading and, always loved crime and mysteries which is why my blog is mainly crime books.  This love of books continued for a long time until, one day I lost my dad.  And then I stopped reading.  We had had similar tastes in books, even reading different series by the same author (yep, more crime!) but I lost all interest after that.  It wasn’t until about 6 years later that I started reading properly again and by properly I mean more than 2/3 books a year.  I missed my love of reading the entire time but anyone who has lost their motivation or reading mojo, even temporarily, knows you can’t force it to come back.  Although I had started reading again it wasn’t back to the amounts I had been reading before, things had moved on, new authors had appeared and I felt out of the loop on so many levels.

Cue more life upheaval a few years ago and after a bit of time for that to settle down I registered with my local library.  I spent time just looking at books, borrowing piles (half of which went unread!)  and simply enjoying the fact that I wanted to visit the library, could enjoy and concentrate on books and was re-discovering reading properly again for the first time in years.  After that I joined a book group and realised I had missed talking to people about books.  It was around this time that I got the opportunity to start reviewing.  The book group was, and still is great, but at one meeting a month it wasn’t enough for me.  I had been leaving reviews on Goodreads but nothing more than that and to be honest I was unaware of book blogging at that time.  However, when the opportunity to review for more than just my own records appeared I jumped at the chance.  Finally I could do something where I could talk books to people and share the books that I loved with others.


As with many things my book reviewing grew.  I discovered Netgalley and began getting books from there to review.  I started my twitter account to get my reviews out to more people and to connect with authors and publishers and share my love of books with anyone who would listen.  During this time I discovered blog tours which I wanted to take part in but I had no blog and so this was created.  It’s been around 18 months since I started this blog and I have learned so much since then.  I’ve taken on too much (something I need to work on!!), I’ve learned about scheduling blog posts, I’ve met, both in real life and online, some amazing authors, publishers and bloggers.  I’ve panicked when I’ve realised a review for a blog tour is due in days and I haven’t read the book yet. I’ve been excited every time I get a large, thick envelope in the post because that means book post and that is never, ever boring! I have an Instagram account now that I never had before and I’m still developing the blog which, to be fair, is an ongoing process.

One thing  I have never, ever done is take this for granted.  I don’t expect anything from anyone and certainly not “free” books or payment for my reviews.  I get annoyed when the comments about reviewing for “free” books appear because these books are not free and reviewing and blogging are not things that people do just because.  Take it from me, blogging takes time.  There are so many different parts to it like creating posts, reading and reviewing books, sharing posts, establishing relationships with other bloggers, authors and publishers and more.  This is not something that can be done in a few minutes or an hour a day.

If you’ve read this far in the post you’ll notice that I have always read books.  Admittedly there were a few years when I didn’t and for good reason, but even then I thought about them and wondered when I would start reading again.  I do this because I enjoy it, I love the excitement of discovering new authors and new books.  I’ve complained to one author about having to wait for the next book in the series because of the suspenseful ending of the last one.  Books are my thing, they always have been and despite the fact that I have blogged and read less this year due to study and work commitments that have seen me working up to 55 hours a week for 4 months and studying on top of that, I still wanted to read.  Books excite me, they always have.  Through easy times and life challenges books are the one constant I have had and when I didn’t have them they remained in my thoughts.

I blog, not because of status, “free” books, money or anything else like that; I do it because I love reading and that is the only reason anyone should ever have for being a book blogger.












Blog Tour: Wolves in the Dark by Gunnar Staalesen

Things have been a bit hectic and stressful for me lately.  So much so, in fact, that I completely forgot to put my stop on this blog tour in my calendar and as such only realised yesterday that today was my day for posting.  This forgetfullness also means that I can’t find the extract that I was meant to be posting and I realised this too late to be able to get it re-sent.  However, what I have done instead is post the synopsis for you to read, and the praise and comments that Gunnar Staalesen and Varg Veum have received from both authors and newspapers so you can get a feel for the book.  I have a copy on my to read pile and I’m looking forward to reading it once things quieten down.

So, read on and see what you think.  Is it the book for you???

wolves blog tour poster

Synposis:  Reeling from the death of his great love, Karin, Varg Veum’s life has descended into a self-destructive spiral of alcohol, lust, grief and blackouts.

When traces of child pornography are found on his computer, he’s accused of being part of a paedophile ring and thrown into a prison cell.  There, he struggles to sift through his past to work out who is responsible for planting the material … and who is seeking the ultimate revenge.

When a chance to escape presents itself, Varg finds himself on the run in his hometown of Bergen. With the clock ticking and the police on his tail, Varg takes on his hardest – and most personal – case yet.

