I adore reading. When I was in infant school I had to take my own reading books in because I’d read everything they had. I guess that was the start of my love affair with the world of books and literature. I used to write my own stories on a typewriter. I got one for Christmas when I was about eight years old. That typewriter was my favourite present ever. I grew up, but I never stopped reading. I met my husband of thirty-five years, Steve, on my eighteenth birthday and along came five children by the time I was twenty-seven (it was wild few years), but the one thing that kept me sane amid all of the chaos was my love of reading.

I tried to write my own book a couple of times in my twenties. I once had a nightmare which scared me so much I tried to turn it into a horror story. It was called ‘Moon Cycle’ and was only two A4 pages long, or that was as far as I got with it because it was terrible. I would ship the kids off to school and walk into town to the bookshop. It was called Ottakar’s back then before Waterstones took over; there was no Amazon or the internet. There I would blissfully browse the horror and crime book sections, but it was getting to the point where I had read everything just like I had in school. Plus, I couldn’t find the kind of story I desperately wanted to read. At one point, I picked up a book, took it home and read it, thinking, What did I just read? It was terrible and it got me thinking that surely if something that bad could be published, then I could write a book too. One day I was walking our dog, Tess, through the woods where a once grand, Victorian mansion had stood, and I suddenly got an idea for a story. A full-blown story with a list of characters. So, I tried again. I rushed home, afraid I’d forget the details, pushed the mountain of washing on the kitchen table to one side and wrote it all down. There were pages and pages of notes.

I had gone from two dreadful pages of notes to a complete eighty-thousand-word novel. Writing was an escape from my very busy, chaotic life.

That story took me eight years to finish. I had no clue what I was doing – I just loved the story that I was writing and it gave me so much pleasure. When I typed ‘the end’, I was so excited. I had gone from two dreadful pages of notes to a complete eighty-thousand-word novel. Writing was an escape from my very busy, chaotic life. One of my children, Jaimea, was born three weeks early after the sudden death of my brother, and he had so many health problems. He was in and out of hospital, which was very draining, but writing gave me a world that I could live in and not have to deal with my own problems. It was a lifesaver.

When the story was finished, I had no idea if it was good enough to be published, but I knew that I should try and do something with it because it couldn’t be as bad as the book I’d read that had started all of this – at least I didn’t think so. I got a copy of the Writers’ & Artists’ Yearbook, highlighted all the agents I believed might be interested in my story and sent off six submissions. They came back more quickly than I’d ever known post to be returned. All of those said thanks, but no thanks. I cried; I didn’t know what was wrong or what I needed to do. I joined the RNA New Writers’ Scheme. Although the book was technically a horror/crime story, they said that if the main characters kissed, I was in. I sent the manuscript off for its first real assessment, which took quite some time, but I got the most amazing feedback. It said the book was a bit of a mess, but I could clearly write and tell a great story. I needed to work on my sentence structure and along came recommendations of books to read. I bought the books, then I tried to edit my manuscript so it was good enough, and I tried again. This time I got a request for the full manuscript from an agent at an established agency. He said he loved it, but… There is always a but! I had written a cross-genre novel that he wouldn’t be able to place in the market. If I was willing to take out all the supernatural parts and rewrite it, he said he’d love to work with me. This gave me a dark night of the soul as we writers call it. On one hand I was desperate to sign with an agent, but on the other it would no longer be the story I’d spent so long writing. It wouldn’t be the same if I took all the spine-tingling parts out, so I declined.

Writing gave me a world that I could live in and not have to deal with my own problems. It was a lifesaver.

Later that year I went to the RNA conference at Penrith and booked in for a last-minute one-to-one with an editor from one of the big publishing houses, thinking I had nothing to lose. I remember her face when I walked into the room. Having read my manuscript, she smiled at me and said, ‘What on earth are you doing here at the Romantic Novelists’ Association?’ I was truthful and told her I didn’t have any contacts in the writing world and just wanted some advice. She told me she loved my first chapter and asked me to send her another three. I did as soon as I got home – thank God for email by this time. She then requested the full manuscript and helped me to rewrite it three times before she took it to the buying team. I’ll never forget that phone call: I got a voicemail from her at work and had to phone her back. I was shaking. I had been so determined to make my writing as realistic as possible and I wanted my main protagonist, Annie Graham, who was a community police officer, to be true to her role. After a full day of cleaning houses at my old job, I applied to be a Police Community Support Officer after seeing the advert in a local paper. I never expected to actually get the job. I like to call it extreme research, and I loved it so much I ended up staying in that job for fifteen years.

By this time, I had spotted a new publisher called Bookouture. I absolutely loved what they were doing with their authors’ books, from the marketing to their covers. There was such a buzz about them and the energy was so fantastic – I desperately wanted to work with them. I had them on my vision board. I devoured the books they published by Angela Marsons and Rob Bryndza. Then I plucked up the courage to message Keshini Naidoo, the editor for both authors. I asked her for some advice and to see if she did freelance editing because I had written a book that I wanted to try and submit to Bookouture. She was so lovely and told me to send my manuscript directly to the submissions portal on the Bookouture website. I did, and the rest is history.

Some days I have to stop and take a minute to remember that this is all real, that my hard work paid off.

I was beyond excited when Keshini requested the full manuscript. The book was another blend of crime and supernatural, but we turned it into a straight crime thriller. I was scared but so excited for the opportunity that this time I didn’t have to think twice about removing the supernatural elements. I agreed and began to work on it. That book was originally called The Lost Children, but it had a makeover and we changed the title to Dark House. I’ve never looked back.

Bookouture has changed my life. I had a dream that one day I could become a full-time author. I was working full time for the police, looking after my five children, dealing with Jaimea’s health problems and his multitude of learning disabilities as well as spending my spare time writing. It was a tough few years, but I loved writing so much I wouldn’t change a thing. Three years ago, I was able to hand in my notice at the police and become a full-time author.

I’ve now published twenty-two books with Bookouture. This year my first fantasy novel set in Salem, The Vanishing Bookstore, was published, making all my dreams complete. I am so grateful to the whole team who work tirelessly to make the rough drafts I send in so great. My editor, Jennifer Hunt, is a dream to work with, and some days I have to stop and take a minute to remember that this is all real, that my hard work paid off. I couldn’t be prouder to say that I’m published by Bookouture.