Violetta sees new things for the first time every day. And each time that I see her big blue eyes widen in surprise, it reminds me of the ‘everyday magic’ which, as Fabbia Moreno would say, is all around us when we know how to look.

Babies haven’t yet forgotten how to look.  Babies teach us to slow down and look at the world again with new eyes.

I’ve started posting little stories of our walks together over on Instagram – just so that I can record the little details of the things that we see. It’s a very simple thing that helps me to feel that I’m being creative.

Here’s an example below.

Why not join us over on Instagram or Twitter – or both? Just label your pictures and/or thoughts with the hashtag #everydaymagic.  Of course, you don’t need to link a narrative like mine. You could just select one shot, one tiny glimpse of something magical that you stop and notice.

I’m going to keep doing this, just to remind myself to surrender to the moment, to cherish every minute of this new journey.

Today a mischievous wind tugged at our sleeves, making us feel restless…

…and a little grumpy. So we took a walk outside…

We saw how the clouds form thick, soft shapes…

…and a path made of bluebells…

…and the crevices where green hearts grow…

…and a secret message…

…and then we came home again.

Join us? #everydaymagic

Our beautiful baby daughter, Violetta Belle, made her strong and determined entry into the world on 7 March, weighing 7lb 3oz. She is two weeks old today.

Violetta was my maternal grandmother’s name and I know that she would have been so delighted and proud to meet our precious little bundle.

Here’s my Grandma Violetta:

And here’s the song to which she loved to listen by Josef Locke:

Much love to you from Violetta and me.

Slowly, over these past weeks, I’m beginning to understand that making babies and making things out of words are very similar processes.

Since September 2011, I’ve sent three books out into the world. And I’ve also been busy making a baby.

And I’m finding that babies, like poems, won’t be rushed. They find their full form when they’re ready. Until then, you carry them around inside you, gently loving them into being.

Saying ‘I’m going to make a poem about XXX today’ doesn’t work. (Or at least, it’s never worked for me.) And babies don’t know anything about externally imposed ‘due dates.’

I’ve gradually learned to focus on sinking into the writing, rolling the words around,  writing and writing without knowing exactly where I’m going, letting the shape of things emerge in their own time. My baby seems to have a similar kind of idea.

In the meantime, I’m delighted and truly proud to have some of the poems I’ve ‘birthed’ in the past year featured on Michelle’s delicious blog, Peony Moon.

If you love contemporary poetry, Peony Moon is a must-visit. In addition to being a very talented poet herself,  Michelle generously features an amazingly inspiring array of poets from around the globe on her blog pages. It’s a wonderful place to discover new writing and fresh voices. Thank you so much, Michelle, for having me.

My heart soars when the sun shines.

On Friday, walking back from a lovely coffee with two other pregnant ladies, I saw this…

After the cold and snow that suddenly descended on York, and the ice covering our attic windows, I’m hopeful that our precious daughter will be born into the thaw.

There are tiny signs of spring everywhere.

I just happened to notice that The Dress is Number 125 in the French Kindle store Bestseller list and Number 2 in Contemporary Romance in English.

It’s wonderful to think of people reading my book in France.  Thank you so much!

Sometimes I feel as if I’m spilling over with emotion – and the only thing to do is to get it all down on paper. A blank page has always had the power to ‘hold’ things safely for me.

I find myself writing to my baby, telling her about the things I’m experiencing and what I most wish for her.

On some days, I also feel the urge to abandon my usual scribbling for something that feels even more direct, tactile, physical, that uses colour and torn paper and glue and little jottings and ideas.

And inevitably, because this is always what happens whenever I write regularly in my journal, I start to notice the patterns under the surface of things and the connections between things, which always leads me back to what I’m writing for the next book.

I think this is exactly the kind of secret journal of ‘everyday magic’ that Fabbia Moreno would have kept under her bed…

I’m working on the outlines of the next two books in the Fabbia and Ella trilogy.

I know that I only have a limited amount of quiet time over the next few weeks before baby ‘Humphrietta’ arrives. So in between getting the house ready and researching cot mattresses, I’m trying to get my ideas down in my notebook – before they slip away completely.

I’m always amazed at the way that we can have ideas in our heads that seem so vivid – often when we’re just falling asleep – and then, in the morning, when we reach for them, they’re gone.  Do you find that too?

Thank you so much to all the kind people who are sending me emails telling me that you’re looking forward to the next book. I feel so lucky to have you cheering me on!

