Oh - hello!

Happy new year, if February 27th isn't too late for such a greeting. I won't bore you with excuses  explanations for my shameful blog absence, in the hope of giving it a little air of mystery and intrigue, suggestive of sojourns on far-flung shores beyond the reach of wifi, or exciting happenings too top-secret to share. Anyway, here I am - still alive, still writing (still in my pyjamas at midday mostly - although perhaps I should keep quiet about that in view of the mystery and intrigue thing.)

Yesterday I managed to get changed out of my pyjamas before midday and put on mascara and decent underwear and head down to London for the RNA RoNA Awards. I hadn't intended to go, being under a self-imposed ban on fun, frivolity and glamorous events, but last week (in the middle of half term, which might not be coincidental) I had a sudden craving for all of the above; as well as for the pleasurable ache you get in your throat and feet the morning after you've talked your head off in a crowded room for a couple of hours wearing high heels. It was a fab evening, and easily justifiable to my inner Writing Despot on the grounds that it yielded not only plentiful champagne, but also bucketloads of motivation from being surrounded by totally top authors (as well as the chance to meet the amazing Susanna Kearsley in actual person, which was pretty overwhelming as I'd spent the entire journey down engrossed in The Firebird. Honestly, at my age I really should be past blushing and stammering when I meet people, shouldn't I?) Because it was a fairly last minute impulse, I didn't stay the night in town, but if I had I would have liked to spend it here, which is where Abby Green and Heidi Rice partied into the small hours on the contents of a very luxuriously-stocked mini-bar.

Anyway, the news on the homefront is that my book is coming together, though my computer is falling apart. Remember the terrifyingly efficient Mac? *hollow laugh* It is no longer presiding over my cluttered desk with its reproachful sleekness, but is in some repair centre in Warrington where, I was informed this morning, it might remain for another three weeks. THREE WEEKS? Do they not know that I've set myself a deadline of May for this book and there's still an awful lot of anguish to endure (both on the page and in reality) if that goal is to be met?? Of course there's nothing to be done (although the mini-rant on the phone was cathartic) except keep going - on scraps of paper, on the Fisher-Price netbook and the backs of envelopes if need be. Luckily I'm at the stage where the story is vivid and immediate and writing itself, which is just as well as writing is a bizarrely ritualistic activity; generally I need to be in the same place, with the same mug, the same scented candle, listening to the same music, wearing the same pyjamas for it to work. Though maybe that's not writing. Maybe that's just me.

It's been ages since I posted any writing soundtracks, so here's a bit of the music I'd be listening to, if I still had my Mac on which to listen to it. As it is, you can imagine me humming it tunelessly as I scribble away in my cheap supermarket notebook.

Lipstick, literature and a lovely weekend.

Back at my desk and feeling rather deflated (though sadly only in an emotional rather than a physical sense) after a weekend of brilliant company, amusing conversation, culture, champagne and shopping. Friday saw the annual Mills & Boon Author lunch, always a full-blown lipstick-mascara-heels event and a big gold-star date on my calendar. Travelling down on the train I tapped away at my laptop, enjoying the illusion of being a proper Professional Person, while trying not to bounce up and down on my seat with excitement at the prospect of seeing everyone and a whole day and night of behaving irresponsibly with Abby Green.

Cool professionalism was further undermined on arrival in the room where the lunch was being held (feel the urge to refer to it as 'luncheon', which tells you what kind of room it is) by the pink goody bags at each place setting. As someone who, over the years, has spent vast amounts of cash and many late nights putting together pink party bags for mini-guests at endless birthday parties this was a most pleasing manifestation of karma, though I have to confess that nothing as generous or exciting as Laurent Perrier champagne, Hotel Chocolat Kir Royale chocolates, candles or pink moleskine notebooks (with M&B logo) have ever appeared in a party bag of my creation.

It was a fabulous day, ending with a lovely, champagne-hazy evening at the M&B Author Toast (complete with dainty canapes, but no actual toast) during which conversation embraced such highbrow topics as The Actor Most Suited to Playing Christian Grey (Henry Cavill, obv) and Preparations for Childbirth (which I'm not going to mention, for fear of attracting the wrong sort of visitor via Google Search).  The following morning I met Daughter #1 from the train at Euston as she'd been shortlisted in a poetry competition in Peterborough that evening, which was a fine excuse for a day in London first. Given the purpose of the visit and her literary leanings she was keen to make a pilgrimage to Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey, which supplied the cultural element of the weekend. Not only is she a talented poet, but she also has a prodigious skill in getting me to part with large amounts of cash, so after lunch I found myself in Topshop with my credit card in my hand. Seriously, the girl's a genius.

