Almost a year ago, I introduced you to my book, The Lost Things. Some were interested enough to get monthly instalments of the story. That’s done now, so I’ve released the entire book on Amazon for you all.
While a tantalising chapter with a cliffhanger ending might do it for some, I have learnt that most prefer to hold the actual book and read at their own pace, maybe to check the ending makes the story worth reading or to know what the book is called as you read it, unlike the many forgotten titles of the Kindle books we all read.
At the end of this post, I’ve added the opening pages to tempt you into getting your hands on the whole thing. It’s a story that will touch your heart and maybe even change the way you see the people around you, or yourself. I really hope you step into the tale I’ve crafted for you, and find it’s worth reading.
It is not a new feeling. When I was small I didn’t like going too high, too fast or too deep. I always erred on the safe side. I remember when I was waiting nervously on the edge of an ice rink, my German exchange partner grabbed my hand and tore round the ice with me. Or standing on the deck of a top-heavy boat, futilely trying to fight the way it plunged towards the waves. I was the slowest by far when I went go-karting on the P7 school trip to the Isle of Man.
Over a month ago I drove up to the house we lived in before. I had one motivation: how big was the birch tree now? But it wasn’t there. The new owners had cut it down. I remembered the joy I had felt when it was first planted, the anticipation of it growing tall and making the front more beautiful with its delicate leaves, silver bark and dappled shade. But someone else had not had those same thoughts. Maybe it had been diseased, maybe they had not realised what it would become. I learnt my lesson. You can’t go back. You have to embrace what you have in front of you right now.
Last week I met a man who had difficulties with his hearing and his vision. I sat opposite him for two hours and then, all of a sudden, he turned his face to me and said ‘hello!’ as if he’d only just realised I was there. Since then I’ve been thinking about the gift we all have to give: the ability to notice others and to be noticed ourselves.