Vibrant Imaginative People

May 2025, Issue No.39

Your VIP Newsletter from Soulla's Writing Room

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Hello dear VIP friend,

How are you? We touched down back at London Luton Airport on Tuesday morning and guess what? It was raining… it was raining hard and we got just a little bit wet after being soaked in nothing but glorious sunshine for ten days… 

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Cyprus, My Love

Cyprus... it brings a new fresh experience each time we visit, and these past ten days connected me to my roots in a much more intimate and heartfelt way. There was something about the rhythm of the island this year, maybe it was because we slowed down, spent more time with my parents who were also holidaying out there… the scent of jasmine in the evening, the burst of lilac Jacaranda blooms, the smell of jasmine on our evening walks, the warmth of family connections, the unhurried pace of village life, the daily dose of vitamin D… this return to my homeland felt like both a homecoming and a discovery.

One of our highlights was Greek dancing with my cousins in a traditional taverna, the kind where the air is thick with the heat of the night, laughter and the clink of glasses. The music, played live by a bouzouki band, stirred something deep in me. We danced in circles, arms interlocked, stepping in sync, sometimes clumsily, sometimes gracefully, my heart full. I felt a unique joy in moving to the music of my ancestors, with people who share my blood and memories. It felt like we were dancing not just for ourselves but for the generations before us. Old ballads, words I remember my grandmother singing, repeated now by my own mother.

The food, of course, was its own story. We tucked into a feast of meze—little plates that just kept arriving at the table, one after the other: grilled halloumi, tomatoes warmed by the sun, creamy houmous, spicy sheftalia, kleftiko, and juicy souvlakia, all washed down with local Keo beer and for me, lots of water. The meal stretched into hours, and we were in no hurry. That’s what I love about Cypriot gatherings—food is never just food; it’s an excuse to sit, share, and soak up the moment.

Another day my parents , Alan and I drove to Kato Lefkara, my mum's village and mentioned in my book, The Summer Will Come, where I shared a meal with my mum’s Godbrothers and Godsister. They welcomed us into their summer home with open arms and trays of lovingly prepared food, including a family recipe, Lefkaritikos Ttavas, slow-cooked in their stone oven. We ate under the shade of a vine-covered terrace overlooking sweeping views of lemon groves, vineyards, and ancient olive trees—trees that seemed to whisper stories if you paused to listen. There was a peace in those hills that’s hard to describe—a grounding, a reminder of life’s simple pleasures and enduring roots.

On a quieter day, I had lunch with my parents and Alan in a beachside taverna in Zygi. Just the four of us, the sea lapping gently nearby, and plates of freshly grilled fish, lemon wedges, and crunchy village salad. The sun was bright but soft, and the breeze carried the scent of salt and thyme. Moments like these feel suspended in time, do you know what I mean? Just you, the people you love, and the sea stretching out before you.

And then there was Kalavasos—a small village that completely enchanted me. I wandered through narrow cobbled lanes and was mesmerised by the story and history of silkworm embroidery, an art form kept alive by generations of women. I stood in quiet awe before delicate lace and intricate stitching that spoke of patience, pride, and history woven by hand. It reminded me of the invisible threads that connect us all—to our ancestors, to each other, to the land.

There’s a kind of magic in returning to my roots again and again. It’s not just about revisiting old places, but about discovering new meanings in them. I came back feeling nourished—not just by the food (though that helped!) but by the richness of connection: to family, to land, to culture, and to a quieter version of myself I sometimes forget in the rush of everyday life in London. Cyprus never fails to stir my soul.

Where do you find the most peace for your soul?

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A Magazine for Book Lovers

And talking of peace... there's nothing quite like reading in peace, whether in your favourite nook at home, lying on a beach or in your local park with birdsong in the background.

So, with the sunshine and warmth of Cyprus still in my heart it’s lovely to be able to share two reading features which I contributed to the romance-pages section of the June issue of Spilt Ink Magazine as well as offering a review for She in the Literary section.

Look out for:

Why Love Stories Have Captured Our Hearts

and

Great Summer Reads With Soulla Christodoulou

I am also delighted to see the review for debut novel of author Electra Tanny’s The Man I Love too; a delightful Regency Romance novel by an author who I represent as her literary agent and whose next book in the series, The Scandalous Contract, is out later this year.

