Page 8 of The Bookshop By the Loch

Attracting the attention of that agent?

I am a freelance editor with several years’ experience in the book industry, editing for such prestigious authors as Sir Stephen Todd and Dame Alicia Kilroy.

Send me your first three chapters and synopsis and I will make suggestions and provide direct advice for your manuscript. I will also provide a three-page detailed report, indicating problem areas, as well as concentrating on your writing strengths and weaknesses.

Where I feel your story may require additional work, such as character development or scene setting, I will highlight this.

Once I receive your first three chapters and synopsis, I will confirm receipt and provide the detailed report to you within six weeks of submitting it to me.

Don’t delay – start making your writing dream a reality today!

Once I’d posted the ad on my Facebook, Instagram and Twitter accounts, I decided to leave Mum’s and take a meander down the high street for some fresh air.

The high street was a mish-mash of browsing locals and spring holiday makers, milling around the shop windows and availing themselves of takeaway coffee or a dribbly ice cream cone. Others stood and admired the rippling, whispering rush of the loch shoreline and Bracken Castle gazing down at them from its majestic hilltop.

What a week it had been!

I recalled Mum’s expression again, when she’d seen my dad on TV, pain and anger battling it out in her eyes.

Mum had been on a few dates over the years and had a couple of male friends who escorted her to the odd local function, but she always shied away from making anything more serious.

Whenever I had pointed this out, she would go all prickly, saying she preferred her own company with no complications. In other words, none of those other men were my father. She should be delighted about that, an irritated voice hammered in my ear.

My mum was a lovely-looking woman, with a wonderful smile and a kind heart. My erstwhile dad didn’t deserve the feelings she still carried for him.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had an actual, proper conversation with my father. I think it was around the time of my thirtieth birthday, so that would have been November.

I squirmed at the recollection. The call had lasted about a minute, as he said he was on a tight deadline with the newspaper he was working on at the time. We never seemed to have much to say to one another.

I had more camaraderie with Frank, our postman, than I did with my own dad.

I decided not to give my father another thought. He didn’t deserve it. I had much more important things to think about, like what my future was going to look like. At the moment, I had no idea.

I tapped along the cobbled high street, the breeze whipping my ponytail around. I was used to having a plan, a focus. I felt like I was a little boat tethered in a harbour, bobbing about on the tide and not going anywhere.

“Lexie! Oh goodness! What are you doing back here? I thought it was you.”

Oh shit. Here we go again.

Get used to it, whispered a resigned voice in my head. You wanted to come back to your home town. You knew what to expect.

Glasgow had the anonymity, but there were tainted memories floating around there now. At least here in Bracken Way, I had Mum, Grandpa and the freedom of its clean, sharp fresh air.

I whirled round with a strained smile plastered on my face.

Several intrigued expressions, led by Flora Simmonds, the retired school secretary from Bracken Way Primary School, came into view.

More questions came shooting towards me like a bullet. “How’s your job in publishing?” barked Flora. “Just taking some holiday?”

I squinted through the spring morning sunshine. “Yes.” Several pairs of eyes bored into me. Oh, get it over with, Lexie. Seeing me around the town for the next three months, would raise their suspicions even further. “I’m taking extended leave.” I hesitated and gathered myself. “Actually, I don’t know if I want to go back to my publishing job.”

“But what would you do instead?” pursued a shocked Flora. “I don’t think there’s much going in the way of vacancies around here.”

I was tempted to ask Flora if she’d ever considered motivational speaking. “I’m not sure. I’m going to do some editorial freelance work in the meantime.”

Flora’s expression became almost dreamy. “I’ve read all of Dame Alicia’s books. They really are sublime. You edited them, didn’t you Lexie?”

I nodded.