This is my excuse for the delay in finishing the manuscript of The Dream, the sequel to The Dress. I’d hoped to be nearing completion now and launching it on Kindle, but it’s just not as easy as it used to be to sit at my desk and tap away at the keyboard for long periods of time. I find that I need to get up and streeeeetch very regularly – or adjust my pile of cushions.

At the same time, I feel a huge surge of creativity. But it’s a wider, free-associative feeling rather than that quiet focus from which I usually write. I want to draw and paint and knit. I want to tidy and reorganise all my shelves and books and writing journals and boxes of art materials. I want to redecorate the bathroom. I want to nest.

What a year it’s been.

I began 2011 at the side of my dad’s hospital bed, anxiously waiting for him to receive  life-saving surgery. A quadruple bypass and a 10k race later and he’s in the very best of health, thanks to the wonderful people who have looked after him and the amazing friends who have so generously supported our family throughout this year.

Urged on by those bedside conversations with my dad throughout January and February, I finished a novel, published it to Kindle in September and watched in amazement as it became a bestseller, surpassing my wildest dreams. I connected with kind and lovely Kindle readers throughout the world. And I also published my first poetry collection.

In November I turned 40 and celebrated with a few soft drinks due to the fact that Tom and I are awaiting the birth of our daughter, a sister for my three lovely ‘stepdaughters’ (why is there no better word for this special relationship?), Daisy, Betty and Lily.

On 23 December, Tom went into hospital for a procedure, having struggled since the summer with challenges to his health. It’s so good to see him feeling better now, day by day.

This year has been a crazy ride, a literal roller coaster of ups and downs. The most tremendous highs I’ve ever experienced have been tempered by the most terrifying lows.

And perhaps that’s what life really is all about. Sometimes it feels as if the universe has somehow been transpiring to roll up all these intense experiences into twelve short months, offering me so many rich opportunities, teaching me so much about myself, often yelling painfully in my ear: ‘Look! This is your life! Seize it with both hands!’

As I write this today, we’re celebrating Daisy’s 16th birthday. I first met her when she was seven years old and I feel enormously privileged to be a part of her life as she blossoms into womanhood. My lovely Tom is doing well, my dad has made a full recovery and I’m slowly letting go of my fears, breathing, letting my heart fill with gratitude for everything that I have to look forward to in 2012.

I’d like to say a big thank you to old friends and new – the people I’ve met this year on this incredible journey and the old friends who’ve helped me to keep a brave heart at even the toughest times.

A very happy 2012 from me to you. Thank you for reading this blog, sharing your writing with me on my Word Sauce courses, connecting with me on Twitter or Facebook, reading my book and telling me about it. It really is true to say that, without you, this year would have been a very different one for me and I would have missed so much of its magic.

I wish you the warmest and happiest of celebrations. Most of all, I wish you love.

This is the Christmas angel that my beloved Grandma Nicholls and I made together for the top of the Christmas tree when I was three years old.

I can still remember my Grandma taking me to buy the little jointed doll from The Tuppenny Shop on Queen Street in Horbury, the town where I grew up. I can remember the shop, a dark, damp-smelling cave stuffed with a strange assortment of goods from mop heads and dishcloths to plastic toys – a sort of early precursor of a ‘pound shop,’ I suppose. And I can still remember the shop’s owner who, to my child’s eyes, seemed to step out of the shadows as if by magic, old and bent with glittering black eyes. I found her a bit frightening and I remember wondering if she was actually a real-life witch.

Over the years, our Christmas angel has worn a range of paper outfits, assembled out of doilies, tissue, glitter and tinsel. The current dress is probably at least twenty years old and I think it might be time to spruce her up a little for next year.

In the meantime, I’m delighted that this Christmas, my mum decided to give the angel to me – just in time for the arrival of my own daughter. When I think about the love passed down through the generations of strong women of my family – from each of my grandmothers and my mother to my sister and me – I can’t help but think of Fabbia and Ella and how my own family stories are woven into theirs, like Fabbia’s fine embroidery. As I get ready to become a mother, I realise that the wisdom and courage of my grandmothers is tucked away in the little pockets and seams of my life, just waiting to be rediscovered.

This Christmas, I’d like to say a special thank you to everyone who has read The Dress and taken Fabbia and Ella to their hearts. Receiving your emails and comments has been the best gift I could ever have hoped for and I’m looking forward to sharing the next instalment with you in the New Year.

Thank you.

With love and warmest wishes for a very restful and happy Christmas that is brimming with ‘everyday magic.’

Sophie