Finishing writing a book is a very weird feeling. Partly I feel exhilarated, partly bereft, and partly nervous (my husband is a toughish editor). I find myself wanting to check up on it, as if my newest Austenesque tome is a nervy invalid rather than 82,000 – with luck, well-chosen – words slung together.

Partly that’s because this is my ADHD-est book yet. I’ve always been one to dash off the peak scenes and then worry about the links and bits of plot in the middle but this time… it was crazy. I felt like Edward Elgar who, in case you didn’t know, composed his symphonies in bits. In his house in Malvern, Worcestershire, there’s a photo of Elgar gazing down at his carpet thoughtfully – at least, I’m guessing he’s thoughtful, it’s tough to read any expression behind that massive Edwardian moustache. The carpet is littered with snatches of musical themes on 4 X 2-inch cards. (Yep. He was trying to figure out which bit of music goes where…😊)

That was me, with Marianne: A Sense and Sensibility Sequel.  It took about nine goes just to get the order right. Next time, I swear, I’m going to be more organised. (Joke. I swear this every time. But this – this was the worst.)

As for the bereft-ness, well it takes me a year to write a book and you do get attached. I am particularly attached to Marianne, since we’re soulmates. Reasons for soul-mate-titude:

• Was a pro cellist in London for a zillion years. Marianne is the only Austen heroine to belt out “magnificent” concertos on the pianoforte, though Jane Fairfax also sounded like pretty hot stuff.
  
  
• Admittedly, in my sequel and, of course, in Austen’s original, Marianne matures. But she’s still capable of running down hills and spraining ankles, something I’ve done on tennis courts, chasing a ball – get this – Carlos Alcaraz could never have reached. (Dumb? Did I mention dumb?)
  
  
• Marianne is ultra-romantic. When I say that, upon seeing the film of Gone with the Wind, aged 12, I went on to read it 27 times in a row… enough said.
  
  
• Ability to get smitten by handsome guys. As I’ve been married over 35 years now I’m going to shut up on this one. But, in my youth…!!!!
  
  
• Taking things to extremes = definition of ADHDer. Also definition of Marianne. She was extreme when Willoughby left Barton, when Willoughby dissed her in London, when running in damp shoes around Cleveland…
  
  
• Impatience with those – I’m looking at Elinor here – temperamentally different from herself. My way or the highway, in other words.
  
  
• Obstinate fixation on her opinions (such as, one can only fall in love once). Marianne doesn’t see the idiocy of this until, after falling instantly for Willoughby, she – finally – falls for Colonel Brandon near the end of Sense and Sensibility.

I’m  not beautiful, which Marianne more or less is. (“Her face was so lovely, that when in the common cant of praise she was called a beautiful girl, truth was less violently outraged than usually happens” was Austen’s description.) But when I was Marianne’s age I was on the good-looking side. NOTHING LIKE in the league of my cousin Martha, who used to stop traffic, but above average.

For all of these reasons, parting from Marianne has been the hardest yet. It would have been miles easier had I been writing about, say, Elinor. (Also, trying to get excited about any other protagonist feels like very hard work, in comparison.)

As for the nerves – well, that’s obvious. Rashly or not, I tend to put myself out there in terms of awards and competitions. So far, have won a lot of awards. What if Marianne, which is more romantic than my usual, doesn’t do so well as the first four have? (A secondary concern: Is it romantic enough to even market as historical romance? It’s still social satire, and the kind of book Austen herself would’ve liked.)

Anyway, we had a brilliant time in Crete for the last seven weeks, and tonight our one-and-only daughter superstar is coming home. So my bereft-ness will be somewhat assuaged, and, later today, I can play Mrs Dashwood to my own daughter (the perfect amalgamation of Elinor and Marianne)!

If you have time to read an ARC of Marianne, please email me or let me know on social media.

Some of you have already and I’m VERY grateful. All that’s needed is a willingness to try to read (it should be available in a month) during Sept/Oct., and a willingness to write a fair and early review in October.

Blurb follows.

Marianne Brandon, still beautiful, impulsive and not yet 21, arrives in London – this time, not as an impecunious daughter of the gentry but as a well-off young widow, with an estate in Dorsetshire and a house in town. In quest of a lessening of her grief, she finds herself besieged with suitors, instead.

Then her younger sister Margaret, sixteen, is sent to visit, in hopes of polishing her accomplishments before her presentation at court. However, Margaret’s passion for romance, both in novels and in reality, almost immediately lands her in trouble…

This is the kind of free historical fiction with something for EVERY taste. I mean, HOW TO LOSE A BARON IN A FORTNIGHT doesn't grab you, how about Nazi Germany or BAD BLOOD (Ireland 1585)? Zip up you summer in the sun with some free historical reads!!!!!

Enter to win the ultimate historical fiction book giveaway, featuring 10 incredible reads for historical fiction lovers! 

As I wrote on Amazon: 'This is a deeply thoughtful, immensely moving and hugely meaningful novel, connecting realistic human characters with our shared (if distant!) past in a way which will always resonate...Bretherton's writing is limpid, unfussy and clear - her dialogue is brilliant. Would appeal to fans of Margaret Atwood and Ursula le Guin. Highly recommended!!!'

Here's a sample of her writing: 

Has she shared this knowledge yet? No, perhaps not. She must remember to tell another, at least one other, and show some sensible soul the safety of this place. Tonight, when they gather, she will find a way to impart a morsel of this wisdom – and, in time, of everything she knows.

It is true that some no longer hear her stories, no longer believe her. A few of the restless young, a finger-count of the careless, those who cannot find the time or the will to imagine another yesterday, a different tomorrow.

They listen kindly, they nod and smile. For, despite how they wonder at her wisdom when she acts in ways they cannot understand, she is revered among the clan. She remains the one they turn to in sadness or in pain. But her tales of the great walk, so far, so long ago, settle now like soot at the pit of a dying fire. Lost so easily to a thoughtless wind.