Celia Micklefield is my maiden name. I used to think it was a good idea to use it as my author name but now I know how difficult it is to fit long surnames onto a book front cover!
I first began writing in earnest after I retired from teaching and went to live in the south of France. I sold short stories to a UK women’s magazine and was offered a contract by the first literary agent who read samples of Trobairitz the Storyteller, my second novel. Unfortunately it didn’t work out. I was so disappointed I decided to continue self-publishing as I had with my first novel, Patterns of Our Lives. I suppose you could classify my work as Women’s Fiction but they’re all different sub genres: a saga set partly during WW2, literary fiction, a psychological mystery, dark humour. I love reading a variety of genres and I think I’d be bored if I had to write the same kind of book every time.
When I started out I knew nothing about book bloggers, blog tours and the like and just kept writing not really going about marketing my work in any sort of sensible way at all and missing out on building important relationships. A series of difficult circumstances brought me back to the UK to live with friends where I wrote my only non fiction book, People Who Hurt, abusers and codependents looking for answers, a book to help others understand the nature of toxic relationships.
Now I live a quiet life in Norfolk near the east coast of England and I’m content looking after my vegetable garden and writing, albeit slowly. I have a neurological condition called CRPS (Complex Regional Pain Syndrome) which developed while I was living in France after I was hit and knocked down by a careless driver. My bones mended but my central nervous system didn’t. Pain is my constant companion but I’ve learned how to deal with it. On low pain days I write as much as I can.
I have a website www.celiamicklefield.com and a Facebook author page in my author name. You’re very welcome to visit and maybe leave a comment.
My three novels and two collections of short stories are available on all Amazon platforms. I hope to make a better job of marketing my fourth novel, A Measured Man when it’s ready. It’s an unsentimental not-so-romantic comedy aimed at mature readers who understand that at a certain age most single men are looking for a woman to come home to whereas women are looking for a man to go out with!
You’ve got to laugh. I think that should be my motto.
September 2018: A Practical Woman
2019 Short Story Contest – 6th Place Drinking Raindrops
attempted to clear her mind.
He would love this place, she thought.
Soul: a word she’d paid little attention to throughout her life, not least the
pleasure, satisfied her yearnings. Wouldn’t she?
“I think it’s wonderful you’ve met someone, Mum,” her daughter Libby had
said when she’d first mentioned Gordon by name one Sunday lunchtime.
“Tell me about him. Come on.”
Sylvia hadn’t known where to begin. Truth be told, she hadn’t expected
included her daughter and grandchildren. But a man?
Gordon had been such a lovely surprise. Comfortable with one another
could talk about anything and everything with openness and true sincerity.
“He sounds just right for you,” Libby had said. “What are you worrying
“Am I worrying?”
“Yes. Look at you. Your eyes are all screwed up and your mouth is doing
that thing you used to do when I was a girl in trouble for being naughty.”
“I’m not doing that. Am I?”
“Mum, give him a chance. What have you got to lose?”
A heron swooped past and landed on a nearby tree stump. With his
below him with yellow eyes sharp as pins and burning with intent.
Sylvia watched and waited. She didn’t take risks. It simply wasn’t in her
sent her way.
Gordon was a different kind of future from the one she’d imagined. A
confidence faltered. Fleetingly she wondered whether she would be enough.
In a flash of white and with a splash of silver the heron made his strike.
for. But what if he’d missed his target?
She laughed aloud as the answer burst into her thoughts. Energy fizzed
the risk of a possible further loss.
She brought her cup to her lips. Her coffee had gone cold. No matter.
to take risks.
She went indoors to get her phone. The drive would take him four hours.