Dr Katy Gavin, Writer and Editor

My current project WHAT THE TIDES WON'T WASH AWAY is a novel about student archaeologists who uncover more than they bargained for...

A remote Scottish island.

An unexpected burial.

A romance that endured for millennia.

When a group of archaeology students begin their summer dig, they expect bad weather, midges, and maybe some pottery if they're lucky. What they find instead sets off a chain of paranormal events, and unearths a secret that someone will do anything to keep hidden.

Does anyone have advice or questions you'd suggest asking them?

Two more to go and 25 days to write them let fucking gooooooo

What's the name of that thing paramedics strap injured people to in air ambulances? 🚑

Is all black sand magnetic? 🧭

What's a better word for 'bum'? 🍑

Can you sell an artefact that was found on your land in Scotland? 📿

What if it was found 100 years ago? ⚱️

Sorry girl I'm about to ruin your life.

Whomst did I think I was, the audacity

Beautiful ✅Sexy ✅ Perfect ✅ She's Everything ✅ Yes ✅ ILY✅

My trying to make a pinterest board for my MMC:

Awful ❌ Embarrassing ❌ Why Are You Like This ❌ Why Is This So Hard ❌ No One Is Right ❌

Am I strange for writing my whole book completely in order, like chapter 1, 2, 3 and so on?

I keep seeing the same writing advice, if you have writer's block just skip ahead to write what you want to write and that's better than no progress.

But what happens when you've written all the fun bits and all that's left is hard work? How do people motivate themselves to get that done?

I can't make myself do it, the empty gaps stress me out too much, and slogging through the hard bits with an exciting scene a few chapters away feels motivational.

Its probably off-putting to me because of my background in academic writing. Very little of that was fun to write but I just had to get it done, and I found writing out of order very messy.

Is anyone else out there feeling this way too?

You'll notice awkward dialogue really quickly, things that don't make sense, typos, missing dialogue tags etc.

Wednesday 24th July, 1895 – Week 2 of Excavations

I had the most peculiar dream last night. I stood before a great burning pyre, the logs stacked high and blazing with a fierce heat. I could feel the warmth upon my face as the flames leapt upward. It was a perfectly clear night; thousands of stars lit the heavens. Further down the coast, the silhouette of the broch stood stark in the moonlight. Around the pyre gathered figures in strange attire — skins and tunics, some wearing masks. They sang and chanted and wailed.

I felt an extraordinary pain in my breast as I watched the fire consume its charge — as though a scream had lodged itself within my very bones. I sensed the stillness of a future bereft, of dreams unfulfilled, of empty arms. An ache that seemed to echo across the millennia. Who was it that burned upon that pyre? And why, as I looked through the eyes of another, did I feel their sorrow as if it were my own?

Perhaps I was unsettled by the protests of the local farmers earlier in the day. They had left dead lambs at our gate, a grim warning regarding Father’s intention to sell the island to a foreign investor. It was a ghastly sight, the poor creatures’ bright eyes pecked out by the rooks that circled above.