The magazine is going from strength to strength and you can keep up with and buy your copy via the website here. (the third edition is expected to be published June 2025)

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Just One More

Last, but certainly not least is a people focus. One of the things I love most about being an author is the connections I make with writers all over the world and most recently I connected with an author a little closer to home and wanted to share her wonderful books with you. So, it's my pleasure to introduce T.A. Rosewood to you!

T.A. Rosewood began her writing journey at thirteen with a short story called Looks Aren’t Everything – she describes it as 'a dramatic tale of teenage love that probably involved far too many exclamation marks and not enough actual plot!'

Then came her memorable GCSE English exam, where she was asked to write a two-page story and says, 'Clearly, I missed the memo about brevity being the soul of wit, because I handed in thirty pages! The story was called The Runaway – rather fitting, as my words have never learned to behave and stay within their designated boundaries. And yes, in a twist of irony that only life could deliver, this enthusiastic overflow of creativity led to me failing English. (Though I like to think I’ve had the last laugh on that one!)

In her twenties she dabbled in poetry, pouring her heart out about love, family, relationship dramas, and losses – five of which made it into published collections. But then life did what it does best: it got complicated. Marriage, a business, and children to raise meant her writing dreams were temporarily filed under "Someday Maybe."

That "someday" finally arrived after a chance encounter with bestselling author Jojo Moyes. She lit a spark that turned into a full-blown writing inferno, and she haven’t looked back since.

March 2020 saw the release of her debut novel, Reasonable Lies, and suddenly her writing addiction had a purpose.

Traci lives in Essex, England, with her husband, two children and Robbie the Westie Dog – who has yet to offer any useful plot suggestions despite the amount of time he spends with her in her writing room.

When she's not typing away at her next storyline or trying to convince her characters to behave (spoiler alert: they never do), you’ll find her jetting off to her favourite destination, Italy. There she will be exploring Italian restaurants and vineyards, "pretending I’m researching for my next book. In reality, I’m probably just hunting down the perfect tiramisu to go with my Barolo wine, but don’t tell anyone! La Dolce Vita as they say!"

And here's a little excerpt from her book, Just One More, a teaser to moisten your reading tastebuds:

'The soft glow of Ruby’s night light cast dancing shadows on the walls as Grace tucked her daughter into bed the following evening. Ruby’s favourite Mr. Snuggles cuddly toy clutched tightly in her arms, his worn-out pink plasters slowly but surely peeling off leaving sticky residue in his fur. Grace wished so hard for Ruby’s plaster to heal her body then it could be ripped off and she would be well, as if by magic or some divine intervention. She hated it so much that she couldn’t find a cure, give her the special medicine that tasted of bananas and it all be alright again.

“Mummy,” Ruby whispered, her voice small and fragile in the quiet room, “am I going to be better soon?”

Grace’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. She forced a smile, gently brushing a strand of hair from Ruby’s forehead. “Of course you are, sweetheart. Mummy’s going to make sure of it. Now, close your eyes and think happy thoughts. What should we dream about tonight, Mr. Snuggles?” Grace gently rubbed the toy’s tummy.

“Mr. Snuggles says we should dream about lots of ice cream,” Ruby mumbled, her eyelids already heavy with sleep. “And all the unicorn friends with magic sweeties.”

“Ice cream, unicorns and magic sweeties it is then,” Grace whispered softly, placing a gentle kiss on Ruby’s forehead as they hugged tighter. “Sweet dreams, my little pickle,” she whispered after a few moments, sensing Ruby had already begun to fall asleep.

She lingered in the doorway, watching Ruby’s chest rise and fall with each breath. How many more nights would she have like this? How many more bedtime stories, goodnight kisses, whispered dreams? How many more lies would she have to tell her little girl?'

Reading this makes me want to read more... how about you?

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This feels like a bumper issue and I really hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have enjoyed putting it together for you with meraki.

Share your views, share your reading and I hope to hear from you soon!

Happy new month and keep reading,

keep having fun and if you're off on holiday soon, enjoy!

Lots of love and big hugs, Soulla xxx

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