The evening's poetry event was hugely enjoyable and inspiring, not only because Sir Andrew Motion was the judge and gave a reading, but also because hearing the variety of styles and approaches to the theme in the shortlisted poems was so interesting. Also on the judging panel was the super-cool Mark Grist, writer and performer of one of my favourite poems of recent years. Check this out...

(I like a man who even knows about the works of Jilly Cooper, 

never mind re-enacting the raunchy bits...)

Anyway, yesterday was spent sitting on draughty branch-line stations in the syrupy autumn sun and waiting for delayed trains and missed connections to get home. The days when this would have been an endurance test of endless games of I-spy and Hangman are still fresh in my memory, but it was actually a joy to spend time with lovely daughter #1 and talk about things we never get a chance to at home, where conversations rarely progress beyond the number of wet towels on the bathroom floor or the whereabouts of my Touche Eclat.

Back at home the fridge was full (of slightly random items ordered by Him in the online shop) the fire was laid, and there was plenty of time to unpack, hug daughters 2 and 3 and chill the goody bag champagne before DOWNTON ABBEY.

(And that, ladies, is a whole new avenue of joy and the subject of a post all of its own...)

Days Like These

How inconsiderate of daughter #2 to be born on the same day, 13 years ago, as the RNA Pure Passion Awards. This evening, instead of putting on high heels and teetering along to Whitehall Place to drink champagne and hold Abby Green's hand as she waits for the winner of Love Story of the Year to be announced, I will be lighting birthday candles and retreating to a safe distance from the shrieking of teenage girls (possibly with a bottle of Prosecco.)

Before that, when I would have been catching the train down to London (if daughter#2 had made her appearance on the right day 13 years ago) I am going to be sitting in the doctors (for probably about the same amount of time as it would take to get to London) waiting for a Tetanus injection, after Muffin the rabbit took a chunk out of my finger on Saturday.

*sniffs bravely and assumes a pious expression* A lesser person would probably be very bitter.

Time for a mini-celebration

The RNA shortlists have been announced. Lots of fabulous books, by lots of fabulous authors (and thanks to my lovely kindle I now have three new titles at my fingertips for weekend reading) including a certain Modern/Presents writer called Abby Green with her lush book Bride in a Gilded Cage. Now, if we were blokes, this is how we'd react to this news...

...As we're polite lady romance writers and readers, I think something like this is much more appropriate...

Cheers Abby darling!! So well deserved!

Some things I would blog about if I had time to blog...

• Books I’ve read recently
  Particularly Abby Green’s Breaking the Sheikh's Rules, which has gone right into my top ten Modern/Presents books somewhere around the number one slot thanks to a combination of a really sexy hero, the most appealing and adorable heroine and the kind of setting that makes me sigh with nostalgic satisfaction. I’m not usually a huge fan of sheikh books for all sorts of reasons, but this one hooked me in on page one with its lush Irish backdrop and the horses – there was something about it that whizzed me right back to the first Mills & Boon books I ever read as a teenager and reminded me exactly why I fell in love with them. I’ve also just finished Michelle Reid’s Balfour book – Mia’s Scandal, which features another really fabulous, memorable heroine. It was - predictably - gorgeously written, pacy, sexy and satisfying, as well as being really interesting to see bits of the wider Balfour puzzle slotting into place, and find characters I’d got to know pretty well pop up in a different setting. Made me want to go back and re-visit my Balfour book, so it’s pretty convenient that…

• My author copies finally arrived!
  Emily and Luis are in the building. I, however, will not be for much longer as we are about to go on holiday, making it extremely bad timing to blog in detail about the book and do a contest. Gah! Will get to it when we get home again, but in the meantime, talking of contests…
  
  
• Mills & Boon’s New Voices Contest has just been launched.
  If you have ever harboured any ambition to write for the world’s biggest and best-loved romance publisher this is a fab chance to give it a go. My take on it is that it’s not so much about winning an i-pad or an editor – though one lucky, talented person is going to wake up with an almighty champagne hangover at the end of it all – but about being given that crucial little push to start putting your dreams in motion. I often wonder how long it would have taken me to stop faffing around and finding excuses if Penny Jordan hadn’t told me to go away and write a chapter and send it to her within two weeks, so if you’re an uber-procrastinator like me you can look on this as your call to action. Start writing over the summer, ready to put something up on the website in September (under a pseudonym if you’re shy) and take advantage of a whole lot of free and honest critiquing. (Which might hurt, but will be a taste of things to come if you get accepted!) And tied into the contest is...

