Poohsticks Bridge - Book Tour and Giveaway

Poohsticks Bridge
by The Birch Twins
Genre: Romantic Fiction

Beginning as a childhood game, Poohsticks Bridge tells the sweet story of a friendship between two children that, through the years, blossoms into adult love with an unbreakable bond and faith in one another. John and Melissa are tested throughout their lives by hardships, pain, and separation, yet their love and determination to live life together to its fullest never falters. In today’s culture of having everything, this couple shows us how a few, simple things can lead to a satisfying and fulfilling life. 

Poignant in the extreme, you’ll want to keep the tissues nearby. These two will make you laugh, cry, and fall in love … with life and with them.


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​She sat by his side in a folding chair. The day had started in a happy way. She had seemed somehow brighter, and at first he had thought it was the miracle cure that he had prayed for. She had suggested a trip to Poohsticks Bridge. It had been a struggle. She was too weak to walk far now, and he had to carry her, after making a prior trip with blankets and folding chairs for them to use. And so he had helped her dress, and carried her in his arms to her favourite place, her frail body bundled up against the cold. She was quiet now. Speaking took so much energy, energy that she no longer had. They sat in their little chairs, and watched mid-morning turn to lunch time (though neither of them ate), and lunch time turned to afternoon. Melissa shivered, and he realised that soon it would be time to take her inside.
“Fall is so pretty,” she whispered. “I wanted to see fall.”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said to her. “The thrushes are collecting sticks. I think they’re building.”
“Make sure to come down here with some food this winter,” she replied. “They’ll be hungry.”
He touched her hand. And there it was, the reminder. The reminder that their days together were limited. The doctors said that, if she was lucky, she’d get to see the fall. And it was here, the long and painful summer had begun its decay and was turning into Autumn cold. The forest around them was dying, and even the forest creatures were beginning their migration or hibernation. She was so quiet, sitting beside him, motionless. For the first time, his heart turned to a chill and he looked to see if she had died, but she had not. Suddenly feeling his lip beginning to tremble, he reached out for her hand suddenly and gripped it. She feebly returned his grip. She was weaker now, he could see that. Her eyes closed with the exhaustion of simply being here.
“I think it’s time to go,” he said, his voice husky and cracked.
“No,” she began a protest. “Another minute.”
“He could see her lip tremble too, and he knew why. This was her happy place: she and he had grown up here and lived here, laughed here and cried here. She knew this was the last time she would see this place, the last time she would be here with him. Neither of them wanted it to end, though he knew it must. It would weaken her so much to leave her in the cold afternoon air. And yet his courage failed him time and again.
He never saw her look so beautiful as she did now. They both knew that fate had finally defeated them, no matter how they tried to stay together, to huddle close against the gentle tendrils of life and death, it would be no use. Life is finite, it can end in the blink of an eye. He could barely take his eyes from her, in an attempt to etch onto his brain the very image of her, here in her happy place, in their happy place, so that in years later, when her memories would fade, this moment would remain stamped forever onto his brain and still bring the stabbing pain of loss that he felt now. No matter how much time would pass, in years to come he knew he would still smell the sweet scent of the trees as they sat there in silence waiting for those final moments, the quiet hush of the birds as they watched in revered peace as the pair waited to be separated forever. Not just yet, he pleaded silently, as his courage once again failed him, let there be a few minutes more. He studied her face again. How beautiful she was.
The time came to take her into the house, and, leaving their things, he carried her frail body inside the house, as quiet as a pallbearer. He was dimly aware of people in the house, his sister was there, and friends, it seemed. To help him with her. He imagined they’d been here for a while, but he barely noticed them. He carried her upstairs and slipped her into bed, climbing in silently beside her and holding her tightly. She was quiet now, and he held her for a long time. He watched through the window as the afternoon began to turn into early evening, and the sun began to enter its death throes. The tendrils of night began to cast shadows of evening across the window and into the room, and after a while, the room grew dark. All was silent in the house. The friends and family downstairs were occupied with their own thoughts, their own sadness and left Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee to their final moments together. As he lay holding her, now the final afternoon was drawing into evening, and the long shadows of the fading autumn sun had darkened the bedroom, he knew that the way they protected themselves, to hug each other till the bad things left, would not work today. He held her tighter as the room grew darker, and closed the covers over them both as her body grew cold in the autumn evening. He wondered for an idle minute what Tweedle-Dum would do when Tweedle-Dee was gone, as she surely would be today. He felt it was ending here, he knew in his heart that the embers of her life were slowly going out and the fire of her existence was fading to ashes. She had felt it too. That was why she had insisted he carry her to Poohsticks bridge that very morning, not because she felt better, but because she was saying goodbye. His Tweedle-Dee had known she was at the end of her path. He hugged her tighter still, and closed his eyes against the blackness that threatened to envelop his very soul.
The day had seemingly started so well, he thought, only to end in what would forever be the blackest day he would encounter in his life. The stabbing pain of this day would be etched into his heart forever, he knew that. As he held her, he knew it wouldn’t be long. The spark of life which ignited her soul grew dimmer with each passing second. He held her close, and often heard her murmur, though she was barely conscious. She no longer had the strength to fight for life. She suddenly stirred.
“Be happy again,” she whispered. “You promised me.”
He couldn’t speak, but kissed her softly on the cheek as way of an answer.
“It was a good day,” she whispered. “The happy place.”
“Our first place,” he said gulping for air. “I first loved you there.”
“I love you,” she replied softly.
He could no longer speak, and so held her again, close, and kissed her cheek. She was quiet now, and her breathing softer. The evening had turned to night, and still he held her. Her body grew cold, and still he held her close, Tweedle-dum holding his Tweedle-dee possessively. She had been his. She had always been his. She had never belonged to anyone else, only him. And they had been happy. Since they had been five, they had been together, every day, everything alike. They had shared everything, from fun, laughter, games and toys to later on love, passion and togetherness. He had known her like he would know no other. And nobody else would know her. She had been his, and his alone. And now, she always would be only his. He hugged her as tightly as he could, for he knew this would be the last time he would ever hold her, there would be no other times, no more memories to make. This was the final one. The flame of life inside her had flickered out now, he knew that. She was gone, he could feel it. And yet, while he still held her, it didn’t happen. Just another minute, he pleaded, one final minute with her. Just another minute. And while he held on, she couldn’t be gone. One last minute of holding her, the last time he would ever hold her. He didn’t want to let go, and not for the first time did his thoughts go to the revolver in the desk drawer. To put the gun in his mouth and join her in whatever afterlife there was. Together again in death as they had been in life. His hand reaching for hers once again, hand in hand as they always had been. But he didn’t, couldn’t. She’d made him promise not to. And, though it was the hardest thing he would ever do in his life, he put the thoughts of the gun aside, and released her cold body from his grip, and rose from the bed. He felt blackness wash over him, and as he looked at her body, he suddenly grew more angry than any man, he let the darkness wash over him, a monolith of hate and anger against a world that had cruelly snatched away the only thing he had ever cared for. He became faintly aware of the stabbing pain in his head returning as he made his way downstairs.
A voice, who was it? Who the fuck knew? Who cared? He heard his own voice in his head as he sat down in the living room chair. His father’s chair. Tears filled his eyes and he could neither see nor speak. Hands touched him, a female body held him, but he remained a silent monolith. He cast his head down to earth as they spoke to him, their voices a mass of sympathy. He felt his breathing grow laboured as he sat in the chair. He couldn’t bear to utter the words to them, the conformation of her death, he couldn’t say it. Wishing he was back in bed at the side of her holding her, he cast his head down and felt the blackness come.

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I write under the name “The Birch Twins.” Helen, my twin, didn’t live to see life, and so I write for her. I’m a full time poverty stricken doll artist who took to writing as I seemed to spend more time writing out little back stories for the characters I created. My first book The Life of LOL was written in five weeks, and was about gangsters, grifters and drifters. Lots of cartoon slapstick violence mixed with a serious message.

