Category: Stories

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Adulthood Non-fiction Stories

The People’s Postcode Lottery got me two more books!

I work at a place that demonstrates the uniqueness of people. Sometimes we have problems to solve, but mostly days are spent chatting to lovely people who come along to our shop and Post Office for varying reasons. I think lots of the time recently, particularly among the elderly, the trip is the first time they’ve left the house in a year!

Either way I feel our conversations help in some way.

The other day a lady I hadn’t seen in a long time came to me in the Post Office. It sounded like she’d had an eventful year. We chatted and I felt the sigh of relief lift off her to be chatting to someone in person. No screens besides that of the Post Office sorting her banking out. Her family live at the other end of the country so it’s been virtual contact for too long, she was saying.

Anyway she was telling me about one lucky aspect to her recent days in that she’d won on the People’s Postcode Lottery three times. £10 each time, but a win is a win. Not bad as luck goes. The latest win was for a book. She doesn’t read anymore so she gave me her prize.

How lovely. How kind.

Thanks to this lady, her luck, her generosity and her desire to have a real chat with a real person, I am now the happy owner of A Keeper by Graham Norton and I Owe You One by Sophie Kinsella. Yeah I found the two for one deal!

I will be posting reviews in due course.

There are good people in this world.

For links to all of my writing related stuff, my link tree is below. My debut novel, Dear Brannagh, is OUT NOW. If you enjoy what you’re seeing here and are interested in following me on my writing journey as I self-publish novel number two, then please subscribe to my newsletter by filling in the form at the bottom of any page of my website. Thank you x

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Adulthood Non-fiction Observations Stories Writing

How my subconscious influences my writing

So far I have been receiving great feedback after my debut novel, Dear Brannagh, was released. In fact, so many who I least expected to enjoy it have phoned me with glowing reviews. Men and women of all ages have become gripped into the life of Mary Carter. This is everything that a writer asks for.

One particular piece of feedback that is cropping up on loop is how I have written about so many different life experiences. Ones that I’m not meant to know about aged twenty-five.

“If you were fifty,” one man said, “then fair enough. You might have been through events that you describe or know of someone close to you who has. The fact that you are only twenty-five years old makes it so much more remarkable.”

I think I just absorb. I’m a huge listener. Much like my dad. If we’re sitting at a bar we would much prefer to be listening to those telling stories rather than the spotlight being on us telling them.

Until dad gets drunk and starts with the wide mouth frog joke!

It might sound odd because I write for a living (almost) but I really do listen to everyone in all walks of life. My day job involves conversing with so many different people every day. On my travels and during university I met all sorts of people from all sorts of backgrounds. My subconscious, as with everyone, is alive and I find it fascinating how much of this comes out when writing a novel.

Of course, I interviewed people and literally asked their experience but I think that a lot of it comes from the conversations I have had in the past unknowingly being stored within my subconscious brain.

Amazing.

So often I am reading back over my work and I can pinpoint where certain phrases or analagies come from. For example, I can remember giving my fingers a break once while writing about Mary struggling over the loss of her mum. She twiddles her ring on her finger as I did but for a very different reason.

It is very fascinating indeed.

All blog posts can be found at https://www.harrietmills.co.uk/ and to read my published work visit my portfolio. My debut novel, Dear Brannagh, is out now.

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Adulthood Non-fiction Observations Stories

Week Review – I’m excited to walk again

If anyone read my snippet from last week or knows me personally, you’ll know all about burn-gate and the story of how I managed to get myself a second degree burn. All medical folk I spoke to or showed said I should’ve gone straight to A&E. It was BAD.

Fast forward a week and I am (almost) back to normal and feeling very lucky/ proud of my body for recovering so well. And grateful to my nurse friends for fixing me!

Due to burn-gate, life temporarily stopped towards the end of last week. The heat didn’t help. By Saturday morning I was physically at work. I was physically there but unable to do a great deal due to hardly being able to walk. My pain was all that was on my mind. That and how on earth I managed to spill a boiling coffee over my lap????!!!!!

The weekends plans were pretty much non-existent. I lay there feeling very sorry for myself. When my siblings were heading off on a walk I so wanted to join them! My friend had assessed my wound and was very happy with how it was healing, but advised very strongly against going for the walk. I had to take her advice, if a nurse tells you not to, then don’t. Especially knowing the pain of the previous day.

So I stayed home, sulked and drank beer. But my gosh am I glad I did because as of yesterday I removed the dressing and now burn-gate is almost closed!

I’m so excited to walk again this weekend.

All of my blog posts can be found at https://www.harrietmills.co.uk/ and to read my published work visit my portfolio.

