Emma has ghost-written numerous autobiographies, including several Sunday Times Bestsellers, for publishers such as Pan Macmillan and Simon & Schuster. Her clients have ranged from private commissions for real life stories to celebrities looking to top the charts with their autobiographies (Nanny Pat, anyone?). Incredibly versatile, Emma works with males and females, from teenagers to pensioners. As well as writing, Emma is director of Busy Bee PR, a PR agency that specialises in publicity for books and on-going author profiles. Prior to that, Emma was a journalist across local and national newspapers and magazines for ten years, covering news, arts and culture, and celebrity stories.
As a Story Terrace writer, Emma interviews customers and turns their life stories into books. Get to know her better: you can read an autobiographical story of her own below. Get in touch today to work with her!
The idea to head off to France with just a rucksack on my back and no actual plan was like a seed that had grown slowly in my brain over a couple of months. It began with the end of a long-term relationship the week before Valentine’s Day (a cliché, I know), and developed with a skiing trip to France where a holiday romance reminded me how much I liked all things French.
Aged 24, I was about to move up the career ladder, and knew that would mean no chance of stopping to catch my breath for a few years. So it was now or never, and before I knew it, my parents were waving me off at the village station, and it was on with the first step of my journey.
As the train pulled out of the station to take me to London, I prepared to feel overwhelmed with fear. But looking around at the silent, tired commuters on their way to another mundane day in the office, I instead had the urge to giggle, revelling in my own carefree decision.
Once in London I struggled against the tide of the packed underground, then enjoyed the peace of the Eurostar, before enduring a further six hours on the fast TGV. But sitting looking out the window, watching the endless flat fields of the French countryside whizz past, I felt a real sense of euphoria. To all those friends who had expressed their envy at my plans, saying “I wish I could do that!”, well I really was!
I chatted to my fellow passengers, tentatively tried my rusty French on the bored young catering manager, and read the guide to south France several times over.
Then finally, we were there.
I staggered out at my destination in Montpellier – already realising hair straighteners were a luxury too far in terms of weight – and with a little map-reading, and a lot of luck, found my hotel. The cheapest option in my guidebook, it was easy to see why. The rickety old bed in my grubby room was hardly the welcome sight a tired traveller would hope for. But lying in it half-an-hour later, flicking on the light sporadically to check for stray cockroaches, a huge rush of happiness swept through me. I had no idea what would follow the next day, let alone in the coming months, but that was the idea. This girl was ready, and couldn’t wait for the surprises!