Poohsticks Bridge, the new novel, shows my twin’s voice at is strongest as it tells the story of a little boy who begins to grow up lonely and alone, until he meets a little girl. It’s a glimpse of a life that Helen and I could have had together. She writes through me, I can feel her presence and hear her voice. Her tone is often wistful, low on movement, mature and often quiet, while I am brash and loud and full of silly car chases and boyhood dreams of rockets to the moon. We have the perfect writing partnership.


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What is something unique/quirky about you?
If we’re talking quirky and weird, then I’m both. I have a twin sister, who joins me as “The Birch twins,” which is the name you see on the books, poetry and artwork. Helen died shortly before my birth. IN fact, had she not done so, we would have both died. So my work became a celebration of the life she had given me. Everything that gets written is produced by the both of us, and inspired by her.
Poohsticks Bridge, the new novel, shows my twin’s voice at is strongest as it tells the story of a little boy who begins to grow up lonely and alone, until he meets a little girl. It’s a glimpse of a life that Helen and I could have had together. She writes through me, I can feel her presence and hear her voice. Her tone is often wistful, low on movement, mature and often quiet, while I am brash and loud and full of silly car chases and boyhood dreams of rockets to the moon. We have the perfect writing partnership.
Other quirkiness include a career spent painting doll heads and collectibles writing poetry that makes people cry, and a fascination for classic ocean liners.

Tell us something really interesting that's happened to you!
Probably being featured in the local newspaper for Poohsticks Bridge

What are some of your pet peeves?
I don’t really let things get on top of me like that. People who try to justify hatred of some kind against another group of people. As Peter griffin might say, that really grinds my gears. People who announce that they “want to be famous” and yet do nothing at all apart from talk and give their opinions, while skilled writers and artists work in poverty and obscurity their whole lives. We have a society that seems to celebrate and worships idiots. Wow. There was more than I thought there. How about those people who say
“Wow, you’ve written a book? I’d love to write a book, but I don’t have the time!”
Well my clock works on the same calendar as yours, and yet I somehow found the time.

Where were you born/grew up at?
Manchester, UK

If you knew you'd die tomorrow, how would you spend your last day?
I would sit with Helen in the garden I created for her, and we’d have a “twins reunited” party. It’d probably be the happiest day of my life.

Who is your hero and why?
My family. My twin for being the constant voice of guidance, confidence and support in my head, my mother for passing down her artistic skills and her flair for stories and sense of adventure and fun, and my father for being the strong practical support that’s supported me through my whole life. These people are amazing.

What kind of world ruler would you be?
I tend to stay away from politics. My slogan as a world ruler be “No creature has a greater right to life than any other,” which is a slogan we use frequently in our orchard and garden.

What are you passionate about these days?
Making this work, this writing thing. Making people know Helen as something other than a forgotten name from July 1974. To get people to know who she was, and that she really existed.

What do you do to unwind and relax?
I like some videogames, but only the ones that let me create the characters. I especially love games with ships in them, as I have a curious interest in sunken liners. I’m a massive Whovian, so I watch Dr Who all the time. As a semiprofessional artist, I like to sit and paint when I’m not writing.

Describe yourself in 5 words or less!
Twin
Moody
Glasses
Awesome
Rock-star

When did you first consider yourself a writer?
I was about eleven when we first did creative writing in school. I spent far too long on my little scifi story, which was basically a rip-off of Star Wars. But I loved doing it, and instead of simply watching the action, or reading it, the characters did and said what I wanted them to do. That’s a lot of power to give an eleven year old kid with an imagination. Shortly after, I bought a utility for my tiny computer that allowed me to write and create text based adventure games. I made hundreds of them and learned to create worlds, and characters and lost myself in the different places in my mind. I think that was the first moment I realized that I liked to write, instead of watch or play

Do you have a favorite movie?
Oh, I have several. I’ve a soft spot for Convoy, and I love the original three Star wars movies

Which of your novels can you imagine made into a movie?
The life of Lol possibly. A badass female bandit and grifter. I can’t imagine why it isn’t a movie yet?

