I was born in London but I now call Australia home. I love the weather, the laid back lifestyle, the space and the red wine.
- As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
I wanted to be lots of things. I remember when I was about seven wanting to be a librarian because I loved books. Over the years I progressed to actress and singer but ended up being an accountant. How did that happen? You tell me!
- Tell us about your latest book.
My latest book is called Go With the Flo. It’s set in the 1990’s. My heroine Florence joined Avon to find her Edward Scissorhands but instead finds herself on the trail of a missing local flasher. Her best friend Nelson reluctantly gets involved because Florence’s amateur sleuthing always leads to trouble. When her snooping gets Nelson kidnapped she realizes that her Edward Scissorhands was closer than she had ever imagined.
- Do you have anything new in the works and can you tell us a bit about it?
I am currently working on a story called Hot Male which is book three in my Reigning Men series. This book is a romantic comedy which has my heroine Meg, her boyfriend Sam and Irish stripper Michael Monaghan on the trail to bring Meg’s runaway nymphomaniac great aunt home. The crazy old lady has run off with Michael’s uncle and they need to find him before his wife finds them and punishes them both. Along the way Meg begins to realize Michael is not the man she had thought he was and Michael gets more from Meg and Sam than he could ever have hoped for.
- Is there anything you find particularly challenging about writing?
I really find rewrites hard work. Once you finish a book and submit it you mentally move onto something shiny and new. When your editor sends it back with a list of things she wants you to rework it is just awful. The shiny new idea has to be shelved and you have to pull on your big girl panties and get to work rewriting something you had thought was perfect. Fortunately my editor knows what she is talking about and my book is much better for the extra effort I have to put in.
- What advice would you give to writers just starting out?
Write. Don’t play on Facebook. Don’t spend hours on courses. Don’t join writing groups. Don’t waste hours on writing websites unless you are spending time writing. Lots of writers get caught up in the idea of writing and the lifestyle of hanging out with writers but eventually you need to open up your laptop and type something if you want to be a writer.
- Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? If so, what do you do about it?
I do suffer from writers block. Although more usually I suffer from writer’s stupidity where I have my characters doing something stupid and out of character. The cure for both ailments is my lovely critique partner Jane. She is the first person I contact if I hit a wall and she talks through the plot with me until I can move on. And the other thing…yeah she gets a piece to critique and she responds with “What the hell were you thinking?” and no excuse works except going back and fixing whatever great idea I had that was just wrong.
- Who is your favorite author and why?
I have lots but today I think I would choose Janet Evanovich. She is one of the few writers who has created a character that makes me laugh out loud. Her sense of humor is much like mine and her Stephanie Plum series is a favourite of mine.
- What books have most influenced your life?
Oh, that is a hard question. As a child I spent half my life reading. We didn’t have a TV for years and even when we did get one I preferred a book any day of the week. Books gave me hope that life could be so much more than my experience to date. I loved The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. The Hobbit and so many more. Alice in Wonderland was also a favourite. As an adult I think The Rum Diary but Hunter S. Thompson hit a nerve. I have read it so many times the cover is falling off my copy. The book has little plot but the characters and the setting are awesome and something I strive to compete with.
- How did you deal with rejection letters?
I hit the delete button or dump them in the trash and move on. I used to sulk and be sad for days but you soon develop a thick skin. If they give me some reasons for the rejection I consider their comments and apply where I agree and as for form rejections it is just one persons opinion and doesn’t mean your career is over.
- What tools do you feel are must-haves for writers?
A sense of humor. Determination in the face of adversity. Masochism and a laptop.
- Where do you as an author draw the line on gory descriptions and/or erotic content?
I am not a big fan of bodily fluids and even in sex scenes I try to avoid going into great detail about them. As for gore, I write comedy and suspense so no one is dying from anything violent.
- What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done in the name of research?
Don’t tell anyone, but I hate research. I avoid it as much as I can and for that reason I haven’t done anything weird, yet.
- Don’t forget to give us links to your website etc.
Buy links for Go With the Flo
Go With The Flo
Nineties girl Florence Spring joined Avon to find her Edward Scissorhands but instead needs to rescue his porno alter ego.
When Florence notices her eccentric ex-boyfriend, Eddie, isn’t putting on his usual show in the front window on Friday night she decides to investigate. She asks her best friend, Nelson Tyler, to help but he seems more interested in seducing Florence than in finding her personal flasher. Florence has no idea when she embarks on the adventure she will accidentally shoot an undercover policeman, or that her actions will lead to Nelson’s kidnapping. Now with two men missing she has no choice but to continue and thwart the plans of a psychotic soon to be divorcee. She needs to rescue Nelson because life without him is unbearable, especially since she’s discovered his long sensitive fingers are far more erotic than scissorhands.
About the Author:
Born and bred in the UK, my whole life was turned on its head when, at the tender age of eighteen, I met and fell instantly in love with my darling husband. I knew the minute I met him I was going to marry him and, fortunately, he came to the same conclusion less than six months later.
My husband has shown me the world, starting by bringing me to Australia. The country we now call home, and where we have raised our two boys. It didn’t take me long to turn native, becoming a citizen and dropping the British accent. However, our wanderlust didn’t stop there. We have moved from state to state, always ready for a new adventure. We have also visited many destinations around the world.
