And that’s a WRAP! π€π
We were on tour from 25th August β 31st August
ππβ¨ Let's fall in love with a great story together. β¨ππ

Book Details
About the Book
I came to Hemlock House to finish my novel.
Six months ago, my son died. My marriage is over, my book is a year late, and I have nothing left to lose. A writing retreat in the Vermont mountains seems like the perfect place to disappear.
Hemlock House is a vast Gothic pile halfway through a renovation. Power cuts. No signal. A hedge maze you can lose an afternoon in, and a work crew who wonβt talk about what happened here.
Then the pages start appearing.
Every morning there are thousands of words on my screen that I have no memory of typing. The writing is the best I have ever done. And the story is beginning to happen to me.
My characters know things I don't. About the house. The girl who vanished. The deaths nobody will explain. And about the morning my son died, the morning I have made myself forget.
Is the house trying to warn me? Or is someone very much alive making sure I never reach the final page?
Every novel needs an ending. I'm terrified of mine
Have you met Christine Lydonβ¦
Christine Lydon resides in Rossland, British Columbia where she balances a variety of spirited pursuits. Like many of her protagonists, she has a tenuous relationship with sleepβa struggle that has, at the very least, made her remarkably well-read.
Among scores of other things (and in no particular order), Christine adores dragons, chocolate, sustainable living, haunted places, the complete works of Jane Austen and George R. R. Martin, spring skiing, scary movies, shiny stones, warm beaches, dogs, black bears, fossils, cake, tiny homes, cowboy boots, and happy endings. She recently spent most of the night researching Western Toads so she could release a big fellow that her son found hopping through the streets of Rossland into a habitat where he wouldnβt become roadkill on his way to hibernate. (She does stuff like that a lot.)
When she isnβt busy conjuring fictional worlds, fighting city hall, or falling off her mountain bike, Christine spends most of her time keeping the local bird population well-fed and hydrated, placating the ghosts that inhabit her 130-year-old house, and attempting (though not very successfully) to grow vegetables in her mountain garden.
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