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Adulthood fiction Recommendations Review Stories Writing

Lucinda Riley: a recommendation

During lock down my friend gave me a book by Lucinda Riley. The book is set in Southwold, Suffolk which a place we visit fairly often and a place we love. It is also a place we have been denied of recently due to everything going on. We’ve been denied of going anywhere!

I started reading The Butterfly Room during the stricter lock down. When STAY HOME was the clear message from the government. The lines weren’t blurred. We knew who we could and couldn’t see, where we could and couldn’t go.

The novel brought me so much pleasure in reading about a place I know well. It supplied comfort in memories of good times and also the reality in that nothing is perfect. The book even gave me ideas for a lock down novel (w a t c h t h i s s p a c e).

I then found a second book by Riley in the local phone box come book exchange. This one was set in Greece. The Olive Tree brought me the same warmth in remembering freedom. It made me feel as though I too was holidaying in Greece while reading it on my sun lounger on hotter days.

Riley’s recurring theme in both novels is houses. Old, grand, full of secrets and mystery. One thing that I particularly love is the authenticity of the stories and how she effectively depicts fragility and imperfection in all human lives.

If you want escapism in difficult times, look no further.

Two books in and I highly recommend Lucinda Riley as a must-read author. Especially now.

All of my blog posts can be found at https://www.harrietmills.co.uk/ and to read my published work visit my portfolio.

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fiction Stories Writing

My Publishing Journey: The Second Proof in lock down

It’s sunny, the birds are singing, The Beatles are playing Here Comes The Sun aloud into my garden via Alexa and it’s all very lovely. My dog has just brought me his brussel sprout toy to throw him and I’m wondering why I even look at other toys for him because sprout will always be best.

I’ve just had to dust my laptop to see the screen. No idea why this was the case as it’s been well used over the past week or so since I received my second proof via email.

Lock down life, as you’ll know if you’re a regular reader of mine, has been nothing short of frantic. Work has taken over and my writing has been pushed aside a little apart from the days where inspiration won’t allow me to escape writing it down.

This is why on receipt of the second proof of my manuscript I screamed a little inside with panic as to how I was ever going to complete a full read through.

My publishers have told me that this could well be the final proof before my book goes to print which is both alarming and extremely exciting. For this reason I must get it right.

So far so good in that the only edit I have made is a missing ‘he’ early on (much like my own life) and a slight structural change to the whole thing, but nothing major. Just an idea that came to me this time around and one which I think will improve the overall read. Quite good for almost half way in, I say!

I must admit that it was beginning to get to me the lack of time I was putting into my writing lately. All of my customers at work kept asking how it was going and I would repeat myself, losing a little optimism each time.

The excitment that came from the proof has turned these conversations around and I’m now discussing my passion for writing with those who didn’t know I was a writer and hypothetically planning my launch party with those who did (a bit premature I know).

My advice to anyone losing their mojo with any passion during these difficult times would be to stick at it. Make time for it. Talk about it. Don’t lose faith.

I am now highly enthusiastic and cannot wait to approve my proof to move onto the next stage of the publishing process.

I may even have a release date for you all soon! Watch this space…

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fiction Stories Writing

a lock down novel: 7

(a snippet of)

Chapter 7, Mary

Days have merged into weeks when I have felt permanently exhausted, entirely drained. I have felt fidgety as if I want to get outside and do things but the thought of physically acting upon that drives me crazier still, so I have mostly remained here in my room.

The shaking sensation in my hands have been beyond my control and I can hardly hold the pen that I am writing with now which is nothing on what they have been some days.

My skin is itchy and I have a huge rash over my face and arms which has always been a sign of a breakdown. I have blotchy patches all over and scabs from where I have picked in a panic or worry until blood drips onto the off-white carpet. At least that’s the cleaner’s problem. It is a silly colour choice for a place of this sort anyway.

My hair is beginning to fall out too which is what happened last year when all of this started, well, sort of when it started.

My legs ache. My clothes are hanging off me because I haven’t eaten for what must be days if not a whole week now. I can’t remember. My memory is going too which is scary because a lot of the time that is all I have to hold on to. Memories. How precious they are.

I spent some time earlier (I think it was today) looking through old photos that they allowed me to have in here. Some were of Erin and Jack so young I could cup them in my hands, like tiny puppies not ready to leave their mum yet. Some were of them only a few months back which makes me so proud to look at. To look at how they have grown into such fantastic humans with little help from me. Though I have a bit of pride to take for it I guess, I wasn’t always completely absent.

