I hope everyone enjoys the interview regarding Go With the Flo!
Tell me about yourself.
I was born and grew up in the UK but now call Australia home. When I am not busy writing or working I love to travel.
What sets you apart from other writers?
Other writers tell me that I have a talent for writing comedy. I never realized that being funny was a talent. My teachers were never amused or in the habit of encouraging me. No matter what genre I am writing humor creeps in somewhere even when I don’t want it to.
Who are your favorite authors?
I have very eclectic taste in authors. I love JR Ward, Janet Evanovich and JD Robb but my all time favorite book is by Hunter S. Thompson.
We’re in a bar and I’m buying you a drink. What’ll it be?
A very large glass of Australian Shiraz.
What are you currently reading?
I am reading my way through JR Ward’s Fallen Angels series while I wait for the next Black Dagger Brotherhood book to be published.
What are your writing vices?
Other than a nice glass of red you mean? Oh and the occasional bar of chilli chocolate.
If you could gift yourself one superpower, what would it be?
Hmm. I would love to be able to warp time so that the hours I spend at the day job fly by and the time I have to write becomes infinite.
How do you deal with rejection?
Rejection letters used to send me into a fit of depression for days but I have had so many now that I just take them in my stride. If they are something more than a form rejection I take note of the comments and use what I can to improve my writing. Form rejections go in the bin before being toasted with a glass of red.
Where did the idea for your novel come from?
The inspiration for Go With the Flo came from watching the movie Edward Scissorhands and my own past life as a very bad Avon lady. Selling is not my thing so unfortunately I was no Peg Boggs. However, last year I had an idea for a story where the heroine joins Avon in the hopes of finding her own Edward Scissorhands. Instead she becomes the favorite audience for an ex-boyfriend turned local flasher. When her personal flasher goes missing Florence gets caught up with the idea she can rescue him like a young Miss Marple and engages her best friend Nelson to help. However, it is some time and a great deal of unfortunate events later before she realizes she had her Edward all along.
You’re stranded on a deserted island. What three items would you take?
A copy of the Rum Diary by Hunter S. Thompson, a cabana boy and a large bottle of rum.
What project are you working on now?
I am currently finishing up book 3 in my Reigning Men Series, Hot Male. This is the story of Irish stripper, Male Monaghan. Like books 1 and 2, Male Order and Male Review this is a romantic comedy. Michael has his eye on a lady but unfortunately she comes with a live in boyfriend and a bunch of crazy relatives.
Here is a sneak peek at the as yet unedited Prologue.
Shannon scowled at the glasses with the stupid colored umbrellas as Pete placed them on her tray. Thursday was her night off. They never opened on Thursdays. She had plans to visit a club in one of London’s less seedy areas and she was an exotic dancer not a fucking waitress.
Pete put the last drink down. “Table eight.”
“It won’t work.”
He leaned on the bar and leered at her boobs before running a finger along the edge of her skimpy bikini top, teasing the edge of a barely covered nipple. “We’ll see.”
She shifted out of reach. Pete disgusted her and the more she resisted the more he seemed to want her. Not that it stopped him trying to whore her out to punters. She didn’t do sex for money and she didn’t do sex with Pete, period. Fortunately, she pulled a big enough crowd that he wouldn’t dare get rid of her for refusing his gross efforts to seduce her. “Women won’t pay to see men take off their clothes.”
Pete glanced over her shoulder. “You want to tell them that?”
“You let them in for fucking free.”
“They’re paying for drinks aren’t they. Or they would be if you’d fucking deliver them. Chop, chop. The show’s about to start.”
“I bet you’ve got some ugly old bloke with shriveled bollocks who won’t even flop his sad dick out.”
Pete laughed. “You’ll see. Now move it.”
Shannon delivered the drinks with a forced smile on her face and then scooted to the back of the room to join Lisa who was already skiving off. The brunette passed Shannon a fag and lit it for her before blowing smoke rings. Shannon inhaled deeply and sighed as the nicotine hit her bloodstream. “Have you seen the hired naked dick?”
Lisa shook her head. “Nope, Pete’s had him under wraps. Rumor I heard was that he’s foreign and he’s never took his clothes off in front of an audience before.”
Shannon giggled. “Oh God, this could be a right laugh if he gets stage fright. His dick’ll shrivel up. We’ll need a magnifying glass to find it.”
Pete came to stand behind them and Shannon edged away as his fingers brushed her arse. The lights dimmed and the room was plunged into darkness. A hush fell over the crowd and then a deep guitar wail filled the air. A single spotlight hit the stage. Shannon’s stripper pole had been transformed into a lamp post. As the strains of Gary Moore’s Parisian Walkways mesmerized the crowd a barefoot male stepped into the light, resplendent in top hat and tails, with a cane and gloves completing his ensemble. He lifted his head revealing shoulder length dark hair, chiseled features and full lips. He gave off an air of sexy disinterest at being the centre of attention. His dark eyes scanned the crowd as he tossed the cane to someone off stage and then grabbed the lamp post with one hand and spun around in a twirl so low his hair all but brushed the timber floor.
