I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, many times. Writing a book is hard. I’ve written enough books […]
Branches scraped against a window pane and suddenly she realised she didn’t know where she was. The last thing she remembered was a ship, the cold, the ice, the brittle sea. Then the thought slipped away into the darkest recesses of her mind, to sit there, elusive, waiting to tantalise her waking moments with unknown and unremembered images and thoughts.