The children have hardly wanted to visit. I think the few times that they have appeared has been out of forceful bribery by Eileen. Perhaps a promise of McDonalds on the way home or a trip to the cinema to see the latest release.

What a good aunt she still is. No matter what we throw at her she keeps a strong frame within herself to hold everything together and keep those children onto a path of success and independence for which I will always be grateful.

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fiction Stories Writing

A LOCK DOWN NOVEL: 6

(a snippet of)

Chapter 6, Erin

Orange. The entire room had a glowing tint of orange and when we walked in, I hadn’t ever thought of orange as a particularly warming colour, but my mind was more focussed upon mum’s behaviour in a public setting so most of my attention was on that. Saying that though, the orange wasn’t a bright and garish tone of orange like that of my hideously decorated bedroom from the age of seven to ten years old, but rather that of a golden glow just like the sun makes on a summers evening. Golden hour. The incense sticks in each corner of the small and cosy space added to the calming feeling as did the instructor asking us politely to remove our outdoor footwear and place them in the closet before entering the room. It made it feel like home.

I had never met the lady who was going to take our class before, but Eileen assured me that she was lovely and a very good yoga teacher because she used to take Eileen’s classes when she first moved here until Eileen stopped attending due to stress. In fact, the whole idea to go was down to Eileen, I usually avoided taking mum out in public nowadays and preferred to restrict our time together to when we were alone. Outside of her room but still alone. I like it that way and I can relax properly to enjoy the time that we had instead of constantly being on edge due to not knowing when she would lash out or do something crazy.

With our socks, shoes and bags safely stored in the closet we entered the room and each chose a mat next to one another – I was in the middle. Beside my mum were another two people and that made up our class which pleased me. I was nervous about doing yoga for the first time, so I was happy with it being a class of five.

We all sat cross legged on our mats which each had a block and a sort of miniature bean bag placed at one end and a human sized elastic band type piece of equipment next to them which I was very curious and slightly worried about being the least flexible person ever. However, I had promised Eileen that I would keep an open mind about it all, so I just went with it, ready to participate in all that the instructor told us to do.

Mum wasn’t making eye contact with the yoga teacher which made me realise that she hadn’t made eye contact with neither me nor Eileen since we picked her up. That wasn’t so unusual to us, it may be to the other people in the class though. Instead she looked awkwardly at the floor and picked at her hand which was a gesture she did when nervous. It was a gesture I didn’t mind though as I had to accept that she would be nervous when in public for a while and she wasn’t acting too crazy so to me it was ok for her to be that way.

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Adulthood Non-fiction Observations Stories Writing

Lock down – an update

Week 10, 11, 12? I don’t really know to be honest. This week I left the house for the first time since Boris announced we stayed home on March 23rd. It was stranger than I had imagined.

I only left to get my MOT!

Having waited patiently in an empty reception at the garage, nothing seemed too different to before. Besides, my life hasn’t changed much during this in terms of routine. Of course, it is busier than ever and I am more tired than ever, but in terms of my daily schedule it is much the same. Wake up, go to work, drink too much wine, fall asleep and do it all over again.

I’ve seen people. I’ve witnessed social distancing but not to the level of supermarkets and hour long queues to get into a bank. I don’t intent to experience that either. No thank you.

So, having enjoyed an hour to myself reading my book while waiting to see if my car was broken or not, I upped and left. My car wasn’t broken. Hoorah!

I decided to make a trip of it and fill up with petrol too (I know how to live) so I pulled up into the garage next door. Well, I didn’t expect to find it so bizarre entering the first building that wasn’t my work in ten weeks. I felt like I was in an apocalyptic film, the only person left on earth, trying to survive. An essential purchase of a packet of Jammie Dodger biscuits, my petrol and I left.

Writing during lock down…

In terms of writing during lock down I am having mixed experiences. Last weekend was a bank holiday weekend. It was also the first weekend which I didn’t have to go to work for any amount of time so I made the most of it. I wrote two chapters of my second novel and was very chuffed with them.

This morning I have organised myself a bit in terms of my blog and general laptoppy admin duties so I feel good about that. This week I finished a great book (Lucinda Riley is now a favorite author of mine).

However, there are many many times when I get overwhelmed by the little amount of time I have during Corona-life in which to write. There have been some weeks where I’ve hardly written at all. There have been weeks where I couldn’t remember the last time I sat down to read. It really gets me stressed.

Trying to juggle is a skill I am usually good at but have not yet mastered and giving myself a break from the pressure is something I mostly fail at. Yet I am understanding that it is only me who feels stressed after a week of no writing. Also, writing is a long process and one that often produces many drafts before quality work so bad days can certainly be accepted.

