This is where the magic happens…
Prize Draw!
Be in with the chance of winning this stunning print by Gwenn Seemel by subscribing to my newsletter, via the contact page. To celebrate the publication of my debut novel, The Art of Murder, I am giving one lucky newsletter subscriber a copy of this fabulous print. It’s by American artist Gwenn Seemel, who uses…
Happy New Year – here’s something a bit naughty.
Don’t be fooled by the peony – in my garden at home – it’s a pretty photo to disguise the filth you’re about to read…It’s not a true story, but you know, there may be elements of truth hidden within the lines. Fifty years ago today, I lost my virginity. I’d imagined it so many…
The Placement
This is another possible opening of a novel. I was toying with the idea of a future society in which the population needed to be controlled. It got me thinking about the way it’s always women who bear the responsibility for contraception. I guess men might argue that’s how it should be as women are…
Searching for Gherkins
‘Searching for gherkins.’ It was as good an answer to my question as any, I suppose, coming from the prone figure of my mother as she shone the torch from her mobile phone under the fridge-freezer. Why she thought she might find gherkins under there was anyone’s guess. I stood at the back door to…
New Year, New Adventures!
Happy New Year, everyone. There is so much to do this year, I hardly know where to start. Just to go back a bit, I renamed Deadly Art after advice from Mark Stay (he of the Bestseller Academy until the end of 2023). It’s now called The Art of Murder. And it’s to be published…
Writery News
Hello, and welcome to my blog/website thingy. As well as stories I’ve written, I’d like to share news about my writing life and give information about the novels I’m working on. Right now, I have a novel out on submission. Called Deadly Art, it’s a murder mystery with a supernatural twist set in the art…
Time to Stand and Stare
Susan sat, her eyes closed, and listened. The heavy wind through the trees took her back to her childhood, to the crashing of waves on a sandy beach: its ebbs and flows, a convincing imitation of breakers followed by the soughing of water reclaimed by the sea. Opening her eyes, the ocean analogy remained with…
The Queue
We stopped to check the map after our row. And there they were. Four white horses, who looked as though they’d frolicked in a pot of black paint, lining up one behind the other while their leader stretched its head into the ice-cream van. ‘Mum, can I stroke the horses?’ said Maisie, tugging at my…
Caught by the Moon
I wrote this as an entry for the monthly competition run by the Australian Writers’ Centre. One day, I might develop it into something longer. Stella wound the necklace round her fingers, admiring its delicately chained links as it slipped over her skin. In the gauzy moonlight, the fluid movement reminded her of mercury and…
The Gift
Clara sighed again. She would never get used to it, the space atop the picture frame where the elf should sit. She berated herself for her sentimentality. Why get so worked up about a pipe-cleaner, felt and ping-pong ball creation which had seen better days even before her mother gave it to her? That was…
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Anne Woodward 