Welcoming Heather Miller and her book - Tho I be Mute - to my blog

Today I'm welcoming Heather Miller and her book - Tho I Be Mute - to my blog as part of the blog tour hosted by The Coffee Pot Book Club (founded by Mary Anne Yarde)

I'm delighted to share an excerpt but first I will introduce the book as always.

Tho I Be Mute

Home. Heritage. Legacy. Legend.

In 1818, Cherokee John Ridge seeks a young man’s education at the Foreign Mission School in Cornwall, Connecticut. While there, he is overcome with sickness yet finds solace and love with Sarah, the steward’s quiet daughter. Despite a two-year separation, family disapproval, defamatory editorials, and angry mobs, the couple marries in 1824.

Sarah reconciles her new family’s spirituality and her foundational Christianity. Although, Sarah’s nature defies her new family’s indifference to slavery. She befriends Honey, half-Cherokee and half-African, who becomes Sarah’s voice during John’s extended absences.

Once arriving on Cherokee land, John argues to hold the land of the Cherokees and that of his Creek neighbors from encroaching Georgian settlers. His success hinges upon his ability to temper his Cherokee pride with his knowledge of American law. Justice is not guaranteed.

Rich with allusions to Cherokee legends, ‘Tho I Be Mute speaks aloud; some voices are heard, some are ignored, some do not speak at all, compelling readers to listen to the story of a couple who heard the pleas of the Cherokee.

Publication Date: 13th July 2021

Publisher: Defiance Press and Publishing

Page Length: 340 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction/Romance

You can purchase a copy of the book via -

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Tho-Be-Mute-Heather-Miller-ebook/dp/B08ZB276Y2

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Tho-Be-Mute-Heather-Miller-ebook/dp/B08ZB276Y2

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/Tho-Be-Mute-Heather-Miller-ebook/dp/B08ZB276Y2

Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/Tho-Be-Mute-Heather-Miller-ebook/dp/B08ZB276Y2

Now for the excerpt -

Chapter 5: Laundry, Sarah Bird Northrup

Later that afternoon, against the bright light, I squinted and found a walking silhouette against the sheeted walls, fluttering, stretching their wings to the lofting wind. The dark shadow’s gait was slow but steady, rising on the left side, assisted by a single crutch. From the ground, the profile wore boots that clung to thin, tall legs. It wore a fitted, frock coat, casting the black outline of blousing sleeves and vest, whose buttons gave circular shape to adorn the torso’s front. The silhouette’s head rode atop its neck with stately grandeur, chin pronounced, and short, wavy hair brushed away from the forehead. John’s gold eyes found me between hanging sheets, which fell in dense waves like white charm peonies held aloft against firm shrubbery.

With only a glance at him, I focused on my task. “You are earlier than usual.” His shape was a few feet from me. I stretched from the waist, stepping down the line, and grabbed another peg. I avoided his gaze. His gravity made my arms heavier.

“Dr. Gold is coming by this afternoon, so I must be well,” he said with a hint of tiredness likely caused by his walk from the wagon near the yard. He often spoke of his family’s expansive farm, so I imagine him bored, sitting in class studying crop rotations when he wanted to read President Jefferson.

“Good.” It was all I managed to say, mispronouncing the word with a clothes peg between my lips. I unfurled another sheet. If Dr. Gold was coming, that explained why Jane and Mother made their premature departure from the washboard and tub. I wonder why they chose not to tell me.

I paralleled the line, and John pantomimed my movement with a momentary delay. Pulling the peg from my mouth, I sighed and trapped the right end of the sheet, frustrated with my tired arms and endless work. Jane’s mood was not the only one to sour this afternoon.

John sensed my temperament and looked at me inquisitively. “What’s troubling you, Miss Sarah?”

“Nothing, just washing day.” My impatience hid the truth. “Mother and Jane still think I am younger than I am.”

“So, you’re ready to fly the nest?” he asked with a measured pace and chuckled, thinking of something I found difficult to read from his expression.

“No, I just do not wish their constant reminders of things I do by habit.” He did not deserve my tired curtness.

He hummed a single note and replied, “Since I have been from home, I have taken care of myself a great deal. As soon as I return, it is the same for me. My mother reminds me to cork the ink and to take off my boots before falling asleep. I can hear her say it now as if she stood here among the drying.”

