Writing is like life—you remember where you were when the important things happened.
When Livi Callaway threw caution to the wind for a Parisian kiss, in All Over the Place, I was tucked up under the covers in our smallest ever house—so tiny, you could vacuum the whole place from one power point.
When I realised that Cady (in The Same But Different) was about to get arrested in San Francisco, I was sitting on the bed in our tumbledown rental on the clifftop, where we watched cruise ships coming in and out (and wished we were on board!).
And while A North So True’s Zoe and Jakob were skating on a moonlit Swedish lake, under scattered northern stars, I had a view of summer treetops outside my current bedroom window.
Obviously, I write in/on my bed a lot! Because why wouldn’t you, really? But my old MacBook has seen action in all kinds of other places too—and I thought it would be fun to show you a few of them.
At gymnastics, and waiting for my mum at her physio appointment…
At the back of the music room during guitar lessons, and at tae kwon do…
And noisiest of all—at Inflatable World. Industrial-strength fans + super-hyped kids.
If you’re a writer and a mother, no ruckus can come between you and your story!
Sometimes it gets a little more glamorous…
But mostly it’s just me and Purdy. 🙂
Now I have a beautiful new computer (cue angels singing), and PLANS—for all the places we’ll go, and all the stories yet to come.
There’s a summery, sexy new series in the works for 2016…watch this space!
Meanwhile, A North So True is almost here! It’s already available for preorder at iBooks, and it’ll hit Amazon, B&N, Kobo and Tolino on April 14.
There are a very limited number of places left on the advance read and review team—so if you’d like to read Zoe and Jakob’s snow-kissed story, and can commit to leaving a review soon after release day, let me know, and I’ll send you a free copy.
For more details, just get in touch via my contact page! 🙂
A North So True
Love has its own latitude.
Zoe Bailey’s transient childhood left her with a passport full of stamps, an ambiguous accent, and nowhere to call home. And as a grown-up, her career at a relentlessly slick London PR firm has been half-hearted at best—until she travels on assignment to Lillavik as a not-quite-legit wildlife volunteer.
The tiny Swedish village holds a smorgasbord of secrets…and Jakob Westermark. Aloof and wild, like the wolves he studies, Jakob has good reason for keeping his distance. But it’s cold, he’s hot, and the temptation to mix pleasure with business is too strong for Zoe to resist.
Then Jakob’s wolves are threatened, and suspicion turns her way. With more to lose than she ever imagined, Zoe sets out to untangle the hidden threads running through Lillavik…and maybe, finally, find her own true north.
♥
You’ve probably heard of the 27 Club—that exclusive group of musicians who died at the age of 27, after a short life of wild excess. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse all joined the club, leaving their fans bereft and guaranteeing themselves a place in rock legend.
Jim Morrison is in the club—he died when he was 27. Well, that’s what they WANT us to believe. Actually, he’s alive and living in the Seychelles. No, he’s really a cowboy in Oregon. And he also has a regular gig playing a small club in Anaheim. Seriously though, he’s in the Lone Star state: Stephen King reports picking up a hitchhiker in Texas he swears was Jim Morrison.
And don’t people love to blame their mothers for their problems? Try this one. Everyone knows the story of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen. When she was found dead in their hotel bathroom with a single stab wound, Sid claimed to know nothing about it. He overdosed not long afterwards, having only made it to 21. It’s rumoured that his mother confessed to giving him a lethal injection of heroin, so he wouldn’t have to face a jail term for Nancy’s murder. No one knows where his ashes are—some say his mother scattered them on Nancy’s grave in Philadelphia. But witnesses claim to have seen her accidentally spill them at London’s Heathrow airport, where they were blown around by the airport ventilation system. Thanks mum.
