Four kittens. My lap. Berkshire, UK, 1997.
“Isn’t that just typical,” I hear you mutter, “we don’t hear from her in over a week,” and “personally I thought she was dead,” I hear another mutter, charming, thank you indeed for that. And now you can’t keep me away! Well, what have I got to gripe about this time? No griping simply promoting. I have done an interview with Smashwords and thought you might like to have a shifty at it. I kept the answers concise purely to prevent inordinate amounts of tedium overpowering you like a blanket of frustrating fog. Most considerate of me I thought, not to mention restrained because you know what, writers love to talk about themselves, their books, their favourite pens, notepads, future books, past books, what they had for dinner last night, their cars, their cats…. Cats? Cars? Really? Funny you should say that because I have this great tale about… hello? My screen just went blank.