I stopped moving, and we saw one another in the absent space on the line. “You must miss home. Your mother and father wish for your return. Your father told me so when he was here.”

“I miss them, but Elias eases some of my loneliness for home. He is my father’s brother’s son.”

“Yes, I remember. He said so. He’s your cousin?” Surely, John knew the word.

“Yes,” he said. “We are as close as brothers, and his father is my father in many ways.

Therefore, that is a better description. He plans to leave soon to attend Andover Theology School. Here, Elias has more friends than I do, but I am a better student. He is witty and personable. He is a wonderful storyteller, a skill I do not have.”

John was saddened by Elias’ pending departure. His expression brought lonely thoughts to my mind. Affirming what I already knew to be true, “. . . and you want to make people think. Your talents are a gift from God. It is a noble weight you seek to carry.”

“It is why I was sent here: to study, to learn the ways of your lives. It is what our elders insist must happen. Jefferson warned the Cherokee to learn what it is to be American. My people must seek the education provided to us. Now, Cherokee land carries my people, but in the future, I fear we may have to learn to carry it on our backs.”

“Made any discoveries . . . about us?”

“Mostly how hurried everyone seems, except you.”

He paused mid-thought and followed me, speaking with a younger expression on his face, one more reminiscent of his age. He seemed to catch the memory of his home in the wind, squinting against the fading sun. “Light. I miss the light. I miss running my horse along the edge of the Oostanaula River in the morning’s glow. I miss green haze above acres of grass bordered by trees as far as one can see. I miss council meetings with enormous fires under starry skies in autumn. Mountains and coves pebbled with spectrums of color. . . I miss . . .”

I interrupted his musings, changing the subject. “Have you slept with your boots on, John?” My mind held to what he’d said earlier; I covered my mouth with my hand, hiding my grin.

“Only when my mother cannot see me.” He returned the smile I hid as I laughed louder than I meant to.

“Your cousin isn’t the only student that makes others laugh. You do too. Why would anyone sleep with their boots on? I cannot imagine that comfortable at all.”

Repeat: flip, flip again, pegs on the seam.

“It only happens when I’m tired from working the ferry or from the days in the orchards harvesting apples. I collapse on my bed and fall asleep. Mother wakes me and, seeing my transgression, reminds me again, ‘Take your boots off before you sleep!’” He imitated her tone with higher pitches. “Staying awake to copy English verses, I wake at my desk, face marked with paper seams. Alas, boots remain. I slept with them on several nights last summer. There was something I needed to finish.” With wit and a grin, he said, “Please, don’t tell my mother.” 

Heather Miller

As an English educator, Heather Miller has spent twenty-three years teaching her students the author’s craft. Now, she is writing it herself, hearing voices from the past.

Miller’s foundation began in the theatre, through performance storytelling. She can tap dance, stage-slap someone, and sing every note from Les Misérables. Her favorite role is that of a fireman’s wife and mom to three: a trumpet player, a future civil engineer, and a future RN. There is only one English major in her house.

While researching, writing, and teaching, she is also working towards her M FA in Creative Writing. Heather’s corndog-shaped dachshund, Sadie, deserves an honorary degree.

You can connect with the author via these platforms -

Website: https://heathermillerauthor.com/home/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/HMHFR

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/HMillerAuthor

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/heather-miller-896627208/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/hmillerauthor/

Pinterest: https://pin.it/26kOsvl

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/tho-i-be-mute-by-heather-miller

You can also learn more about the book and the author by visiting the other blogs on this tour.

That's it for now.

Till the next time.

Take care Zoe

 

 

 

 

Welcoming Mercedes Rochelle and her book - The Usurper King - to my blog

Today I'm welcoming Mercedes Rochelle and her book - The Usurper King (The Plantagenet Legacy - book 3) - to my blog as part of the blog tour hosted by The Coffee Pot Book Club (founded by Mary Anne Yarde)

I'm delighted to share an excerpt with you all but first I will introduce the book.

The Usurper King

From Outlaw to Usurper, Henry Bolingbroke fought one rebellion after another.

