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Happy Easter

‘Hare on the run’

Graphite on Bristol board



Dust in the Wind

The daily prompt has asked what I want to do before I die? And my answer has to be – I don’t know.

Six months ago I’d never have thought I’d end up sitting at a computer and writing a blog having had one book published and two deadlines for another two. Yet, here I am.

I would never have thought that I’d go back to drawing. Yet, I have, and am being regularly published as an illustrator.

But I don’t have the money to blithely step onto a plane and disappear on holiday. Would I want to anyway? My holidays in the past have always included something else, an experience as well as new place. This has stood me in good stead for the writing. I have a massive library of different situations that I can use. So perhaps my bucket list should be a list of things I would like to experience.

In fact there is only one place out there that I’d like to visit, and that is the Norwegian Fjords. I really want to see them. If I had a bucket list they would be on the top.

Then there is the things I would like to do. I’d love to go scuba diving, go sailing, ride a horse for a week with no cars, experience living in a gypsy caravan, stay in a penthouse, go to a comic con, get a picture in a London Gallery and see a book of mine sell-out. And there are masses more.

But oddly they are not all things I can go see. I have got to build to them. I have to work hard and hope that at the end my wish will be granted. But even if it isn’t it doesn’t matter. After all, I can always use the lemons to make a refreshing drink. If the wish makes you an ogre revel in your green-ness.

So I don’t have a bucket-list. Because it is always changing. Who knows where I’ll be in six months. All I know is that it might not be here, and I can’t wait to find out. :-)


Happy Easter!



When I describe my characters and I want them to be sexy I tend to focus on one element. Maybe it is the line of their legs or their hair, or, in guys, it has to be their forearms and torsos. But am I using my own experiences?

Well, I know that every male lead I describe I fall a little in love with, even the bad guys. Who wouldn’t? I am writing a sexy man and it is my version of sexy. In woman I describe what I think men would like. I don’t often get it wrong, but there is always the first time. Sexy can be something as simple as a man tucking a woman into his side and wrapping his arms around her, reveling in her small waist. Of course, she in turn is focused on his broad back and scent. But it is a sexy image.

But the daily prompt hasn’t asked how I write sexy, but how I am sexy. Am I? Some have thought so, but me? Well, I find sexiness difficult. My main purpose when I get up is not to reach for the sexiest clothing but to reach for the most comfortable. I feel at my best when I am confident and relaxed, and I think that is what makes a woman sexy.

You can be wearing the most revealing clothing in the world, but if you are stood rigidly and are so self conscious that you are giving off ‘get-away’ vibes, then you are not sexy. But if you are comfortable and laughing, even in jeans and a t-shirt, you can be the most beautiful and attractive being on the planet.

Think about the leading men in the movies. They are given the best clothes, make-up and designers, but it is their performance you fall for. Take any of the Doctor Who’s. I love their personalities, before their looks. How do I know? Well, take the last, Mat Smith, when he became the Doctor I thought – really? Then I watched him play the part and I fell for the character. What makes a person sexy? I has to be what is on the inside.

So, okay, I may look like I am wearing a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie, but on the inside I know I am sexy, because I feel it. So what is my sexiest outfit? Well, that is easy. All of them. :-)

The Disaster

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Pete slurred breathing fumes of stale beer into Liz’s face.

“Thanks,” Liz said, and then added, I think, in her head.

Pete pushed out his chest and grinned. “So, I think you are really pretty…”

I can hear a but, Liz thought.

“Have you ever considered losing weight. Just a couple of pounds… well, maybe a bit more and then you would be perfect.” Pete placed a hand on her stomach and Liz’s eyes went wide. He patted her. Liz slid away from his touch and motioned to the toilets. He nodded and took another drink.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mary detach herself from Josh and walk in the same direction. Getting there first, Liz went in. Stepping carefully to avoid the general puddles of water, Liz went over to the sink and leant on it. She looked at her reflection and for a moment she saw the fat ogre that her minds eye made her appear, and then her vision cleared. She was pretty, not gorgeous, but good looking. Okay, maybe she was a little heavy but she had never had any complaints… Until now.

“Liz, are you pregnant?” Mary had just come through the door and at the question the whole damn room became quiet. You could hear a pin drop.

“No!” Liz said, loudly. “Why did you think I was?” In her mind’s eye the ogre raised its head.

“Because he was rubbing your tummy.”

The ogre vanished and anger replaced it. “No, he wants me to lose weight.”

Cries filled the toilet. Even from the cubicles, one sounding remarkably male. Liz widened her eyes at Mary, who shrugged and grinned. They both looked at the stall but it didn’t open.

“So what are you going to do?” Mary asked.

“Do? Well, I am going to go home.”



“You can’t just leave him out there,” Mary said.

Liz smiled and it didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh yes I can.” She then turned and left.

A few minutes later Mary walked out and almost ran into Pete’s chest. He stood there a moment staring at her blankly. He was so drunk that he wobbled slightly.

“Ish-she in there?”

“No,” Mary said, pushing past.

Pete grabbed her arm. “Where is she?” He looked furious and for the first time Mary realised that this man might be a dangerous drunk.

“She went home.”

“Where’s that?”

“Oy! Leave my girl alone!” Mary sighed with relief and Pete dropped her arm and shuffled off, leaving behind nothing but the sour sweet smell of too much alcohol.

“Who was that?” Josh asked, pulling Mary into a tight hug.

“No one,” Mary said, truly meaning it.

This short story was inspired by the daily prompt – third rate romance


Tom Baker as the fourth Doctor Who

Tom Baker as the fourth Doctor Who

Pencil on bristol board

2.5 x 3.5 inches

The original can be bought in my Folksy Store.

Update on Meares Irlen…

A warning really. You see at the moment I am working on some illustrations for Panic Moon, a Doctor Who fan magazine, and I have been sending them across to the editor. Only the last one I did I forgot that I had my filter on the screen

This meant that what I sent out was literally black and white, and not the grey-scale of a pencil drawing. Oops. Luckily, he is a very nice bloke and just laughed it off when I sent out the ‘corrected’ image. You see when you scan in the pencil images I have to adjust the contrast in order to see the image properly. I’m not sure if it my scanner but it seems to want to flatten out the contrast. A small tweak and it is fixed. So from:



To this:

John Pertwee as the third Doctor Who

They are the same drawing but the contrast is tweaked to look like the original. Unfortunately the filter flattens out the contrast even more. So when I adjust it the picture becomes very black and white with no detail at all.

All fixed now though. But if any artists out there have Meares Irlen, remember that any filter will alter the drawing… I wonder what my drawings will be like if I get tinted glasses. Better or worse?


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