Women yelled and whistled as he moved in front of the pole and began to remove clothes. His hips moved in time with the music and the lamp post all but became his lover as his gloves, jacket, shirt and pants were tossed aside. He slid his hands over his body. Shannon’s skin warmed and her nipples pebbled as she imagined him touching her like that.
Standing in only a top hat and g-string he moved to the music with a grace that made Shannon catch her breath. He was six foot, studly and bad boy fucking awesome. When the guitar wailed on a single note the stripper stopped, dropped his head and held his hat in front of his crotch. The air rippled with tension and Shannon licked her lips as she wondered if he would really go the full Monty. As the note ended he tugged his g-string off and Shannon held her breath. The song and the room fell completely silent for a heartbeat and when the guitar riff echoed around the room he flipped the hat into his right hand and rolled it up his arm to land perfectly on his head. He spread his arms wide and tipped his head back giving all the ladies an eyeful of his junk. Shannon wasn’t the only one to wolf whistle.
Lisa coughed on her drink. “Fuck. He’s hung like a fucking horse.” She fumbled with her cigarette packet trying to pull out another smoke and Shannon could hardly blame her.
The song continued and he dropped his hands and lifted his head. From the low moans in the room Shannon was sure she wasn’t the only one who felt thoroughly shagged by the stranger on stage His dark eyes locked with Shannon’s. He smiled and she swallowed as a shiver rippled up her spine and her panties dampened. “He’s fucking magnificent. Who is he?”
Pete’s breath warmed the back of her neck. “His name’s Michael Monaghan.”
What would I find in your couch cushions?
Empty chip packets. My husband has a habit of shoving them under the cushions instead of putting them in the bin, although he denies all knowledge when the evidence is uncovered.
Do you ever encounter writers block?
I do encounter writer’s block. Usually my lovely critique partner Sofia Grey holds my hand and listens to my woes until the plot comes back to me and I can continue on.
Do you have a day job?
I do have a day job…shh, don’t tell anyone…but I’m a Senior Tax Manager at a large accounting firm.
Is your writing based on real life experiences or is it all imaginary?
My writing encompassed real life and imagination. I have no idea why but I seem to suffer more than my fair share of stupid and embarrassing moments and some of them make it between the covers of my books. However, I also have a vivid imagination.
What does your main character think about you? Would he or she want to hang around you as their author?
I am sure Florence would love to hang with me. I could share her woes about being useless at sales and things never going the way you planned. We could laugh at the ridiculous things we have both done in life. I think Florence would find a lot of herself in me.
Who would play the starring role(s) if your book became a movie?
Funny you should ask that. Florence speculates that very thing in my book. As it is set in the 90’s her choice to play her is Meg Ryan and for her hero Nelson she chooses Rob Lowe…although they might both be a little to mature for the roles now.
If you’d like, provide an excerpt and/or back cover blurb:
Nineties girl Florence Spring joined Avon to find her Edward Scissorhands but instead needs to rescue his porno alter ego.
When Florence notices her eccentric ex-boyfriend, Eddie, isn't putting on his usual show in the front window on Friday night she decides to investigate. She asks her best friend, Nelson Tyler, to help but he seems more interested in seducing Florence than in finding her personal flasher.
Florence has no idea when she embarks on the adventure she will accidentally shoot an undercover policeman, or that her actions will lead to Nelson's kidnapping. Now with two men missing she has no choice but to continue and thwart the plans of a psychotic soon to be divorcee. She needs to rescue Nelson because life without him is unbearable, especially since she's discovered his long sensitive fingers are far more erotic than scissorhands.
Florence Spring trudged down another empty street. A bag full of lipstick, foundation, eye shadow, and all manner of items designed to make a girl of the nineties a sight to behold, swung from her shoulder. The tote banged against her hip, aggravating an already aching bruise. Even though drizzle soaked her face, she resisted the urge to wipe it off. She knew it was her duty to represent the products she sold to the best of her ability. The handbook for sales 101 read, better to appear damp, than smudged.
This wasn’t how she’d envisioned life as an Avon representative. Where was her dark castle? Her mysterious hero? When would she find a beautiful man with a penchant for leather and rubber? She joined up to find her Edward Scissorhands. The closest she’d come was his porno alter ego, Edward Penishands.
If Eddie Cain wiggled his dick in his front room window one more time as she walked past, she would take the gold-handled nail scissors, on special this week for two dollars with any order over twenty dollars, and snip the little worm off. Bad enough she’d gone out with him once—once, and only once. The relationship had been doomed from the start. After his mother died, Eddie became most odd. Their one date had confirmed her belief that he was strange.
Snuggled together upstairs at the back of the number forty-six bus, he had whispered that he would like to handcuff her to his bed and whip her with a riding crop. She hadn’t even had a chance to answer before he let out a low moan and spontaneously ejaculated, leaving a noticeable stain on the front of his gray gabardine pants. She’d graciously lent him her jacket to carry in front of him as they climbed from the bus and entered the movie theatre. When he unzipped his fly and pulled the worm free at the first on-screen kiss, she excused herself and fled. She never did ask for her jacket back. It was her favorite too, genuine faux leather and fur. Never mind. She doubted even the dry cleaners would have been able to get the spunk stain out.
