So where's the snow?

Muddling through life from Austria to Wales; God, life and a small black dog


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A Christmas Canter

I know, I know it’s only September. I am working like mad with marketing an one of the things I’m bad at is leaving enough time for early readers.

These are wonderful folk who receive a pre-publication copy of a book, either to help with editing (ok, blo0ppers) or that in return they will post a review when the book is published.

I have two books nearly ready and I invite you all, if you would like to be an early reader, to drop me a line and I’ll send you a copy. Here’s all about Christmas Canter.

This collection of short stories, is not only for Christmas, but also all year round, because if the stories don’t have snow or Christmas in them, there are always horses.

A new version of A Christmas Carol with an equine cast is funny but remains true to the original. We meet a real horse hero, and the tales of one girl’s pony. Tales from Austria and Switzerland, romance and drama, challenging times and new beginnings. Finally a novella about the craziest Nativity play which includes horses, donkeys, sheep and goats and the homecoming of a lost horse.

Interested? Drop me a line at annarashbrook@gmail.com


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Playing with marketing, Challenger

I’ve found this feature called embedding on Amazon, you should see a link below which will take you straight to my book for a preview read. Would someone let me know if this works?

Thanks


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Blog Holiday

Hi Everyone!

I’ve just finished a new book, and really need to spend some time improving my marketing. So, I’m going to take a blog break until the autumn, to concentrate on it. Please stay following and I’ll see you then.


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Cut off!

Didn’t get to post last week, internet had crashed. Ten days for them to find and reconnect a wire in the box down the road. So I’m now on catch up, more next week. Oh and I finished my next book…and today, one year ago we were in Calais on our return to the UK. Time flies.


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Going back

Way back in the 1980s, Dave and I lived in a tied cottage on the Beaulieu estate in Hampshire. Our first married home and we brought our babies home to it. This is the only picture I could find of the house from the front , and there are none of the entrance from the lane. After seven years, when Dave had a major problem with his arm, we were evicted (although by agreement rather than force) and that day was one of the worst in my life. Even now, when I am bothered about something, I dream of Little Marsh lodge, which is maybe because I’m tapping into that trauma, or it was a wrenching out of a place I loved.

This picture was taken from a helicopter ride I had over the hosue, you can see it under the peddle. The field up and to the left is now a lake.

Over the years, I returned on several occasions to slink down the track past the house to the sea. It seemed the same. Then we heard it had been sold to an actress and after a few alterations, it was completely revamped, even winning prizes.

So, when we were in Hampshire a few weeks ago, Dave, George(our son) and I went to have a look. I embarrassed them by walking down the lane and banging on the door, but although the front door was ajar,and dogs barking, there was no answer, so we walked along the sea front.

This is the entrance from the house side. and below is now, from the other direction, our shed and trees long gone.

Looking at the photos, I see our past has been totally wiped. What was the main house next to the beach has been demolished and what looks like a modern monstrosity being built in it’s place.

Here is where the cattle field had been dug out and turned into a lake.

I know its not good to go back and things don’t stay static, but now, and I’ve never felt this before, it’s over. I never want or need to go back -except. maybe to see what the new house on the beach looks like. I’ve another long overdue closure, but I still want to go back to the house we lived in in Winchester as that has never changed from the outside.

Little Marsh will live on in my mind, my photos, our chat. Maybe I’ve handed it on to our kids too, George can remember it, having been six when we left, our daughter can’t remember it at all. I’m sad that it’s gone for ever, subconsciously I had been hanging on to it. I wonder where I will dream of next time I’m worrying about something?


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Rosebay Willow herb

Often called fire weed, this plant grows all over the place. It’s also known as fireweed as it’s often the first to grow on burnt land.

So when we had all these plants growing in our new garden, I was fairly sure we had some, so I let one grow.

It’s a really beautiful flower, maybe take a close look next time you see a bank of them.

After all, a weed is just a flower in the wrong place!