First, he led his own uprising. Gathering support the day he returned from exile, Henry marched across the country and vanquished the forsaken Richard II. Little did he realize that his problems were only just beginning. How does a usurper prove his legitimacy? What to do with the deposed king? Only three months after he took the crown, Henry IV had to face a rebellion led by Richard's disgruntled favorites. Worse yet, he was harassed by rumors of Richard's return to claim the throne. His own supporters were turning against him. How to control the overweening Percies, who were already demanding more than he could give? What to do with the rebellious Welsh? After only three years, the horrific Battle of Shrewsbury nearly cost him the throne—and his life. It didn't take long for Henry to discover that that having the kingship was much less rewarding than striving for it.

Publisher: Sergeant Press

Page Length: 308 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

You can buy a copy of the book via -

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B08YLFMVPZ

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08YLFMVPZ

Now for the excerpt -

The Day after Henry Bolingbroke returned from exile

"My lord, a small band of warriors are approaching bearing Percy arms."

"Percy?" Henry whirled around, touching Erpingham who was distracted by the ship's captain. "Thomas, why would Percy be here?"

"Which Percy?" Erpingham asked.

"The younger, I believe," said the knight.

"Hotspur," Henry said to himself. "He's Warden of the East March of Scotland if I'm not mistaken." He glanced at the knight. "You say he has only a small group?"

"I counted six men."

"Not enough to attack us, unless more are in hiding."

"Let us greet him," Erpingham said. "Best to deal with him directly."

Both Henry and Thomas knew Harry Hotspur well, so-named by the Scots because he was always ready to dash into battle. Just a few years older than Henry, he had also distinguished himself at the St. Inglevert tournament. They had spent many long evenings drinking and feasting together in those heady days, but once the festivities were over they had not crossed paths since. Hotspur and his father, Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland had their hands full keeping peace in the Marches, and their experience with the restive Scots was invaluable.

Henry was well aware that the Percies were pivotal in his upcoming struggle. They were the most powerful force in the North, by far. Their only rival was Ralph Neville, the Earl of Westmorland—a new earl, one of King Richard's derisively named duketti. He was given his new title after the Revenge Parliament that condemned the Appellants. Bolingbroke was counting on Westmorland as a potential ally because Ralph had recently married his half-sister Joan Beaufort. At the same time, Henry knew that the Percies weren't going to let Neville get ahead of them when there was a chance to grab more power. So he was relatively certain he could induce them to support him as well.

But he wasn't prepared to face them so soon! At least he only had to confront the son; the father would ride roughshod over any perceived threat. Still, Henry wasn't sure how to manage Harry yet. He was well aware that by law, Percy could use his office to arrest him as a declared outlaw. Or at least he could try.

As Hotspur and his followers entered through the gates of the priory, Henry, Arundel, and Erpingham were waiting for them in the courtyard. "My lord, what a surprise to see you here," said Henry, holding the reins of Hotspur's horse.

Dismounting, Harry brushed his hands across his legs. "Dusty out there," he said amiably. "One of your messengers rode across my land and naturally I questioned him. I was at my manor of Seamer, which is only about twelve miles away."

"What brings you so far south?" Henry asked, pretending not to be concerned. As Warden of the East March of Scotland, Hotspur spent most of his time in Northumberland—not here, in Yorkshire. Putting on his most amiable expression, Henry led the others into the priory where the good friars laid out food and drink for them.

"I came to collect payment from the exchequer for my services as warden." Hotspur accepted a mug of ale from a servant. "I think it would be more appropriate to ask what you are doing here?" He softened the remark with a smile.

It was hard to resist his grin. Harry had a certain openness about him that invited trust. Tall, bearded, brown-haired, sincere, and intense, Percy's son was well-known for his honesty and chivalry. He was the opposite of his brusque father.

Henry was not immune to Hotspur's charm. "I have come back to reclaim my patrimony, which was unjustly taken from me," he answered softly. For a moment there was silence around the table.

"I think my father received a letter from you last month."

Henry grunted. He had sent letters to both of them. "What happened to me concerns us all," he said in earnest.

Young Thomas FitzAlan walked into the room. Henry pointed to him. "Harry, this is Thomas Arundel, son of the late Earl Richard. Like me, he comes to reclaim his earldom. Thomas, meet Sir Harry Percy, son of the Earl of Northumberland." The lad came forward and bowed.

"And this is his uncle Thomas, the Archbishop of Canterbury," Henry continued. "I don't believe you ever met."

Arundel nodded. Hotspur gave him a long look; he knew the archbishop had also been outlawed. "I don't think we have," he said finally. "Well met, your Grace. I see you all have the same purpose in returning to England."