Cautiously, she approached number ninety-two Stoffer Street. The curtains hung open, however the front window stood bare. Eddie appeared to be out. She checked her watch. Bang on time. Eight p.m. as usual. She passed by every Friday night. He lived on the most direct route from her allotted sales patch to Nelson’s house. Eddie always waited for her. This time of the year he was usually silhouetted by the living room light. He’d never missed an opportunity to wiggle his wanger at her before. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed the little bugger; the wanger, not Eddie. She needed a good laugh after the dismal sales she usually mustered and Eddie always managed to add some element of humor to the whole sordid show. If only he learned to do the comedy act without the nudity he could take his show on the road. Of course, he could take it on the road with the striptease if he wanted to appeal to a whole other audience.
Truth be told, seeing him semi-naked once a week was, she suspected, the closest either of them had come to dating lately. If only she could find her prince charming, all dark, mysterious and quiet. She had a thing for silent movies. Everyone knew men of few words were sexy. You could imagine all sorts going on in their heads. Plans to show you the world, slay dragons, and win your heart. No one wanted to deal with the truth of them wondering if your boobs were real or if you had tissues stuffed in your bra, or calculating how long it would take them to wrestle you out of your underwear.
With a shrug, Florence tugged her jacket collar up in a feeble attempt to protect herself from the steady precipitation. She hated winter. Every year her mother reminisced about her childhood in England, telling Florence about the huge family Christmases they had which broke up the long cold months. Nothing happened in winter in New South Wales. Florence only had her mother’s second hand memories of chocolate box celebrations. Although, Grandma Wilson did her best to break up the monotony of endless gray days with her Christmas in June party. Florence recalled the last outrageous family event only six weeks ago. What had that been beneath the mistletoe with Nelson? She shivered, even though she wasn’t cold. She needed to push that memory right out of her head before she reached her destination.
With a dismissive toss of her head, just in case he was watching, she left Eddie to his own sordid devices and continued on her way—her ego a little deflated. Even the local flasher had lost interest.
She turned the corner and a feeling of contentment swept over her. Her best friend Nelson’s home was her bolt-hole from reality, away from her parents and the madness at her house. The small, rundown, two-bed town house might look in need of TLC to some. To her it stood out as an oasis in a horrible sales jungle. A lamp lit vision shrouded in mist. The tiny house was a cottage by the sea, a cozy little shack in the woods, anything her imagination fancied.
Not bothering to knock, she turned the handle and stepped inside. A blast of motor oil and male musky-scented air greeted her, along with Nelson’s cat, Killer. She lifted the undersized ginger fur ball to her face and rubbed him against her cheek, giggling at his loud purr. He waited for her every week, as did Nelson. She always popped in to warm up before he escorted her home.
A shout came from the kitchen. “That you, Squirt?”
She put the cat down and dropped her heavy bag on the side table. After tugging off her sodden woolen gloves and damp jacket, she tossed them on the banister to dry.
“Yeah, it’s only me.”
She secured the front door so Killer couldn’t escape, and sauntered the length of the threadbare carpeted hallway, glancing at the shiny new bolt and padlock on the basement door. She stopped on the threshold of the kitchen and stared at the vision before her.
Nelson glanced up from where he was kneeling on the floor. His eyes were hidden by his tousled dark hair. A huge grin spread across his face. “Hot chocolate’s by the stove.”
She stared at the red and polished chrome monster currently taking up half the floor space. “What are you doing?”
Would you like to say anything to your readers / fans?
Only thank you for buying and reading my books. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.
Where link-wise can your readers / fans stalk you?
As a writer, it can be difficult to find enough time in the day to get everything done. Would you like to share your favorite ‘quick and easy’ recipe?
I have the perfect recipe. Take one sexy blue eyed husband. Add a modern well equipped kitchen complete with a large manly cooker. Throw in a well stocked pantry and fridge, plus an extensive collection of recipe books. Sit back with a large glass of red and wait approximately forty-five minutes.
In case you haven’t guessed already, I don’t cook. I can cook but it is not something I am particularly good at unless I am making dessert. Thankfully I have been blessed with the love of man who is a miracle worker in the kitchen, and he has his uses in other rooms in the house too…he’s a carpenter…now now minds out of the gutter J
Where can readers / fans purchase the story?
Go With the Flo can be purchased at the following places:
Born and bred in the UK, my whole life was turned on its head when, at the tender age of eighteen, I met and fell instantly in love with my darling husband. I knew the minute I met him I was going to marry him and, fortunately, he came to the same conclusion less than six months later.
My husband has shown me the world, starting by bringing me to Australia. The country we now call home, and where we have raised our two boys. It didn’t take me long to turn native, becoming a citizen and dropping the British accent. However, our wanderlust didn’t stop there. We have moved from state to state, always ready for a new adventure. We have also visited many destinations around the world.
My stories reflect my love for travel and exotic locations, along with my quirky British sense of humor. Well, you can’t give up all of your heritage now can you?
Thanks for stopping by and I wish you great success with Go With the Flo! :)