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About the Book:
A Call to Heaven
Genre: contemporary romance
with a paranormal twist
Publisher: J.K Publishing
Date of Publication: January 27, 2017
ISBN-13: 978-1540490049 /
Number of pages: 260 paperback /
320 kindle book
Word Count: 68k
Cover Artist: Ivan Cakic
“Everybody’s loved, everybody’s lost.
Grief strips you raw and makes you feel as if you’re sleepwalking through life, like the pain will never go away.
I’m Amy Tristan. I’m no different than anyone else. I’ve loved, I’ve lost and it sucks. I’ve got a five-year old son and an abusive husband. My mother died six months ago and I miss her like crazy.
I’m the biggest skeptic when it comes to other-worldly stuff, so when I’m told that I can pick up the phone and call my mum in Heaven, I should disbelieve it, right? Wrong. I pick up that phone, because there’s nothing I want more than to hear her voice trickle into the receiver.
And you know what? It works. I get to speak to my mother. It’s a miracle. If only it could stay this way, with those calls just for me, but someone up on high wants me to choose three other people to make a call to Heaven too. Who should I pick? How can I trust them to keep the phone secret? Making the choice is agonizing – if I get it wrong, my calls will stop. I wish I hadn’t told Daniel anything. He’s this hot doctor that I’ve come to know. But doctors are scientists, and scientists are bigger skeptics than even me. He didn’t believe in the phone. He thought I should be admitted to a sanatorium. Telling him was either the best decision of my life, or the worst. I’ll let you decide…”
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/6qQLxZbVs50
Interview with the Author:
What initially got you interested in writing?
I’ve loved writing since I was a little girl. I didn’t just enjoy writing stories at school – I was always writing them at home too, letting my imagination run riot. My family and friends used to love reading what I’d written and I guess that gave me the thirst for more. When I became a journalist for my ‘day job’ it was like I wasn’t working at all because I enjoyed it so much. And then the leap from being a journalist to a being a novelist isn’t such a big one…
How did you decide to make the move into being a published author?
A friend of mine in the UK (also a journalist) got a two-book deal with a major publisher from out of nowhere and that made me think: “I wonder if I could do that too?” And so I starting to write the novel I had in me (I think we all have one book that we’d like to write) and a new career was born. I quickly realized that I enjoyed writing a full-length novel much more than the articles I normally write for newspapers. It’s so much more layered, with so much more freedom. It’s an incredibly fulfilling process.
What do you want readers to take away from reading your works?
I hope readers will:
- Enjoy the story
- Take something personal from each story
- Relate to and be touched emotionally by the characters and what they’re going through
- I really hope that the story will stay with my readers long after the book has been finished.
What do you find most rewarding about writing?
When you start writing a novel it can feel like such an insurmountable feat and making it to the finishing line feels like such a long way off. And so it’s incredibly rewarding when you DO reach that finishing line and have created a gripping arc of a storyline which takes you from the beginning through the middle and to the end, following the journey of its characters. And then, once it’s written and being read, it’s rewarding when you hear from readers and learn that they have been touched by your work. That means the world to me.
What do you find most challenging about writing?
The biggest challenge for me is to keep on going even when the writing does feel like an insurmountable feat. Completing a novel takes a lot of hard work and you need to be disciplined, persistent and tenacious till the end…because a novel won’t write itself. I think of it like a jigsaw. Each day I add a few more of the pieces until eventually I have a whole picture.
What advice would you give to people want to enter the field?
Be disciplined, persistent and tenacious (see above!) and develop a thick skin. Not everyone will love everything you write and you need to learn not to take criticism too personally. Remember that phrase: different strokes for different folks.
Everyone’s looking at me. I’ve got the yellow telephone in my hands and I’m not sure what to do with it. I take a seat at the end of the table and lay the phone down in front of me. Beth is to my left, Ben is to my right. Daniel is opposite me. I look from one to the other and feel color flood my cheeks. My gaze finishes on Daniel and stays there for a beat. He nods, his eyes encouraging me. I return the nod, take a deep breath and count down from three to one in my head.