As a writer, what would you choose as your mascot/avatar/spirit animal?
My mascot and Facebook avatar has for many years been Natalie, a little wheelchair bound bald doll in a straightjacket I made years ago. Chosen because, despite her insanity, she exists as a beacon of calm for all those around her. And despite my own obvious borderline insanity, I’m still the most stable dependable person in my house. In a way, I became Natalie. Frequently seen in her own comic strips on The Birch Twins page and occasional as the avatar picture

What inspired you to write this book?
My relationship with my twin sister, Helen, and what life would have been like with her.

What can we expect from you in the future?
A sequel to Poohsticks Bridge entitled Tales from Belle-Starr House is being prepared, as is a new comic book entitled The Life of Tim, which is centered around a neurotic, suicidal office worker. I publish regular shorts and poems on The Birch Twins Facebook page

Do you have any “side stories” about the characters?
Hundreds and hundreds. Every side character has their own story, some which will be told, some which might never be. The one with the biggest is Maddisen, the lawyer who appears in both books. From The Life of Lol (my first book), Bobbie-May Moses appears as “a hillbilly girl” in a gas station for one tiny scene, and yet her tale of abuse, rape and murder will be the main plotline in a planned sequel to The Life of Lol

Can you tell us a little bit about the characters in Poohsticks bridge?
John is the main character. He lives with his mom, dad and siblings in an old tumbledown ranch in the PNW. He’s a solitary little boy and spends more time with the ranch-hands than he does his parents. At Kindergarten, he meets a little girl, Melissa and they quickly become best friends. Throughout his life, when he’s with her, or when she is nearby, then he’s a normal guy, if a little quiet at times. He has a tendency to stand back and let her speak. When she is gone, his life starts to fall apart and a kind of darkness takes over his soul that he’s unable to conquer. Darkness, revenge and anger envelop him when she isn’t around to act as his anchor.

Melissa is the strongest person that I know. Her mother died when she was five, so Melissa has learned to rely only upon herself, and her friend and later husband John. She is capable and practical, light hearted and often brutally sarcastic. If he is the dreamer and the emotional one, she is his anchor and his rock. Their whole worlds revolve entirely around each other to the extend they have become a gesalt double entity, rather than a very close married couple.

How did you come up with the concept and characters for the book?
It just appeared in my head. Helen put it there for me to write.

Where did you come up with the names in the story?
Again, they just appeared right there in my head one day, back in 1999

What did you enjoy most about writing this book?
Writing about their separations was painful. I felt them suffer. So when they are reunited in Belle-Starr house, I cried tears of joy for and with them.

Tell us about your main characters- what makes them tick?
Probably each other. John and Melissa don’t see much of the world in the same way that we do. They only see each other. They can be standing in front of a spaceship crashing in front of the Empire State building and he’ll be oblivious, and watching the little curl of hair on her forehead. Likewise she’ll be watching that sideways smile he’s had since he was a boy, and doesn’t’ even know he’s doing. They won’t even see a spaceship is there. Their minds work in a different way to ours. They both had tough childhoods, so became each other’s anchor or rock early on. John and Melissa learned to cling together as they travel though the world to protect themselves. Other than that, they both have a fascination for abacuses and Lego, mainly due to childhood memories of those items.

How did you come up with the title of your first novel?
Just appeared in my head. “The Life of Lol”.
Poohsticks Bridge was originally entitled “The Masons of Belle-Starr”, until I realized it sounded like a TV show from the eighties. And bang, Poohsticks bridge appeared.

Who designed your book covers?
Longtime friend and professional book designer Sydney Blackburn

If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?
Yes of course. That’s the curse of the artist. I’d change the whole “stranded in Mexico” scene to somewhere overseas like Thailand or something like that. Further away and more stranded.

