A mother’s letter to her daughter; the adventures of Alice Bonneville-Beck will take you from campsite to kitchen via the finest hotels, Parisian tenements, Australian outback, old Danish towns and misty Norwegian mountains. “Rice Pudding in a Duvet, a journey home with snacks” offers nourishment for the soul blended and served with laughter, tears, a twinkle in the eye and a recipe at the end of each chapter. Alice writes from the heart, and cooks from memories of her own path to womanhood and her quest to find the way home.
My book, Rice Pudding in a Duvet is launched! A little delay with North America (the 7th of November) but for the rest of the world it was released on the 1st of November. This is the second edition of this popular and well-loved book. Beneath the shiny new cover you’ll discover a beautifully illustrated and considerably extended novel; all glistening with a new flow, confidence and clarity that never occured to me in the first self-published edition. Here’s a link to Rice Pudding in a Duvet at Amazon.co.uk where sales are booming 🙂
More details on Rice Pudding In A Duvet’s Facebook page and Instagram. A follow, like, or a share would be greatly appreciated
One of the charming new illustrations 🙂
Candlelight and hot tea, the sound of Friday traffic in the streets and the weak northern sun slips sickly away. I burn my fingers on a blackened match, my pictures softening and twinkling with the light as I wait for people to push the swollen door of the gallery. Rouse me with the jangling bell and wander into my warm world filled with a shoal of bright photos wrenched from hard places. Of course, they cycle past …and it’s fine. I wonder at the motives for baring my soul in a street with no passing trade? But then, in this warm room I know that I’m safe – observed from the corner of a public eye but free to grow, to exhibit undisturbed.
I’ve had dreams of swimming underwater. Sleek and with no arm movement, just strong legs working an invisible mermaid tail. Travelling fast through a smeared palette of greens and blues towards the indigo surface. But not yet, not yet breaking the surface. This place nourishes me still.
An older Canadian Heather sits tapping away at her desk in the adjoining room. I ask her permission to photograph her beautiful hands hovering over the grimy keyboard. She prepares lunch, and offers me small morsels of her past sprinkled with the condensed flavour of a poet.
To be continued.
The door bell jangles…