Biography

I am a British writer, born in London, England, and brought up on a south London Council
estate, the youngest of four children of Irish Catholic working class parents. Alas, one of
life's late developers, and, at that time, more interested in playing marbles than studying
for, and taking exams, I failed the 11+ examination, which was the exam that decided the
standard of the rest of your education (and usually the standard of the rest of your Iife...).

Like my older siblings, I left school in my mid-teens and started work - mostly a series of
tedious dead-end jobs. Though, funnily enough, the first job I had, when I left school at
sixteen, was as an assistant in a public library, with the perks (at that time, I don't know
if such perks still exist) of being able to borrow as many books as I liked and never having
to pay any fines. Ye Gods! Couldn't I do with such perks now! My fines from the library are
awe-inspiring! You know what it's like - you take books out for research, keep them for
months and always forget to renew them. Even though, nowadays, I do some of my research
on the internet, nothing really replaces the book held in the hand, with all the bibliographic information at the rear.

When I look back, that job at the library had the scope to become a career; unfortunately,
being young and gormless, I had little sense and even less interest in studying for exams.
I left the public library after about a year for a series of typing jobs of the dead-end variety.
Stupid, or what? But, I suppose, insight is not a gift that is given to the young...

Along the way, I met George, the darling man who became my husband. After a while, we
started our own business, which we ran for a number of years. I was responsible for the
office side, which I did in the evenings, after work, and I had to teach myself VAT, wages,
all the general accounts and how to keep the paperwork clean, which was probably the
most demanding aspect of all (we ran a vehicle repair workshop, my husband being a
grease monkey).

Anyway, after the rent for the premises doubled, the business staggered on for a few
more years until we finally realised we were flogging a horse that was already dead.
So we gave up the business and I continued with the dead-end typing jobs (which I had
never been able to afford to actually give up).

I had always been a great reader, and, after all the frustrations of day jobs and trying to
keep our business afloat, when I read an account by a published author (Colin Dexzter,
the author of the Morse novels), of what had decided him to try his hand at writing, it was
as if I finally saw a light at the end of the tunnel and - maybe - it wasn't the train.
Anyway, my love of English and reading eventually persuaded me to try to emulate this
author and attempt to do something about my intellectually unsatisfying and creatively
unfulfilling life.

So, I thought, what the heck? Do it or bust! Fortunately for me, at this stage, knowing
no one else with either any education or literary aspirations, I was blissfully ignorant of
how difficult it was (and is) to establish a writing career. Though, after the first book or
two were repeatedly rejected, a glimmer of understanding began to sink in...

Dear Reader
(as the Victorian novelists used to say), you are not alone in your pain and frustration;
most of us have been there - sometimes, like me - for years.

Because, for all my efforts, it wasn't till six books, six years and many rejections later,
that I held in my hand a hardback book that was published. That first book was
Land of Dreams , a short romance. It didn't earn me a fortune and neither have any of
my subsequent books, nor, unless you're very lucky, will yours. All the Lonely People is my sixteenth novel, and the twelfth in my Rafferty & Llewelyn crime series (Severn House UK June 2009) and I'm still not rich...

As for my non-writing life, I am still married to George, whom I met when I was twenty-five.
He was (and, strangely enough, still is!) older than me, and had two teenaged children
when we met. Unfortunately, although he's some years my senior, he's definitely not Sugar-Daddy material, having no more dosh than me. But we've been together for well over a quarter off a century - maybe that has something to do with sharing various traits - we're both Librans, though my husband is not a reader. I used to have to threaten to bash him over the head with the frying
pan to get him to read my manuscripts, but now, he volunteers (sore head memories?)

I enjoy gardening and used to love sewing, photography, painting (portraits mostly) and
teaching myself to play keyboards, but as writing demands so much of my time I have
little leisure for other pursuits apart from gardening, which I have stuck to, come what
may. I enjoy growing flowers and vegetables from seed; apart from writing, it's the only
other area of my life where I can feel creatively God-like, so I cling to it, come rejection
or deadlines.

Along the way, I've learned what other experienced authors say - that it doesn't get
any easier! Each succeeding book seems to be more difficult than the one before...
I'd be grateful for some tips on making it easier. Please! Share and share alike...?

I still live in England, though in 2000 we moved to Norfolk in East Anglia, which we both
love; partly because the area we live in is so blissfully free of traffic or traffic jams
(compared to London, anyway).