Did you learn anything during the writing of your recent book?
I learned a great deal about advertising and marketing, and how to get the twins name out there, the steps to take to get people to buy it.

If your book was made into a film, who would you like to play the lead?
Tricky one. Scarlet Johansson has the right deep husky voice, eye color and face to play Melissa, despite her short stature. I dunno about John in all honesty. Possibly Jeffry Dean Morgan. He has the right look. Lol, from The Life of Lol would only ever be Jaime Pressly

How did you come up with name of this book?
It just appeared BANG in my head one rainy afternoon

What is your favorite part of this book and why?
I think Melissa’s last day on earth is my favorite part. When Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum are finally parted (at least until they meet in the afterlife)

If you could spend time with a character from your book whom would it be? And what would you do during that day?
I’d spend the day with Melissa. We’d take some snacks in her Hare Bear Bunch lunch tin and go down to Poohsticks Bridge to sit and talk. It’s enough to answer her and sit and listen to her voice and watch her laughter. It’d most likely rain, so we’d scurry off to the upturned boat shelter and eat our snacks in the damp. I’d take my coat off and we’d huddle in it, laughing that we were huddling in a rickety shelter when we had a nice warm house not too far away.

Are your characters based off real people or did they all come entirely from your imagination?
John and Melissa are their own people, but they’re loosely based on myself and my twin, Helen.

Do your characters seem to hijack the story or do you feel like you have the reigns of the story?
They always have control of the story. I wanted them to sell Belle-Starr house, but they simply wouldn’t allow it.

Convince us why you feel your book is a must read.
Because in this world of fancy gadgets and this mentality of “want it all,” John and Melissa demonstrate that none of that is of any importance. Poohsticks bridge is a blueprint of how to live a happy life full of love despite poverty, a demonstration of how togetherness can overcome all obstacles.

Have you written any other books that are not published?
Only works in progress

What did you edit out of this book?
Dozens of fun scenes that didn’t seem to move the action on. I could make a book full of cut scenes.

What are your top 10 favorite books/authors?
I don’t really have a top ten. I’m mostly a comic book reader. Alan Moore’s halo Jones would be up there, as would any works from Floyd Gotfredson and Carl Barks. I have a love of Rowling’s Harry Potter novels and the works of Ian Fleming and Charles Dickens.

What book do you think everyone should read?
Charles Dickens Bleak House

How long have you been writing?
Since I was eleven

Do the characters all come to you at the same time or do some of them come to you as you write?
One leads to another. I get one anchor character and suddenly the rest appear as I follow anchor characters story along in my head.

What kind of research do you do before you begin writing a book?
Extensive. Research can include the general area, the weather, road systems, radio stations. For tales from Belle-Starr House, which is based in Gold rush Yukon territory and Skagway Alaska, I have been researching riverboat gambling, ranching, and gold mining.

Do you see writing as a career?
Definitely. Whether I’ll be rich is another matter…

What do you think about the current publishing market?
Hard to break into. It’s like the movie industry. Nobody wants to gamble and take a chance on anything anymore. It is easier with the internet, but there’s so much out there its sometimes harder to be seen. And often with indie publishing, there’s a stigma attached to it as a lot of “self-published” books are pretty piss-poor and badly edited

Do you prefer to write in silence or with noise? Why?
Usually silence. If I have music on, then I’m listening to it, and doing nothing else

Do you write one book at a time or do you have several going at a time?
I prefer to concentrate on one at a time, and give it my whole attention.

If you could have been the author of any book ever written, which book would you choose?
The Harry Potter series. Blindingly clever. Mix Enid Blyton’s popular and fondly remembered boarding school novels with magic and wizards. What an idea.

Pen or type writer or computer?
Computer. Writing by hand seems to be an exercise in futility

What made you want to become an author and do you feel it was the right decision?
I was sat there one day playing this game, years ago. And suddenly a cut scene came on, and I thought

“NO! I didn’t want that to happen, I wanted..this….to happen”

I felt so frustrated that the character didn’t do what I wanted. And so I wrote a short story in which she DID do what I wanted.

