Tuesday, 30 May 2017

BLOG TOUR ~ Don't Wake Up by Liz Lawler

Hi Everyone,

Today is my stop on the Blog Tour for Don't Wake Up by Liz Lawler where I welcome Liz to my blog with a guest post on how her writing has been influenced. I was thrilled to be asked by Emily Burns from Bonnier Zaffre Publishing to take part along with some other fab book bloggers. You can find out who else is taking part in this fabulous Blog Tour at the end of the guest post so without further ado, here it is:

How growing up in a large family influenced my writing

How could it not? With so many conversations to have and adventures to share there was never an idle moment to spare. I grew up in a very noisy household, which my mother ran with military precision. As young children we were up, dressed, fed, watered and out to play as early as ten o’clock with expectations of staying out to play, from out under her feet, till teatime so that she could put the house back to order. There were two meal times in our household: breakfast and dinner. Lunch was what the other kids went home to have, while we stayed out in the street or in a park with our paper bags of Black Jacks, Fruit Salads, Liquorice Catherine Wheels and a bottle of Cream Soda to share.

Sharing in such a large family was as natural as breathing; a necessary requirement in most cases. I topped and tailed throughout my childhood, sharing a double bed with either two or three of my sisters, and we were often scolded, well past the lights out, for giggling too loud or being caught having a midnight feast under the blankets with a torch. I thought nothing of sharing a toothbrush with my sisters and quite often waited in line to use it. I think the first time I ever owned my own toothbrush was when I went on a school trip and remember feeling excited and little bit important that there were things in my suitcase that were bought solely for my use.

I was 18 by the time I had my very own bed; it was the day I left home to become a nurse and not only did I have my own bed, but my own bedroom. The room held a wardrobe, a single bed, desk and sink; it measured no more than six foot by ten and I could not believe that all this space would belong to me.

As a child there were few books in our home apart from the bible and the Britannica Encyclopaedia collection. Twenty red hardback books, where all information was obtained for doing homework. All other books were borrowed from the library and as a child my favourites were always The Famous Five and The Secret Seven. As a teenage I discovered Mills & Boons, much to my mother’s dismay as she was always trying to get me to read the classics, and I possibly missed a great many lessons in school while reading these books in class, hidden on my lap behind the desk. I went to a convent and I remember the total embarrassment I felt when one of the nuns discovered what I was reading. You would think I had been reading porn, from the dressing down she gave me.

I look back on my childhood with extremely fond memories, feeling in no way deprived. For though we lacked in material things, we were enriched by the abilities of two incredible parents.  My mother, by far, was the most intelligent and could converse on most any subject; history and English literature were her passions and weekly she would return from the library with her bag of books. Our father was a story teller, though I believe he never read a single book in his entire life, and never tired of making up stories or simply telling us tales of the hardships of his childhood. They were great teachers and every one of us could run a house, cook, clean, shop, mind the younger ones, probably by the age of eleven.

I grew up feeling different to my friends, possibly because my parents were nearer their grandparent’s ages, and as a child I used to fret that by the time I got to be an adult they would be dead. Fortunately they were both made of stern stuff and lived enough years to see us all properly grown up.

It was exciting growing up with so many brothers and sisters as some were already grownup with children of their own, while some of us were still in infant primary school and their children were closer to our ages so we were aunts and uncles to the kids we played with. There are now twelve of us, six of each and I am number 9. If all fourteen children were still alive I’d be number 11. I grew up in a noisy household where everyone shouted to be heard over each other, and as adults we are just the same, only noisier as we all tell our different stories eager to be counted and eager to be heard.


Alex Taylor wakes up tied to an operating table.
The man who stands over her isn't a doctor.
The offer he makes her is utterly unspeakable.
But when Alex re-awakens, she's unharmed - and no one believes her horrifying story. Ostracised by her colleagues, her family and her partner, she begins to wonder if she really is losing her mind.
And then she meets the next victim.

So compulsive you can't stop reading.
So chilling you won't stop talking about it.
A pitch-black and devastatingly original psychological thriller.

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