This, I think, sums up the writer's existence. It's a lonely one: sitting at your pc with only yourself for company. An exhausted self, who's wondering whether marriage to George Clooney might not be a more realistic dream than getting published.

But wait! You’ve had an invite to London! Yes, you, Ms-Can’t-Write-Not-Good-Enough! You can! So, come on down! And so, light-of-foot and hope soaring, you skip off--only to come back down to earth with a splat. They think it will make a good second novel. So, go home and mull over how you’re going to make a mess of the first.

And that--confidence having abandoned ship--is exactly what you do. And then, droopy-shouldered, you switch on your pc, to check your no emails, and… Yeesssss! Pardon? You blink at it again. And there it is. A contract!! Someone lurrves your work. Yesss! Yesss! Yessity-yesss! Little dance around da table wid da dogs! So, now you know why being part of The Wild Rose Press is so thrilling. I may still write on my own, in my conservatory with purple feet on a cold day, but I am not alone!

A little something more sensible about me: I’m a working mum. I work in financial services and I live in the small town of Droitwich in the UK, where I strive to stop my witty son typing – THE END – halfway through my manuscripts, and to keep up with the demands of my rescue dogs.