Posted in News and Appearances

Writing Gay Romance

You know, I have to tell you something. It’s not easy being a writer of gay Romance fiction.  No Siree Bob, it’s really not.  I mean, for research purposes, I have to watch a lot of video footage involving gorgeous, sexy men ‘getting it on’. In many different ways. I mean, the horror, right? Next, I have to actively look on the internet for even more pictures of hot guys kissing, in various stages of undress and doing nasty things to each other so I can post them on social networks and make other people happy. Oh Lord, the pain… it hurts being a nice person. I may need to see a doctor about it.



I have to read books that give me a fluttering in the nether regions and make my insides all squishy. And books that make me cry and sob, and play havoc with my emotions. I have to subject myself to Andrew Christian videos, for heaven’s sake!! Oh , the shame…


And watch sad things like Hozier’s ‘Take me To Church’.

Oh, and watch the brilliantly talented and incredibly expressive Sergei Polunin performing in a way that brings tears to my eyes, he’s such a beautifully emotional dancer.


I drool over all the enticing pictures, which makes my chin wet and it chafes. So I have to put cream on it. Okay, well perhaps that’s an exaggeration. I do drool sometimes though. I also tear my clothing and weep to the skies when I see these pictures, or attend events where gorgeous cover model guys are in attendance, asking ‘Why? Why do you subject me to this now when I’m too damn old and over the hill to do anything about it? (I could be a cougar but I need cash to keep ‘em. And I don’t have the money to make them stay.)

And my poor family. They suffer with me.  The picture is probably also fairly true of today’s families…



This is a typical dinner table conversation in my house.

Me:  I got sent another dick picture today. *chews food*

Daughter : *rolls eyes* Who was it this time?

Me :*shrugging* No idea. Some random guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to women and of course, I’m a romance writer so I must be dirrrty…and I need to see his erect penis in all its glory.

Husband: *silently chews food while rolling eyes*

Son: Mom, you should block these perverts.

Me:*indignantly* but it was quite a nice dick…and anyway I’m not friends with these people, they just find me somehow.

Husband :*spluttering as he coughs food out of his mouth* Oh yes, because you’re ‘hidden away’, a mystery. You get about all over the bloody place like a tart!

*Realises what he’s just said and why everyone is smirking.* Sighs and rolls eyes again.

Me  : As he’s sent it to me, maybe I should use it for the porn site I’m building. *waits for the reaction as I sip my Coke*

General mayhem as food is spat all over the table.

Husband and son:  *together* What?

Me: *nodding airily* The site I’m building for the new book release. You know- Leslie’s book?

Husband: *disbelieving* Actual porn site with, like, you know… *waves hands*

Me: *nodding* Men screwing each other, yep. (I don’t use the F word at the dinner table or indeed, in public. I only use that word when I’m on my own, writing or driving. I’ve found since writing these stories, my language has become quite atrocious as a result. I never used to swear. This is a deep dark secret of mine that I’ve just told you…shhhh)

Daughter: I know about it. Mom asked me to film some of the scenes for the video footage. *smiles wickedly* *her cat among the pigeons move is complete*

Husband: You asked Ashley to film guys doing things? Our daughter is shooting porn?

Son *jaw still dropping*

Me: *frowning* Not actual sex scenes, sweetie. Just the nude shots. *pouts* But D, the actual guy I had earmarked for the part of Nicky Starr had to pull out because he had other commitments. So we’re just relying on stock photos that we can Photoshop. *sighs heavily* I had such expectations of those shots when D was doing it for me. He’s absolutely bloody yummy.

Me: *Turning to daughter.* Oh and that programme you recommended to clip out the good bits from the porn videos? It doesn’t work that well. I need another idea.

Mayhem ensues……needless to say dinner goes cold and I end up doing a LOT of explaining.

Everyone retires muttering to the lounge leaving me alone with my new video clipping tool and ready to rock and roll….

I mean, we’ve had other conversations around the dinner table that don’t involve my writing. Like talking about funerals and how to turn my mum into a diamond when she dies so we can make her into a ring. My mum wasn’t enamoured with that idea. Or how I want my funeral to be conducted – I want a Viking funeral (where do you think Taylor in Sight and Sinners got the idea?)Just stick my dead body on a wooden boat, set me alight and float me on the Thames…



Or the conversation about alien battles above our house. My son is an avid alien freakazoid and swears he saw a shootout in the sky the other night. He’s in a bromance with Brian Cox and all things science and the son is pretty clever when it comes to physics and stuff that’s totally beyond me. Jason trying to explain the concept of time travel, paradoxes, worm holes and stuff like that to me is something really funny to watch. My eyes glaze over and I actually just zone out. I’m not fond of time travelling scenarios, finding them hard to get my head around how the man who just died could be his own father and brother in another time, (but didn’t he just DIE?)and simultaneously exist with his second cousin and his son, who, yes you guessed it, are the same person…it freaks me out.

Gratuitous Space Battles 2 preview


Anyway I digress. Back to Romance writing. Actually, maybe not. I’ve said enough and probably bored you to death by now.

All I can say is, keep writing, keep reading; keep enjoying yourself and maybe one day in a future life? You may come back as a Romance writer too 🙂


Posted in News and Appearances

Things to do when you’re dead.

This is not a particularly cheery post so if you don’t like talking about death and dead bodies, don’t read it. Or if you have any very religious views. Again, I suggest you leave now.

My family and I had the most entertaining dinner time conversation the other day. It started off with us all sat around the dinner table deciding how we wanted to go out into Never Never land when we were dead.

I have this predilection to have a Viking funeral. I want to be laid on a wooden pyre, set on fire and pushed out to sea/The Thames/or wherever they’ll allow this to happen. I really do. I don’t want to be buried as I have an aversion to things eating me. I have a dislike of people coming to visit me at my grave when I can’t talk back. I have a horror of people visiting me in Perpetua with sickly smelling flowers, when they should be getting on with their lives.

Cremation is good, but ever one for a bit of flair, I like the Viking idea very much. Naked or clothed, I don’t really mind, just lay me down on the wooden thingy, light a match and let me go. I’d love someone to build a proper Viking boat and fill it around me with chocolate and crisps, just to put me in the right frame of mind when I get to Valhalla, but I doubt that’s going to happen.  So my family have been given their orders and I hope they manage to pull it off –somehow.

My seventy eight year old mother wasn’t too sure. Cremation was definitely her choice, but it was the old ‘ ooh, just shove me in a cardboard box, burn me and then scatter my ashes over Table Mountain in Cape Town, that’ll do me’ conversation that led us in a different direction.

My son came up with the idea of making her into a diamond. (He was short of money at the time and I have a feeling he might have pawned her the minute she was ‘diamondised’ for want of a better word.)

She thought this wasn’t too bad an idea (being diamondised not pawned) but then things spiralled out of control and suddenly, we were running a Mafia like family empire made rich by the bodies of dead people being stolen from morgues and crematoriums, being converted to precious gems and sold on the black market.

My family can sometimes go to extremes when we talk about stuff, going from the sublime to the total ridiculous in five seconds flat. I think it’s the writer in me coming out in them.

Of course, there’s always one in every family. Another member of the troupe decided they wanted a Parsee ceremony where the dead body is placed in a place known as ‘The Tower of Silence’ which is open to the air in a high place, there to be consumed by vultures as they slowly decomposed.

Just in case you’re interested in any of these scintillating possibilities as how to dispose of your dead body, take a look at the links below. You might get some ideas.

Me? I’ll stick with the old heave ho down the Thames, warm and toasty in my very own funeral pyre.