My stories reflect my love for travel and exotic locations, along with my quirky British sense of humor. Well, you can’t give up all of your heritage now can you?
Florence Spring trudged down another empty street. A bag full of lipstick, foundation, eye shadow, and all manner of items designed to make a girl of the nineties a sight to behold, swung from her shoulder. The tote banged against her hip, aggravating an already aching bruise. Even though drizzle soaked her face, she resisted the urge to wipe it off. She knew it was her duty to represent the products she sold to the best of her ability. The handbook for sales 101 read, better to appear damp, than smudged.
This wasn’t how she’d envisioned life as an Avon representative. Where was her dark castle? Her mysterious hero? When would she find a beautiful man with a penchant for leather and rubber? She joined up to find her Edward Scissorhands. The closest she’d come was his porno alter ego, Edward Penishands.
If Eddie Cain wiggled his dick in his front room window one more time as she walked past, she would take the gold-handled nail scissors, on special this week for two dollars with any order over twenty dollars, and snip the little worm off. Bad enough she’d gone out with him once—once, and only once. The relationship had been doomed from the start. After his mother died, Eddie became most odd. Their one date had confirmed her belief that he was strange.
Snuggled together upstairs at the back of the number forty-six bus, he had whispered that he would like to handcuff her to his bed and whip her with a riding crop. She hadn’t even had a chance to answer before he let out a low moan and spontaneously ejaculated, leaving a noticeable stain on the front of his gray gabardine pants. She’d graciously lent him her jacket to carry in front of him as they climbed from the bus and entered the movie theatre. When he unzipped his fly and pulled the worm free at the first on-screen kiss, she excused herself and fled. She never did ask for her jacket back. It was her favorite too, genuine faux leather and fur. Never mind. She doubted even the dry cleaners would have been able to get the spunk stain out.
Cautiously, she approached number ninety-two Stoffer Street. The curtains hung open, however the front window stood bare. Eddie appeared to be out. She checked her watch. Bang on time. Eight p.m. as usual. She passed by every Friday night. He lived on the most direct route from her allotted sales patch to Nelson’s house. Eddie always waited for her. This time of the year he was usually silhouetted by the living room light. He’d never missed an opportunity to wiggle his wanger at her before. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed the little bugger; the wanger, not Eddie. She needed a good laugh after the dismal sales she usually mustered and Eddie always managed to add some element of humor to the whole sordid show. If only he learned to do the comedy act without the nudity he could take his show on the road. Of course, he could take it on the road with the striptease if he wanted to appeal to a whole other audience.
Truth be told, seeing him semi-naked once a week was, she suspected, the closest either of them had come to dating lately. If only she could find her prince charming, all dark, mysterious and quiet. She had a thing for silent movies. Everyone knew men of few words were sexy. You could imagine all sorts going on in their heads. Plans to show you the world, slay dragons, and win your heart. No one wanted to deal with the truth of them wondering if your boobs were real or if you had tissues stuffed in your bra, or calculating how long it would take them to wrestle you out of your underwear.
With a shrug, Florence tugged her jacket collar up in a feeble attempt to protect herself from the steady precipitation. She hated winter. Every year her mother reminisced about her childhood in England, telling Florence about the huge family Christmases they had which broke up the long cold months. Nothing happened in winter in New South Wales. Florence only had her mother’s secondhand memories of chocolate box celebrations. Although, Grandma Wilson did her best to break up the monotony of endless gray days with her Christmas in June party. Florence recalled the last outrageous family event only six weeks ago. What had that been beneath the mistletoe with Nelson? She shivered, even though she wasn’t cold. She needed to push that memory right out of her head before she reached her destination.
With a dismissive toss of her head, just in case he was watching, she left Eddie to his own sordid devices and continued on her way—her ego a little deflated. Even the local flasher had lost interest.
She turned the corner and a feeling of contentment swept over her. Her best friend Nelson’s home was her bolt-hole from reality, away from her parents and the madness at her house. The small, rundown, two-bed town house might look in need of TLC to some. To her it stood out as an oasis in a horrible sales jungle. A lamp lit vision shrouded in mist. The tiny house was a cottage by the sea, a cozy little shack in the woods, anything her imagination fancied.
Not bothering to knock, she turned the handle and stepped inside. A blast of motor oil and male musky-scented air greeted her, along with Nelson’s cat, Killer. She lifted the undersized ginger fur ball to her face and rubbed him against her cheek, giggling at his loud purr. He waited for her every week, as did Nelson. She always popped in to warm up before he escorted her home.
A shout came from the kitchen. “That you, Squirt?”
She put the cat down and dropped her heavy bag on the side table. After tugging off her sodden woolen gloves and damp jacket, she tossed them on the banister to dry.
“Yeah, it’s only me.”
She secured the front door so Killer couldn’t escape, and sauntered the length of the threadbare carpeted hallway, glancing at the shiny new bolt and padlock on the basement door. She stopped on the threshold of the kitchen and stared at the vision before her.
Nelson glanced up from where he was kneeling on the floor. His eyes were hidden by his tousled dark hair. A huge grin spread across his face. “Hot chocolate’s by the stove.”
She stared at the red and polished chrome monster currently taking up half the floor space. “What are you doing?”