Chilling, shocking and exceptionally gripping, Wolves in the Dark reaffirms Gunnar Staalesen as one of the world’s foremost thriller writers.


wolves in the dark cover

•‘Gunnar Staalesen is one of my very favourite Scandinavian authors.  Operating out of Bergen in Norway, his private eye, Varg Veum, is a complex but engaging anti-hero. Varg means ‘wolf’ in Norwegian, and this is a series with very sharp teeth’ Ian Rankin

• ‘A Norwegian Chandler’ Jo Nesbo

• ‘Gunnar Staalesen was writing suspenseful and socially conscious Nordic Noir long  before any of today’s Swedish crime writers had managed to put together a single book page … one of Norway’s most skillful storytellers’ Johan Theorin

• ‘With its exploration of family dynamics and the complex web of human behaviour, Staalesen’s novel echoes the great California author Ross MacDonald’s Lew Archer mysteries … mature and captivating’ Herald Scotland

• ‘Norwegian master Staalesen is an author who eschews police procedural narratives for noirish private eye pieces … with some abrasive social commentary’  Financial Times


Granite Noir Fest 2017


Author bio:  Gunnar Staalesen was born in Bergen, Norway in 1947.  He made his debut at the age of 22 with Seasons of Innocence and in 1977 he published the first book in the Varg Veum series.

He is the author of over 20  titles, which have been published in 24 countries and sold over four million copies. Twelve film adaptations of his Varg Veum crime novels have appeared since 2007, starring the popular Norwegian actor Trond Epsen Seim.   Staalesen, who has won three Golden Pistols (including the Prize of Honour), lives in Bergen with his wife.  When Prince Charles visited Bergen, Staalesen was appointed his official tour guide. There is a life-sized statue of Varg Veum in the centre of Bergen, and a host of Varg Veum  memorabilia for sale


We Shall Inherit the Wind and Where Roses Never Die were both international bestsellers.  Don Bartlett is the foremost translator of Norwegian, responsible for the multi-award-winning, bestselling books by Jo Nesbo, Karl Ove Knausgaard and Per

Pettersen. It is rare to have a translator who is as well-known and highly regarded as the author.

COVER REVEAL!! Pot Love and Pot Love 2 by Sylvia Ashby

Today I am thrilled to be revealing not one but TWO covers for the first two books in The Pot Love series.  Howe cute are these covers!?!?!



Pot Love

Ashley Burkе is your average next-door girl. She lives with her boyfriend, loves her work and secretly fancies her boss.

When Ashley loses it all through no fault of her own, well, apart from snogging her boss and getting caught by his fiancée, she needs to act fast to find a new job. A lucrative vacancy comes her way – a spot on a popular day-time TV – but there is a catch. It’s a cookery spot and Ashley can’t cook to save her life.

“I feel like exploding with how much I love this book. I almost didn’t want to read the last few chapters because I wasn’t ready for it to be over. I feel like I made a new best friend and visited England, without ever leaving my house.
If this book were a movie, it would be the biggest romantic comedy of the next five years, and I’d be first in line to pay my $10 for a ticket and $20 worth of popcorn and soda.”
“Like a late night, post-pub cheeseboard or the final few drops of Rosé, it will prove mighty hard to resist.”

“Great characters, interesting plot line and wonderful writing bringing it all together! Well worth the read. Kind of hoping for a sequel.”




The Sinking Chef (Pot Love Book 2)

Ashley has a YouTube channel, The Sinking Chef. It’s filmed right in her kitchen, so she doesn’t go out much. When James calls with an offer to take her to lunch – the same James that got her fired from her dream job three years ago – she accepts. Against her better judgement, of course.

Now Ashley has all kinds of secrets and things are only going to get worse.

The Sinking Chef (Pot Love 2) is a light, enjoyable and easy to read romantic comedy. With Sylvia Ashby’s gift of humour there is plenty to laugh and smile about, but the book does have its serious moments.

“Oh wow – what a fabulous ending!  I actually had tears pricking my eyes.  I’m so happy for Ashley.  After all she’s been through in the course of the book, all the problems and insecurities… the ending was just perfect.”

Heather Belleguelle

“Captivating read!! I found myself charmed by Ashley- all her flaws and insecurities kept me reading page after page.”

Celeste Rogers




Three random facts about me

I graduated university with a Graphic Design degree and spent my twenties working in advertising. Never did it occur to me that my degree would come in handy when I start publishing books.

In my early thirties, I was a shop owner. I owned four shops, one of which was in St. Christopher’s Place London W1. I was doing everything from buying the collections to submitting monthly PAYS. It was madness. I’m so glad the economy crashed in 2008 and I had to give up retail.

Then I started writing. It felt like the first conscious decision I’ve ever made in my life. I felt a sense of belonging. The thought “I could be doing this for the rest of my life” didn’t scare me half to death. Four years and four books later I still feel the same way. This is love, home and vocation wrapped in one.

My first book, Pot Love, was about food and love.
My second, The Treachery of Trains, is about finding love in unlikely places.
The third book I wrote is actually Pot Love‘s second installment. It’s called The Sinking Chef (Pot Love Book 2) and in it my eponymous heroine Ashley is in even bigger trouble then she was in Pot Love. The two books are standalone and you don’t have to read them in order.
My fourth is The Official Pot Love Series Cookbook and you can get it completely FREE.

Currently, I live in Leuven, Belgium with my family.


Twitter @bysylvia_a
Amazon author page