"There are injustices that need to be put to right," Henry said. "I hope to gather enough support to convince King Richard he must reverse his unlawful decisions."

"I see." Harry looked around the room. "It appears you have made a modest start."

Despite himself, Henry blushed. "I came with my closest companions, who accompanied me to France. I have faith my Lancastrian affinity will swell my ranks."

Percy nodded. Again his smile rescued an uncomfortable situation. "I have no doubt. King Richard's policies have even disturbed our stability in the North."

Was that an invitation? "You must know I have great respect for your family. Between your lordship and Lancaster—and the Nevilles, secondarily—the North is a force to be reckoned with."

Hotspur nodded, uncommitted.

"I would have you with me, Harry."

Taking a sip of his ale, Hotspur looked at the table. "You're asking for much, my lord."

"Duke Henry speaks for all the nobles in the land," interjected the archbishop. "If Richard could take away the great Lancastrian patrimony with a strike of his quill, what's to stop him from doing the same to everyone else?"

"Or declaring a loyal subject a traitor?" added Henry, unable to suppress his bitterness. "We are all at the mercy of his impulses." He sensed Hotspur's resistance was half-hearted, and his heart pounded in response.

"We've considered that, ourselves," Harry said. He turned his whole body, facing Henry. "What are your real intentions?"

Blinking, Henry drew himself up. "I have stated them. I came here to reclaim my own."

"Nothing more?"

Henry didn't know whether to be surprised or offended. But, he admitted to himself, that question was going to be asked again and again. There was no easy way to put this. "Are you wondering if I covet the throne?"

There. It was said. For the first time.

"It crossed my mind." Hotspur stared at him, trying to measure his honesty. Henry shook his head.

"I have no interest in Richard's crown. The Lancastrian inheritance is more than enough."

"How do you intend to convince the king, as you say?"

Henry pursed his lips. It was a fair question. "It won't be easy. I think, as in the past, a group of magnates," he said slowly, "if united by a common goal, can force an obstinate king to rule more wisely, with their help."

"We don't have to look any farther back than 1387," Arundel asserted. "The parliamentary Continual Council was only established for one year. It would need to be permanent this time."

"There were other examples," Percy mused. "The Council of Fifteen under Simon de Montfort. Or more lately, the Lords Ordainers against Edward II. Both ended badly for the barons if I'm not mistaken. We don't even need to talk about the Lords Appellant."

Henry squirmed uncomfortably. Percy was right. But he had to try again. "This time around, the king has no powerful supporters. Richard's new appointees have no teeth. Besides, they are with him in Ireland."

"Perhaps." Hotspur turned his cup in his hand.

"Between the Lancastrian affinity and the North, I trust, we will prove an irresistible force." Henry leaned forward. "I am prepared to pay the wages of any men who choose to follow me."

"Ah, that will be a great benefit." Percy cocked his head. "You have no intention of usurping the king?"

"None."

"Are you prepared to swear an oath?"

Without hesitation, Henry put a hand on Percy's arm. "My lord, I will do so at once."

Getting up and gesturing for everyone in the room to follow, Henry called for a monk to meet them in the chapel. They approached the altar and waited while the brother reverently unlocked a casket and produced a bible. Henry knelt, putting his hand on the precious volume.

"I swear, before this room full of witnesses and God himself, my only intent in returning to England is to reclaim my inheritance. By the grace of God, I will recover my patrimony and serve the king as a loyal subject."

He held his hand on the bible as every man crossed himself. Then he stood, a reverential glow on his face. "Are you with me, Harry?"

Percy was suitably impressed by his sincerity. Only hesitating for a moment, he extended his hand. "You may count on me. I will go at once to my father so we can gather our resources."

Mercedes Rochelle

Mercedes Rochelle is an ardent lover of medieval history, and has channeled this interest into fiction writing. Her first four books cover eleventh-century Britain and events surrounding the Norman Conquest of England. The next series is called The Plantagenet Legacy about the struggles and abdication of Richard II, leading to the troubled reigns of the Lancastrian Kings. She also writes a blog: HistoricalBritainBlog.com to explore the history behind the story. Born in St. Louis, MO, she received by BA in Literature at the Univ. of Missouri St.Louis in 1979 then moved to New York in 1982 while in her mid-20s to “see the world”. The search hasn’t ended! Today she lives in Sergeantsville, NJ with her husband in a log home they had built themselves.

