I know for some people November is too early to be thinking about Christmas, but perhaps it’s not too early to be thinking about presents. After all it’s when the Christmas marketing machine starts in earnest and we’re bombarded with adverts telling us what we absolutely can’t do without this Christmas (seriously, how many bottles of perfume does a girl need?). It’s also the time when children start to think about what they want for Christmas – thanks to those helpful adverts.
Children are often encouraged to write to Father Christmas to tell him what they’d like for Christmas. I know I was, and I got my own children to do it, too. Not because I wanted them to practice their handwriting (though they needed all the practice they could get. At nineteen and seventeen, they still do). Not because I wanted to pin them down to a few items they then couldn’t change their mind about – okay, not just for that. It was mainly because the very act of writing a letter to Father Christmas, and posting it – to the North Pole, obviously – helps engender that belief in him. And believing in Father Christmas is such an important part of the magic of Christmas. Waking on Christmas morning to the heavy feel of presents at the end of the bed, or the sight of those empty stockings left by the fireplace now brimming with boxes in festive wrapping. All the while knowing he’d left them there, battling with his reindeers through the snow and down dirty chimneys just for you. Not only that, he must have read your letter because you had everything you asked for.
But what if he hadn’t delivered what you’d asked for? It’s something every parent dreads; their child asking for a present they can’t find. Not just because nobody wants to disappoint a child on Christmas day (well, nobody apart from the father of the boy in my story, but I’ll come to that later) but because you want them to keep believing for as long as possible. The moment they stop, some of the sparkle is lost – both for them and for you. No more filling the stockings and sneaking them onto their bed while they’re sleeping. No more putting out the carrots for the reindeer, and the whiskey and mince pies for Father Christmas. As a parent I used to look forward to consuming the second two, the first not so much. I made my husband chomp at it, as his teeth were more reindeer like…
I tapped into these memories when I wrote A Second Christmas Wish. Thanks to his mean father, seven-year-old William has lost his belief in Father Christmas. His mother is trying to bring some of the magic back but it’s hard when she doesn’t have many happy memories of her own, thanks to her now ex-husband. That’s where tennis coach Daniel comes in. He befriends them both and is horrified when William admits he doesn’t think Father Christmas exists. In a bid to convince him otherwise, Daniel suggests William writes to the big-guy-with-the-beard-and-red-suit, asking for a new tennis racquet. But doesn’t tell his mum. That way, if he does get a racquet, he’ll know Father Christmas must have read the letter. Daniel’s idea doesn’t quite go according to plan though, as William writes wishing not for one thing, but for two. And he’s not telling either Daniel or his mum what the second wish is. That’s between him and Father Christmas…
I was born in Wallingford but have spent most of my life living in a village outside Windsor. After studying pharmacy in Brighton I began working life as a retail pharmacist, quickly realising that trying to decipher doctor’s handwriting wasn’t for me. I left to join the pharmaceutical industry where I spent twenty happy years working in medical communications. My life long love of reading romance often led me to wonder if I could write about it, too. If only I had the time.
In 2010 I made a New Year resolution to make that time, and started my first book. It was surprisingly easy to stick to, because I enjoyed writing so much. In 2011, backed by my family, I left the world of pharmaceutical science to begin life as a self employed writer, juggling the two disciplines of medical writing and romance. Some days a racing heart is a medical condition, others it’s the reaction to a hunky hero…
With two teenage boys and a husband who asks every Valentine’s Day whether he has to bother buying a card again this year (yes, he does) the romance in my life is all in my head. Then again, my husband’s unstinting support of my career change goes to prove that love isn’t always about hearts and flowers – and heroes can come in many disguises.
For Melissa, Christmas has always been overrated. From her cold, distant parents to her manipulative ex-husband, Lawrence, she’s never experienced the warmth and contentment of the festive season with a big, happy family sitting around the table.
And Melissa has learned to live with it, but it breaks her heart that her seven-year-old son, William, has had to live with it too. Whilst most little boys wait with excitement for the big day, William finds it difficult to believe that Father Christmas even exists.
But then Daniel McCormick comes into their lives. And with his help, Melissa and William might just be able to find their festive spirit, and finally have a Christmas where all of their wishes come true …
1 Kommentare
It's an honour to be on your lovely blog, Isabell. Thank you so much for inviting me. And it's sooooo pretty - I love all the pink and flowers :-)
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