• The event I’m doing at Nantwich Library on September 9th.
  I’m doing away with the workshop thing and am going for a much more relaxed, informal discussion on Everything You Need to Know About Writing a Mills & Boon Romance (And Possibly Several Things That You Don’t) so Nantwich Library is the place to be if you have burning questions about lines, love scenes, layering conflict, or anything else – even if it doesn’t begin with ‘L’. I'd really love to see you, if you're remotely thinking of coming. (I think you need to phone the library to book places - details are here on the romance is not dead website.) I’m fully intending to max up the girly afternoon tea opportunity, and am really looking forward to doing my first M&B event on home turf, in the library where I used to spend Saturday mornings sitting on the mustard-coloured scratchy carpet reading The Wild Swans (my absolute favourite book for years – I borrowed it so many times I don’t know why my mum didn’t just buy me a copy for Christmas. Sniff.) Anyway, on the subject of home turf, daughters 1 and 2 came with me last week to the launch of…

• An exhibition in our local (gem of a) museum entitled Nantwich People Past and Present. Penny Jordan and I are both included, along with a surprising amount of interesting and inspiring people for such a tiny rural market town. I am in a corner, nose to nose with Isabella Blow. And not many people can say that.

And the Winner is...

I’ve been so busy trying to get myself organized for my annual trip to London for the Mills & Boon Authors’ Lunch (and the associated glamorous revelry that goes on with it) that there hasn’t been a moment to announce that the winner of the Spanish Aristocrat Forced Bride competition is Lesley, with Johanna as a runner-up. Congratulations ladies, and I’ll get prizes in the post early next week on my return from the Big Smoke.

Once again this year Abby Green and I shall be setting up our Campaign Headquarters in a shared hotel room with a well-stocked mini bar. Over the next few days I am looking forward to…

• Applying my butterfly mind (too easily distracted here by the internet, the laundry pile, the telephone, the writing on the back of the cereal packets) to my New Book for the entire length of the train journey and then boring Abby Green with the plot dilemmas.
  
• Seeing Abby and Natalie Rivers and Christina Hollis and Michelle Styles and the Kates (Hardy and Walker) and Carole Mortimer and Sabrina Phillips and Sharon Kendrick and Penny Jordan and Chantelle Shaw and EVERYONE!
  
• Having hotel-room biscuits in bed for breakfast. With a hangover.
  
• Meeting my editor for afternoon tea tomorrow.
  
• Not having to decide what’s for dinner
  
• Wearing make-up and posh underwear (ie not faded, elastic-less or more than 5 years old)
  
• Not having to get up in time for the school run
  
• Coming home and hugging the daughters. And Him. Because no matter how much fun it is to go away, that’s always one of the best bits.

Back next week with a full report!

Costume Drama and On Location

Since His shock revelation at the weekend that the girls go back to school NEXT WEEK instead of the following one, under which happy illusion I had been joyfully labouring, the week has taken on something of a comical aspect. Like someone in a speeded-up film I am rushing around trying to assemble all the necessary bits of uniform and kit for daughter #2 as well as camping equipment, food contributions and 5 fancy dress costumes for our annual family get-together this weekend.