You can connect with the author via these platforms -

Website: https://mercedesrochelle.com/

Blog: https://mercedesrochelle.com/wordpress/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mercedesrochelle.net

Twitter: https://twitter.com/authorRochelle

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/mercedes-rochelle

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Mercedes-Rochelle/e/B001KMG5P6?

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1696491.Mercedes_Rochelle

You can also find out more about the book and the author by visiting the other blogs on this tour.

That's it for now.

Till the next time.

Take care Zoe
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Welcoming Barbara Greig and her book - Discovery - to my blog

Today I'm welcoming Barbara Greig and her book - Discovery - to my blog as part of the blog tour hosted by The Coffee Pot Book Club (founded by Mary Anne Yarde)

Delighted to share an excerpt with you all but first I will introduce the book.

Discovery

Discovery: An epic tale of love, loss and courage When Elizabeth Gharsia’s headstrong nephew, Gabriel, joins Samuel Champlain’s 1608 expedition to establish a settlement at Quebec, he soon becomes embroiled in a complicated tribal conflict. As months turn into years, Gabriel appears lost to his family.

Meanwhile at home in France the death of her father, Luis, adds to Elizabeth’s anguish. Devastated by her loss, she struggles to make sense of his final words. Could her mother’s journals, found hidden among Luis’s possessions, provide the key to the mystery?

The arrival of Pedro Torres disrupts Elizabeth’s world even further. Rescued from starvation on the streets of Marseille by her brother, Pedro is a victim of the brutal expulsion of his people from Spain. Initially antagonistic, will Elizabeth come to appreciate Pedro’s qualities and to understand the complexity of her family?

Publication Date: 28^th June 2020

Publisher: Matador (imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd)

Page Length: 336 Pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

You can purchase a copy via -

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Discovery-Barbara-Greig-ebook/dp/B08B8Q4FMV

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Discovery-Barbara-Greig-ebook/dp/B08B8Q4FMV

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/Discovery-Barbara-Greig-ebook/dp/B08B8Q4FMV

Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/Discovery-Barbara-Greig-ebook/dp/B08B8Q4FMV

Waterstones: https://www.waterstones.com/book/discovery/barbara-greig/9781838594268

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/search?query=discovery+barbara+greig

Troubador: https://www.troubador.co.uk/bookshop/historical/discovery/

WHSmith: https://www.whsmith.co.uk/products/discovery/barbara-greig/paperback/9781838594268.html

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/gb/book/discovery/id1518775106?mt=11&app=itunes

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Barbara_Greig_Discovery?id=Ja3rDwAAQBAJ

Book Depository: https://www.bookdepository.com/Discovery-Barbara-Greig/9781838594268

Now for the excerpt -

His next visit was to the Gaulbert farm. He arrived shortly after noon to find only Sara and Luc at home. Jacques and Helena were in Luzech, visiting Helena’s sister, and were not expected to return until nightfall. Masking his disappointment, Pedro sat with Sara on the stone bench, constructed long ago by Ysabel Bernade’s father and strategically positioned to maximise the shade from the barn. Luc had excused himself as soon as was polite: Pedro Torres, with his searching questions about the New World, was best avoided.

“What brings you out here?” asked Sara, her head characteristically tilted on one side. Pedro shifted on the bench; it was too low for him to be comfortable. Sara, thinking her question was unwelcome, rested a gnarled hand on his arm. “You don’t need to tell me.”

“It’s not that,” he replied as he took his time, taking off his doublet. Despite the shade it was still very hot. The farmyard was a suntrap, the beaten earth dry and cracked beneath his feet.

Sara smiled at him indulgently. “Take your boots off,” she said. “It is too pleasant a day for discomfort.” He did as he was told and leant back against the rough stone of the barn, stretching his legs out in front of him. The lowness of the bench appeared perfect for the tiny old woman, whose face, now with eyes closed, was a picture of serenity.

“I was hoping to see Jacques to ask if he knew where I could send word to Thomas Gharsia.”

“Why not ask Elizabeth?”

“She doesn’t know where he is.”

Sara’s eyes snapped open and she looked at him keenly. “Why do you think my son will know?” Thomas Gharsia’s Huguenot sympathies were dangerous.