“I’ve got to tell you all something.” My voice comes out as a thin squeak, but actually I’m surprised I manage to articulate at all. I’m hot, so hot. I lift the hair off the back of my neck, flapping it around to try to cool my sticky, clammy skin. I can’t breathe, I need air. I unlock the patio doors, flinging them wide open. The inside of my mouth feels rough as sandpaper. I’m desperate for a tall glass of water packed with ice-cubes but, when I turn to see six eyes staring at me, I dare not leave to fetch one. I feel like an exhibit in a museum and in some ways I wish I were. I could hide behind a Perspex box next to the yellow telephone with panel blurb doing the explaining for me. I could be part of a new exhibition entitled ‘Incredible Discoveries’. I would share the same hall as the dinosaurs and anything else which took aeons for people to believe existed. I draw a deep breath and continue.
“You’re probably going to think I’m mad, but I’m going to tell you anyway.”
A breeze blows through the open patio doors.
“What I wanted to tell you is this.” My voice is soft as a whisper. I sense all their bodies leaning closer towards mine, straining to hear. “I’ve recently started talking to my mother.”
There, I’ve said it.
I feel a great sense of relief, both that I’ve said it and that I no longer have to keep this to myself. Beth relaxes in her chair with a sigh, leans across and takes my hand, patting it. She’s got wavy brown hair and a kind, open face. She tilts her head sympathetically.
“Oh honey, you must have tried out that clairvoyant you mentioned. Please tell us all about it.”
I should have seen that one coming.
“No, you don’t get it.” I lift up the yellow phone, as if to demonstrate how to use such a contraption. In one hand I take the receiver, in the other the plug. “I don’t speak to her through a medium. I speak to her on this telephone. I plug it into a socket in my bathroom and I’m allowed to call heaven.”
There, I’ve said it now.
Not a muscle.
Their mouths all open, Daniel’s is the widest. I don’t think any of them even realize they’re doing it. As feared, they are looking at me like I’m certifiably insane.
“I can see you all think I’m mad.” I actually manage to pull a small smile. Now that I’ve started, I feel much calmer. “And, if I were in your position, I would think I’m crazy too. But one night my mother came to me in a dream and told me I could use this phone to call her in heaven and, bizarre though it must sound, it turns out she was right. That’s why I stopped coming to Grief Support Group every week. I wasn’t grieving so much because my mother had come back into my life.”
The three pairs of eyes grow wider and wider, as if I’m slowly sprouting four serpent heads. I replace the receiver back into its cradle and drop the plug, holding out my hands in submission.
“You can believe me or not. It doesn’t matter. But the reason I’ve gathered you all here is because I’ve been asked to choose three other people to call to heaven.”
I sound like a fairy godmother or the good witch in the Wizard of Oz. I do not sound normal. I pause. The effect is dramatic although it’s not intended to be.
“And I’ve picked you guys.”
I look at them one by one.
“Beth, I know how much it might mean to you to be able to speak to your daughter and know that she is safe.”
Beth nods. Her gaze turns glassy.
“Ben, I’d do anything to be able to give you a chance to speak to your brother again.”
Ben nods, his mouth still formed in a perfect ‘O’.
Daniel is the hardest one for me to look at. He’s not nodding anymore and his eyes are no longer urging me to continue. Instead he’s shaking his head, a slow, subtle movement, but I catch it all the same. His full lips have now formed a thin line. He’s the only one who looks like he still thinks I’m certifiably insane. Hell, he’s a doctor; perhaps that shouldn’t come as a surprise. Part of me wonders whether I should abort this whole escapade and pretend it was all a joke. I’d do anything to not have Daniel stare at me in this way. He looks ready to call the local sanatorium and send them round with a straitjacket. But I can’t abort and I must continue. What happens next is up to him.
“And Daniel, I thought that maybe you might like to speak to Katie.”
He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but clamps it shut again without speaking. Nobody else says anything either. They all shift in their seats, pretending to take sips of coffee and look around the room. Perhaps they’re checking out the photos on the mantelpiece above the fireplace, trying to work out if I look like a madwoman in any of them. I pick up the knife. Now I probably do look mad or, at the very least, dangerous.
“Right, who’s for some more pie?”
About the Author:
Jo lives in London with her husband, three children and Jerald the cat. In addition to being a novelist she works as a TV and print journalist (Sunday Times, The Telegraph, the Daily Mail and the Express.) If she could change one thing about her life it would be to introduce the thirty hour day, because twenty-four hours just isn’t long enough to squeeze it all in! Many a late night has been spent with a glass of red wine (preferably French) at her desk trying to keep her eyes open long enough to write these stories which keep demanding to be written. If only her cat didn’t constantly jump onto the keyboard as she writes, this book might have been finished months earlier. She loves yoga, skiing, travelling and English custard – though not necessarily in that order.
Signed paperback Call to Heaven