That's right-- this year the traditional Olympic games have been given an extra twist by brother #2, who (obviously bored in the office one day) has decreed that instead of being allocated countries, the teams will each be given a fancy dress theme. Daughter #1 is clad head to toe in lycra in the Superheroes (rather her than me), #2 has raided the dressing-up box and come up with a glamorous, swashbuckling ensemble for her place in the Pirate team, and #3 is cute as a button in denim and gingham for the Cowboys and Indians. Him Indoors had an alarmingly laid-back approach to putting together his look for the 70s Disco team, but very annoyingly managed to get everything in one quick swoop on the charity shops on Saturday afternoon. (Everything being hip-hugging ladies white flared trousers, black polyester shirt, cuban heeled boots, aviator shades and a loathsome gold medallion. The overall effect is John Travolta meets the Village People and is as camp as Christmas.) I am in The Victorians, so couldn't pass up such a golden opportunity to buy a corset. It's black, with fierce steel stud fastenings up the front and I'm utterly thrilled with it and its instant half-stone weight-loss effect. (Am currently wondering how I can incorporate it into my outfit for next month's glamorous Mills & Boon get together in London...) Quite how I shall manage to compete at table tennis and hula hooping in it remains a mystery. I predict another wooden spoon to add to my collection.

Anyway, in the midst of all this I'm also guiltily aware that I failed to deliver yesterday's promised look behind the scenes on location of Spanish Aristocrat Forced Bride, so here it is!(better late than never etc...)

The book opens at a glittering Costume Ball in the grounds of Stowell Castle (no women's polyester flares for Tristan though) and as I wrote this bit when school was out last summer, one of our favourite haunts brought the setting very vividly to life in my head. Cholmondeley Castle in Cheshire is the home of the Marchioness of Cholmondelely (famously and incomprehensibly pronounced Chumley) and the daughters and I spent a lot of time hanging around in the gardens, working out where you could land a helicopter and which would be the best place to put up marquees if you were having a party. This is my favourite view of the castle, from the lake where I built an imaginary folly on an island—Tristan’s secret retreat from the world.








By the time school went back and I tripped off down to London for the annual Mills & Boon Authors' Lunch I’d progressed to the part of the story which takes place at Lily’s home in London. As she’s a successful model I decided that she should definitely live in uber-chic, celebritytastic Primrose Hill, so Abby Green and I walked there from Euston (having stopped to pick up fortifying Krispy Kreme doughnuts on the way—it’s quite a distance, you know) to check it out. We bought a picnic lunch from a deli on Regents Park Road and ate it on the hill in the September sunshine, then wandered round looking for the kind of house that Lily might live in. We were really excited to come across the pretty little lilac-painted house in Chalcot Square which for a brief period had been the home of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. I did my university dissertation on Sylvia Plath so had to resist the urge to throw myself down on the pavement outside and lick the paving stones where she once walked, and instead decided that in tribute this would be Lily’s house in the book. (I’m sure Sylvia would be beyond thrilled to know this.)





The other important location in the book is Tristan’s home ground—Barcelona. Now, I love the internet, and its value as a research tool can’t be overstated, but there are some instances where it just seems ever so slightly inadequate— namely when I discovered this hotel tucked away in a tiny corner of the exquisitely pretty Placa de Sant Felipe (with its desperately sad history) and had a sudden and alarming urge to leave the kids with my mother and drag Him off that very weekend for some on-the-spot research. Perhaps fortunately the Hotel Neri was all booked up (no chance of them making space for me—unlike Tristan) so in the end I did have to fall back on the internet. This is the archway into the square...

Spookily this song was already on my playlist for the book when I discovered that the video was actually filmed in the square outside the church where Tristan and Lily get married. The children from the school, who get a mention in the book also make an appearance!

(And in spite of the woman dangerously writhing around on the scaffolding, I’d still love to go there… )

That seems a suitable note to leave on since next time I'm going to talk more about the music I was listening to when I wrote the book. I'll also get round to posting the question for the competition! (Shall try to think of something other than 'Where in the name of Cadbury are my $%*#! author copies'...)

Going Large

It's been that kind of week. Everything has just been bigger than usual. Like, for example...

1. My smile (and Orlando Winterton's head, probably) when I found out that Mistress: Hired for the Billionaire's Pleasure had won a Cataromance Reviewer's Choice Award.

2. The cover of At the Argentinean Billionaire's Bidding which, along with that of Sarah Morgan's The Prince's Waitress Wife, was blown up to larger-than-life proportions in Borders in Oxford Street at the launch of the International Billionaires series on Tuesday.

(Felicia Field is the girl with the ball. She's the partner of England flanker James Haskell, and the gorgeous face of Mills & Boon's partnership with the RFU.) (Thank goodness.)

