Human beings are hardwired for connection and stories are one of the most powerful – and most accessible – ways to connect.  I was fascinated by stories as a child. Captivated by the new worlds contained within the pages of a book. Words were  magical to me – they cast spells that created those new worlds and all the wonderful characters I met there.

As I grew older, learned to craft those spells myself – I never lost my fascination with stories or my understanding of the immense power of words to create worlds and to change them; to hurt and to heal. I knew then – as I know now – that a good story, well told, brings us closer to one another and is never forgotten.

But do you know how to craft the stories that your ideal clients need and want to hear? The ones that they will inspire them to act? That they will remember forever?

Have you found your stories? The tales that will weave spells, build bridges and create connection with your people?

Can you use stories to explain to the world who you are, what you offer and what you stand for?

In this, very special, five-day ‘Actually in Wonderland’ experience we will get to work on your stories; seek out your inspiration and help you to find and share your voice. 

Join me for five days of ‘Lunchtime Lives Through the Looking Glass’ at 1pm each day.

Join me for five nights of ‘Curiouser & Curiouser Bedtime Stories’ at 8pm each evening.

Join me and the White Rabbit, the Cheshire Cat, the Queen of Hearts, the Mad Hatter and, of course, Alice.

Join me and learn how to craft stories that will build bridges and create connections between you and the people you most want to reach. Learn to weave magic with your words. 

We start on Monday 24th April. 

I hope you will join me. 

This is the beginning of my story. Join me for Actually in Wonderland and let me help you to work out yours. 

It’s late. I’m lying in bed, snuggled down under the warm, soft duvet listening to the sounds drifting up the stairs from the kitchen where my Mum is clearing up after dinner. The rain is hammering against the window as the storm gathers pace. My sister’s nightlight glows a pale yellow. The cause of much derision from me during the day – ‘Pah…you’re such a baby…afraid of the dark…’ – I secretly love the fact that even in the dead of night, I can still make out the gold and white daisies on our shared bedroom wall.

I’m awake. Not because of the much-scorned nightlight but because I am waiting: straining to hear – above the wind and rain – the sound of tires on the gravel driveway that will signal my Dad’s return home. If I am still awake when he comes up to say goodnight, I have a chance of persuading him to read me a story – and a bedtime story with Dad is worth pinching myself to stay awake for! He always picks the best books: The Hobbit; 1001 Arabian Nights; Tales of Narnia or Alice in Wonderland. He does different voices for all of the characters and never seems to forget which one is a growling baritone and which a high-pitched squeak. 

Hooray!

I can hear his car. The front door opens and closes. Affectionate murmuring and a gentle laugh in the kitchen. And then the creak of the bottom stair as Dad begins his climb up to our room.  He cracks open the door spilling light from the hallway across my bed and making the daisies seem to dance on the wall. ‘Are you still awake Sara?’ he whispers. And I know that part of him hopes I’m asleep. He’s tired after a long day. He just wants to collapse on the sofa with Mum and watch the news. But I’m five years old and the selfishness hasn’t been socialised out of me yet! ‘Yes! I’m awake! Please can you read me a story?’  He sits on the bed and I curl up next to him. I catch a waft of cigars, a hint of good red wine and the scratchy smell of damp wool from his suit. He forgot his umbrella again. Poor Dad.

And then my favourite night-time ritual begins:  “Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, ‘and what is the use of a book,’ thought Alice ‘without pictures or conversation?'”

A little girl waiting up for her bedtime story; a child obsessed with the power of words; a precocious bookworm with a headful of daydreams and faraway lands: is it ACTUALLY any wonder that she should grow up to forge a career in the world of communications, marketing and PR?