My blog and lock down…

I am going to change the arrangement of my blog slightly for now and aim for two posts per week. I was bogging myself down with content and figured that good content is better than lots of it.

Therefore, I will provide you good people with one post much like this one per week. An update, a personal experience, a ditty, a good story – whatever it may be. And I will then post a fictional snippet of things I am working on. A bit of lighter reading at the weekend. A short story for competition, a section of my novel, a random piece of prose for inspiration.

Thank you…

As always I thank you all for your time in visiting my blog. I really hope my work leaves you with a smile on your face.

H x

Categories
fiction Stories Writing

A LOCK DOWN NOVEL: 4

(a snippet of)

Chapter 4 Erin

Of course, I worried a little initially about the horror stories I had heard. The trolls, the glamorous accounts of false lives to make me feel awful about my own, the mass of uneducated opinions, the dangerously fast addiction and everything else in between, but I never thought much about it all. Besides being sixteen in 2019 meant that I had a firm grasp of what lay before me and I felt strong enough to cope with life on social media.

At the beginning I tried to remain strong anyway. It was more to prove a point to my mum but a fraction of it was fear of the inevitable. I could feel instantly the addiction looming. After two days of having access to the virtual social world, my phone was the first thing I went to pick up in the morning and the last thing that I put down at night. I spent hours scrolling and still do, but I don’t know why because after doing so I have never gained anything more or lost anything, my life remains exactly as it was.

On days when I feel bad about my own image, Instagram strengthens this sad emotion when I witness the accounts not of celebrities but of my own friends looking like celebrities. Their accounts fill my newsfeed with perfection and no flaws. The perfect brunch, the most exotic holiday venues, the prettiest new haircuts that look better than I looked that time when I had my hair and all my makeup done by a professional for a family wedding back in Ireland.

At the weekend I see friends and acquaintances out having fun. I always think to myself how they are doing the things that I should be doing when I am visiting Mummy or at work. Friends who have gone to places without even asking me so of course I feel totally left out and forgotten. Acquaintances who I don’t even care about doing things that make my Saturday night look so boring and suddenly I am deeply involved with care for the comparison.

On a more distant level, I see opinions all the time that I completely disagree with or that make me so angry that I can feel my face going red. I see people being horrible openly in their statuses or indirect Tweets and I laugh a little inside in agreement, but never would I say it to their face. I don’t wish to be involved with that kind of negative behavior, but it is too easy to get sucked in.

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fiction Stories Writing

A LOCK DOWN NOVEL: 1

(a snippet of)

Chapter 1 Mary

Tuesday 19th February 2019

I’ve returned to this awful place, but I must remember the magic I just experienced. Focus on the good things, the positives in every situation. That is what I must do because that is what Doctor Knoll always said. I must think about the smells, the warmth, the stretching, the zen. A total contrast to where I find myself now: the same four walls, the dreaded magnolia, the clinical scent because I deep cleaned yesterday before I ran out of bleach – alone. I am always alone. At least I always feel it and even when I am in company I feel as if I am all alone.

I must consider all her coping techniques whenever I feel stressed or lonely or sad. The simple breathing exercises that I have always relied upon. The experience of the moment and the act of simply being. The noticing of details that bring me into this space of living right now. Of living as me. As a perfectly fine specimen. That’s right, I am me and that is fine. I AM FINE.

These methods are very similar to what my teacher was attempting in the yoga class. I have never allowed my mind to go fully into meditation before. At least I tried to get into it, into the zone, like completely with my mind and my soul, but always failed and ended up failing to see the point or benefits of the practice. Yet today it seems to have helped somewhat, for now anyway, and on exiting the class I felt the same sense of calm as everyone else, for once.

I have tried many meditation applications on my mobile phone and none have worked, yet this time I focussed and reaped the benefits, within the moment at least. Maybe a lack of being able to focus has always been my problem, but today I managed it. I think being on my bed with my thoughts was never going to work when sitting in a class surrounded by others took my focus off my terrifying thoughts and allowed me to meditate properly for the first time. It felt so good.

The drive home wasn’t so calming mind you. This was largely down to the rain slamming onto the windscreen of our car and my aunt, who has never been a confident driver, trying to cope with the weather conditions. We drove along and swerved through the bollards, near missing every single one and hitting numerous curbs. We even mounted some along the way occasionally which added to the terror of the journey. I wanted so desperately to take the wheel and bring an element of sanity to the despair coming from the front two seats, but then I remembered that I can’t and may never be able to drive again. I was petrified, though I know how I can exaggerate sometimes. Oh, I have been told.