A day in the life of the author?
If I’m not doing my paid job, then, if there’s a book released recently, I’m marketing it, answering queries, sharing new social media posts and links for the book, going to the post with books for customers, following up with people who haven’t paid. Mix that with research for new books, structuring and plotting…and finally writing. Possibly some beta reading for people who have done me favors. Somewhere in that I’ll have time for coffee and food. Maybe a wash, change of clothes?

Advice they would give new authors?
1.Don’t expect to be either famous or rich.  
2. Writing can have several different aspects to it – research, structuring, writing, editing, marketing, cover design. Even if you’re not doing ALL of those yourself, a new writer will still need to know how they work.
3. Have something on the desk to play with. I have my desk dolly, Valerie who sits and glares at me and tells me to work harder. And a red snooker ball to roll around when I’m thinking.

Describe your writing style.
I’m full of action, cuss words, and fights. When Helen’s voice takes over, she’s quiet, wistful, reflective with very little movement. We work well together.

What makes a good story?
I prefer things that are told over a long period of time. I’m a massive fan of the old Mickey Mouse dailies, from Gottfredson, and Barks’ Uncle Scrooge, with their long meandering plots that take place over vast distances and time. I prefer simplicity of plot, rather something really convoluted

What are you currently reading?
Out of the Black by David Whale (a sequel to the excellent Radko’s war)

What is your writing process? For instance do you do an outline first? Do you do the chapters first?
I outline everything to the nearest inch and have a massive chart of events that overlaps into other books. A car driving down the highway in the 1981 chapter of Poohsticks Bridge might have a significance in the new Ballad of Bobbie May Moses short story. It might not, but it’s there if I need it. Everything is planned quite carefully.

What are common traps for aspiring writers?
I think there’s a tendency to start too many things at once. Plot bunnies. New ideas hit thick and fast.
I never used to know where my stories were going, and didn’t really plan for an ending. It was all “let’s see where this thread leads.” So a lot of stories didn’t get finished as I lost control.

The belief than upon release on Amazon, the author will instantly be a writing legend and the book a number one bestseller. And when the book sells four copies, disappointment hits and the pencil gets snapped.

Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?
I’m a lover of tragedy, and whipping out the rug from under a reader when they least expect it. Take with my occasional comic strip about Natalie, a wheelchair bound cancer sufferer. Just as she got better and her teenage daughter began to relax, I wrote an episode in which Natalie suddenly died. Dropped a ton of bricks on the reader. I like that “unpredictability of life” appearing. But at the same time, this is often a hard, nasty world. I want someone to read my book, go through all the troubles and come out the other end with a reasonably happy ending. I don’t want people to put it down feeling worse than when they started.

The original version of my first novel, The Life of Lol, just as gangster and badass chick Lol learned a lesson about life, she was caught with a gun in the trunk of her car and returned to prison for life. But the released version has this edited out, and her reunited with her lover and destined for a happy life.

If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?
Go out sometimes, drink more alcohol, talk to more girls and do less drugs. Live life. And when you meet Keira Knightley in July 2002 out with her mates in that pub, ask for her number instead of acting like a right berk.

What’s the most difficult thing about writing characters from the opposite sex?
I’ve never found it hard to write female characters. I grew up in a house full of women so, for me, writing male parts was always trickier.

How long on average does it take you to write a book?
I really have no average. The Life of Lol took five weeks from start to finish, whereas Poohsticks Bridge was three years.

Do you believe in writer’s block?
I dunno, maybe. With me it’s just laziness. If I don’t want to write, I won’t. I’m just as happy watching football. When I’m ready, it’ll happen. If I don’t know what to write, I go poke one of my characters and we have a chat, and see what emerges. I get mass amounts of story ideas out and about, and I’ve always spent plenty of time involved in daily life on the streets so I’ve never struggled for ideas or characters.

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