3. My sense of gratitude and good fortune to be doing what I'm doing after an evening/late night spent with fellow Presents authors Susan Stephens, Sarah Morgan, Carole Mortimer and Abby Green at the rugby launch party (and afterwards in the hotel bar...) Intelligent, interesting and talented to a woman, these girls know how to laugh and drink champagne in exceptional style. (The hotel barman couldn't stay the distance and went to bed long before we'd finished. )

4. My hangover the next day.

5. My status in the Birthday Cake-Creation division of the Domestic Goddess Stakes , thanks to the impromptu construction of Krispy Kreme doughnuts bought as I hurried back from London on Daughter #3's birthday on Wednesday. In all my years of sobbing and swearing over elaborate crinoline Barbie confections and fairy castles painstakingly engineered from ice cream cones and swiss rolls, none of my efforts have ever been greeted with such delight as this one, or eaten with such speed and relish.

I'm sure there's a lesson in there somewhere...

Your mission for this weekend...

...should you choose to accept it. (And I strongly recommend that you do...)

• Go to a supermarket. Buy a large bar of chocolate (minimum 500g), a box of tissues, a bottle of wine/ indulgent beverage of your choice, and a copy of Abby Green’s latest book The Spaniard’s Marriage Bargain.

• Return home, thinking of a plausible story that will get you out of all domestic and social responsibilities for at least 24 hours.
  
• Unplug phone, make excuses to nearest and dearest and smuggle all purchases up to bed.
  
• Read Rowan and Isandro’s story, eat chocolate, drink wine and weep. And weep some more. And then probably read again...
  
  This is a seriously special book. And I’m honestly not just saying that because Abby Green is my friend—absolutely the opposite in fact, as I’m very fond of telling her (as publicly as possible—preferably in front of editors) that her books are completely terrible and that if she ever wants any writing advice she only has to ask. So naturally it pains me deeply to have to report that this is a cracking, whole box of tissues, edge of your seat, emotionally wrenching page-turner of a read. The characters are perfect: both of them are real and fragile, and their struggle to come to terms with past hurt and move on from it is brilliantly drawn, as is the irresistible sexual tension between them. The story itself is actually pretty breathtaking in its simplicity and emotional logic, with a twist that I just know will make you gasp out loud (and thank me for reminding you to buy the tissues.)
  
  Just don’t tell her I said so, OK?

Dublin

Amazing city, amazing people, amazing time. And since that's about as articulate as I can manage at the moment, here's a pictoral guide to the last few days...

If you can make sense of any of that, do fill me in. For some reason ( and I can't think why...) it's all a bit hazy, but I do know I had a GREAT time-- thanks Abby!

Still not here

With the Argentinean finished and accepted (and titled At the Argentinean Billionaire's Bidding, which I'm loving...) I’m taking a few days off to visit Abby Green in Dublin. Will be back at the end of the week with a full report of all the sophisticated, cultural things we’ve been up to.

(falls off chair laughing...)

And then I’m going to update my website.

Hello from Abby Green!

Dear all, I am guest blogging from India Grey's lovely home in Cheshire. Very shortly we will be taking the train down to London and getting ready for the cocktail party to celebrate Mills and Boon's Centenary celebrations. I arrived yesterday from Dublin on a Ryanair flight which turned out to be a relatively painless experience - which can't always be said of Ryanair! And then last night we had dinner with the legendary Penny Jordan. It was my first time meeting her and she is absolutely lovely, it was such a thrill to meet the person whose books you've enjoyed for so long. She really is an inspiration.I still have to dress and pack so I don't have much time as India is literally going to drag me away from here any second now, but we will be in touch (or I will be via India's blog) with news/updates/pics of it all.
Byeee! love, Abby Green

They're not magic, they're just pants

Arrrgghh. New magic knickers have the alarming effect of redistributing the lumps and bumps most bizarrely, so I look like a badly stuffed sofa. What to do? Just over 24 hours to go, so too late for herb tea and ryvita, and also liposuction. Spending whole day in a sauna wrapped in mud and seaweed not an option either, as I have to go and meet Abby Green at the airport in a little while. Maybe excess poundage will melt away during the frenzied last-minute tidy up I have to do before bringing her back here.

Tonight we’re going out for dinner with fabulous Penny Jordan. Obviously I won’t eat anything....

(Yeah, right!)