The Wrong Train Blog Tour!

Hey guys!

I know I don’t post much over here anymore and that’s because, if you’re not aware, I am a YouTuber over on my channel ProudFangirl which I will link at the end of this post!

Anyway, today’s post is probably one of the most exciting things I have ever done so far! Today is my day on The Wrong Train blog tour- ENJOY!

Image result for the wrong train jeremy de quidt

Imagine you’ve just managed to catch your train and you realise it’s the wrong one – you’d be annoyed of course, but not scared . . . Yet.
Imagine you get off the wrong train at the next station hoping to catch a train going back the way you came but the station is empty. Again you’d be annoyed, but not scared . . . Yet.
Imagine someone comes to the station, someone who starts to tell you stories to help you pass the time, but these aren’t any old stories . . . Scared yet? You will be.

So basically, I read this book on a plane, to America. Trust me, being trapped in a plane with this thriller was one of the scariest things. Sort of had to switch. One short story. One snack. One short story. One snack.

Just a little reward to myself for reading a scary story. Ugh, I’m such a child. Now I’m a fat child.

But anyway, my thoughts. I loved this book, if you couldn’t already tell. Despite the fact that I was grateful to be in such close proximity to my parents for the entire time I read this book for, I felt completely absorbed into this story. I wasn’t on a plane at all. I would be in a back garden. A haunted house. A train station. All because each story was so different and so well written that I was sucked into each story. Terrified to read but compelled to continue.

I cannot pick my favourite story because I think each story is so different that it’s not fair to single out an individual one. I loved each one. Even before I opened the book. I remember getting this book in the post and shoving in my  bag, putting it straight at the top of my list to read at the airport.

Jeremy de Quidt.jpeg

So, before I actually started writing this blog post, I emailed Jeremy De Quidt with a few questions as a little interview thing. What I got back was probably one of the most incredible things I have ever received. Honestly, I’m so blessed I started crying. Take a look: 

Caitlin sat opposite me at the table with the pen in her mouth while she thought. Then she smiled, held up her hand for me to be quiet and she wrote furiously on a piece of paper. When she’d done, she pushed the paper across the table towards me – hand with perfectly painted nails.  

“There you go,” she said. “Five questions.”

“Alrighty,” I said.

I picked the paper up and read the first one out loud.

Do you have any strange writing habits?” I said.

Caitlin nodded, “Yup.”

“You mean like me saying everything out loud as I type it?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Only if you do that,” she said.

“I do,” I said.

She screwed up her face. “Everything you write?”

“Everything,” I said.

She thought about that for a moment.


(Hard to type how long she stretched out that single word.

“Because how the words sound when they’re read out loud is really important to me. If it doesn’t flow when they’re read out loud, I change them.”

“So, do you do that when you’re writing in cafes and things?”

I shook my head.

“Only ever write at home and on my own.”

“Next one,” she said.

I looked at the paper.

“Your two main characters are nameless,” I read. “Why did you decide to do this?”

My turn to think about it. I’d done that quite deliberately, you see, so I said.

“Because everyone else in the stories gets named. To my mind not naming those two helped make the platform a colder, more unwelcoming place.”

I drifted off for a moment wondering whether it had actually made that difference, then realised that Caitlin was still looking at me.

“Sorry,” I said.

She tapped the paper. Number three.”

“Number three,” I said. “Do you have any scary events that have happened in your life similar to the ones you wrote about?”

I shook my head.

“Nope,” I said. “None of it’s based on things that have happened.” I grinned. “Doesn’t mean they can’t happen though.”

I looked at the paper again.

“Where did you get the…. what’s that word?”, I asked.

She turned the paper round to look at it.

“Inspiration,” she said.

“That never says ‘inspiration’” I said. I turned it back round. “‘Insppiration’ has at least two ‘p’s.”

“It doesn’t,” she said.

I looked at her. Spelling isn’t my strong point, and she seemed very positive.

“You sure?” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

 “…inspiration for your short stories,” I continued. “And why bind them with a bigger one?”

“Well,” I said. “The idea for the linking story came first – not the details of it, but the idea of eight stories being told and there being that twist about the telling of them (which we won’t give away because it would be a spoiler.) That was always my plan. Then, I wrote the eight stories in the order they appear in the book, made them up one by one, and only when they were all done, did I make up the actual linking story.”

“And the inspiration for them?” she insisted.

“Let’s just say I have a very large reservoir of dark ideas. Old ink that I can dip a pen into.”

“Last one,” she said.

I looked at the paper again.

“You sure it’s only one ‘p’?”

“Get on with it,” she said.

“Number 5,” I read out loud. “Do you have any advice for aspiring young authors?”

I thought about this for a long time.

“Well, do you?” she asked.

“Yes, I do. The first is that one idea isn’t ever enough. Make sure you have a whole jar of them before you start, because you’ll be amazed at how quickly you’ll get through them when you start writing. Join them up too, take one idea that you think is an all on its own job, and put it with another idea you think is an all on its own job, and what you’ll end up with will be bigger than both of them.”

“And the second?” Caitlin asked.

“That writing is just playing pretend on paper,” I said. “It’s playing pretend without all the running about. You just need to play pretend – that’s all that a writer does. We do it all the time.”

Then I smiled.

“There you go,” I said. “Five questions. Now you get to buy the coffee.”

She frowned.

“Was that the deal?” She asked.

“Sure was,” I said.


Forever in debt. I owe you coffee.

Highly, highly, recommend this book guys. Best place to read: anywhere close to someone so you don’t get terrified i.e airport.

4.5/5 stars GO BUY ITTTTTT

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