New Release

Another Beautiful Nightmare

It’s nearly been a year since my last release but hopefully, this will be the first of many in 2019. Also how pretty is this cover art created by Rebecca Poole?

I’m really pleased to be a part of this anthology with my short story ‘The Final Girl.’ Ruby was certainly an interesting character to write and I hope readers agree.

I’m not who you think I am.
…I don’t care.

Amazon UK

Amazon US

What would I be if I wasn’t a writer?

back to the #52weekblogchallenge and today I’m a day early. I know, it’s shocking. For someone who hasn’t been regularly blogging for awhile and I’m now 3 for 3.

What would I be if I wasn’t a writer? To be honest I’m not sure. I have a day job or in my case, a ridiculous morning job. I don’t know if that’s what I’ll do for the rest of my life but if I can keep focused, maybe I’ll be lucky and be able to write full time.

I imagine I’d always be doing something creative. I like photography and did a class when I was in college. It was a hobby I shared with my dad, but that’s a lot like writing. There’s a lot of us out in the world, it’s all about carving out your own niche but a writer or photographer, needs fans, without them we’re all just shouting out into the void.

If I had to choice a job which wasn’t creative? When I was little I wanted to do two things, brain surgeon or gardener. Could I picture my life like that? Not really. Not anymore.  Now it’s all about finding a balance, day/night job and everything else in between.


How much of myself is in my writing?

Yep I’m continuing with the #52weekblogchallenge. In all honesty I was about to go to bed and then remembered that I haven’t done this yet.

How much of myself is in my writing.

Now if I was a horror writer I could say, well a lot of myself does go into my writing. Blood, tears and the occasional spleen. Instead I’m going to have a grown up reply. It’s slightly boring but more accurate.

It really is a good question. I think writers put a lot of themselves into their work. It’s what makes books stand apart, they all have a distinctive voice and no two are the same. Some are strong. Some not so much. I put a lot of myself into my work, for me it’s my sense of humor. My lead characters all have a dry sense of wit.

When I’m feeling off my game, maybe I’m not feeling very well or I’m tired, I find that whatever I write that day is lacking something. It doesn’t draw the reader in and is quite flat. A lot of these things can be fixed in an edit when you see it with fresh eyes. My current story is the sequel to Heartless and I’m editing that before it goes to the editor. Getting rid of repeat or weak words and making it strong. It might sound silly, editing it before it gets to an editor, I mean that’s their job but this is my baby and I want it to be as close to perfect even before it gets to her.

My Earliest Memory

I have a habit of remembering the bad over the good. I can over analyzing like nobodies business. Which means I think a lot about the things I lost or what I’ve done wrong. I have conversations in my head with people I no longer talk to and with people no longer here. I’m a pressure cooker, I keep a lot bubbling underneath the surface and my anger, when it shows itself, shows itself like an explosion.

But that’s not the point of the blog. I can rage all I like but that’s not my earliest memory, it’s my current life.

Earliest memory. I’ll try to think of a good one.

I remember missing a glasses appointment when I was in primary school and getting into trouble for it. I also remember jumping from a fence and forgetting to bend my knees. I think that’s one of the reasons I still have back problems. Damn, I remember the pain so vividly and as I ran I cried my eyes out. It wasn’t even a proper run more like a shambling zombie. I can’t remember the precise moment I climbed the fence in our back garden but I don’t think I was walking properly. I might have still been in nappies.

I escaped from our back garden and then climbed some stairs in the flat which was next to our house. My parents must have been terrified. The fence was six feet tall and in all honesty I find it hard to believe that I was able to climb it safely but I did. My parents heard me crying because I got stuck up the stairs in the flats and couldn’t get back down again.


Continue reading “My Earliest Memory”

Favorite Thing I’ve written and why.

I’ve never been very good at keeping up with my blog. In all honesty I doubt that people read them very much anything. There are more ways to connect with readers these days and blogs seem a bit old hat.

The 52 week blog challenge seems like an interesting idea and if I post on a Sunday, it gives a week to think of the next topic.

I don’t have many published stories, so it shouldn’t be that hard to think of which one was my favorite. The first story I had published or maybe the first one I self-published? A story written in the first person or maybe the third? A new genre or one that speaks to my soul? It like choosing your favorite child or your last meal.


Let’s go with my last story. Every time I start to write a story I never remember how I did it. I know that sounds stupid, maybe even unbelievable but it’s the truth. It’s like learning how to ride a bike, then promptly falling off of it.

Broken Wings, a story that was originally published in an anthology is my last story. It features Oak Reedsinger, a fey who loses her wings after she saves a human child. Interaction with the human race is forbidden and Oak is exiled. Broken Wings is a short story and I loved it. It stretched me as a writer. The characters were interesting and I got good feedback from readers. It isn’t my most popular story, which is a shame as I wish more people read it. It has a brilliant story at the center of it about acceptance. 41rfe6+y9yl._sy346_


Broken Wings on Amazon