“I thought Thomas might have had the forethought to leave his plans with him.” Pedro paused. “So that Jacques could contact him if anything befell Elizabeth.”

Sara mulled over his logic. “Perhaps, although I do not know of any arrangement. Thomas Gharsia has been disappearing for long stretches of time for many years.”

“Yes, but Elizabeth’s father was alive then.”

“I do not believe Luis ever knew where his son was once he was a man grown.”

“That said, it is Thomas’s duty to care for his sister now.”

“And not yours?”

Pedro stiffened, and Sara realised she had been too forthright. “Forgive me, I speak out of turn,” she said, somewhat disingenuously, as she was weary of seeing Elizabeth and Pedro skirting around each other for the last year.

He ignored her apology. “I must leave for Amsterdam before summer ends. I have remained this late because Thomas has not returned as we had agreed. I still have time before the poor weather sets in if I take passage from Bordèu.”

Sara, who very much doubted that Thomas would make an appearance, asked, “Why Amsterdam?”

“There are opportunities for a man who will work hard, and he will not be persecuted for who he is.”

“Are you persecuted here?”

Pedro was slow to answer, thrown by her question, so she continued, “I don’t think you are persecuted. You have been welcomed, as was I.”

“It is different for you.”

“It is?”

“Yes, I am a Morisco.”

Sara studied him with the wisdom of the old, her bright, birdlike eyes tender. “Did you not know that I am a Marrano?” She enjoyed the astonishment on his face as he pulled himself more upright on the bench and rested his hands on his thighs.

“I did not know.”

“Yes – my forebears were Portuguese Jews but even after we were forcibly converted, we were persecuted. My parents fled to Bordèu in 1539 to escape the Inquisition. I was married to a friend of my father’s before I married Henri Gaulbert.” Pedro remained silent, digesting her words, so she continued speaking, the warmth of her voice soothing. “I have been safe here.” She waited a moment and then added, “And I have been loved.” He turned his head and looked at her but still did not speak. The old woman’s voice held a touch of sadness. “Verily, I regret the lapse of my customs, but I cherish them in my heart. We have no choice.”

Pedro fixed his eyes on the chickens pecking around the yard. “We have no choice,” he echoed.

“Do you think it will be better in Amsterdam? You will be expected to attend church – only it will be a different church.”

“I will not be imprisoned for who I am.”

“Have you been imprisoned here?”

“No – but since the death of King Henri the authorities are clamping down on heresy. I saw it in Marshila, and I have seen it before. Persecution comes in waves, lapping lightly at first and then, like the weight of the incoming tide, it engulfs you.”

“Are you a heretic?”

Pedro felt his chest tighten. For an instant he was back in Saragossa being interrogated. “How can you ask?” he stuttered.

“Who is to hear us?” demanded Sara, sweeping her arm around the yard. “The chickens, the birds in the trees, the insects? Luc will be in the far field by now – and he would never betray me.”

“I am a Morisco.” It was all that needed to be said.

“And I am a Marrano,” replied Sara, her eyes alight with conspiratorial empathy. “And this is where I belong.”
 

Barbara Greig

Barbara Greig was born in Sunderland and lived in Roker until her family moved to Teesdale. An avid reader, she also discovered the joy of history at an early age. A last-minute change of heart, in the sixth form, caused her to alter her university application form. Instead of English, Barbara read Modern and Ancient History at Sheffield University. It was a decision she never regretted.

Barbara worked for twenty years in sixth form colleges, teaching History and Classical Civilisation. Eventually, although enjoying a role in management, she found there was less time for teaching and historical study. A change of focus was required. With her children having flown the nest, she was able to pursue her love of writing and story-telling. She has a passion for hiking, and dancing, the perfect antidotes to long hours of historical research and writing, as well as for travel and, wherever possible, she walks in the footsteps of her characters.

Discovery is Barbara’s second novel. Her debut novel Secret Lives was published in 2016 (Sacristy Press).

You can connect with the author via these platforms -

Twitter: https://twitter.com/BarbaraGreig_

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Barbara-Greig-107844424330933

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Greig/e/B08CB6LZHC

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6567192.Barbara_Greig

You can learn more about the book and the author by visiting the other blogs on the tour.

 That's it for now.

Till the next time.

Take care Zoe