Category Archives: Romance Writing

Wet Kissing Hairy Hunks In The UK – Moustaches for #Movember @RUSHHairBeauty @HitLitPRo

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RUSH to show off my book

Vanity, thy name is Emma. Today was salon day. Beauty creating fingers pampered my follicles. Anyway – grey is closer to blonde than my brunette ever was. I’m maturing towards the target of my true self. 

I have wonderful hairdressers at the RUSH Hair and Beauty Salon in Southampton. These guys are like personality heart surgeons. You go in as a tousled tramp and come out femme fatale. Good job I had an old ASDA carrier bag in my pocket to protect my new goldilocks from the latest Atlantic gale.

We are now 11 days into Movember. In our house things are getting hairy and it’s time for a snog report. I’ve always loved a good snog. An interesting fact is that unfaithful men and women will have extra sexual intercourse with the betrayed partner (due to increased arousal stimuli)  but withdraw from kissing them. It’s obvious really isn’t it. Kissing is far more intimate and – well – the other stuff is just shameless lounging by the gene pool with a spreading warmth of wine in your belly. Oooh – writing about kissing brings out my inner sun.

So – when the touch of true love gets hairy – does the emotion keep flotion? My response is that the old boy still snogs up fine. His response is that it pushes bristles up his nose and loses the moment. I tell him that orgasm is a sneeze in the soul for a woman. He tells me that in that case, for a man, it’s a runny nose.

That’s why only women can write romance.

Get the book on Amazon Worldwide – all proceeds to Movember

Emma thinx: If it’s right, the erogenous zone is you. 





Escape To Love – Cover Reveal

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It’s been a while since I’ve been here. My only excuse is that I have been writing. It started out as a novel, but in the way of the universe, gravity drew it back from that cloud of gas and cooled it into a 10,000 word story. So much editor’s red ink has been spilled on this desk that the office looks like a crime scene. 

There is also a full length novel on the slipway, so I have felt free to indulge my passion for shorts in “Escape To Love”. I have drawn upon my own South London life and experiences. It is a story of love, set in a landscape of urban deprivation and social disadvantage. A woman on the run from an abusive relationship with no one but her handicapped child as a companion, stumbles into a life changing moment. Decisions must be made and so often in her past she had been wrong. It is a story about trust and the blinding nature of lust and passion. 

Now, I do like a bit of Do It Yourself. I’ve done my own cover. Even more demanding, I’m doing my own audio book. Usually, I chicken out and get Oscar to do them. In this case the “voice” of the story is so much that of the woman, that there is no way out. Well, I could have hired an actress, but all the ones I know personally were busy either singing in “Les Miserables” or collecting awards from The Queen.

Oooh, I must tell you about my Lez Miz experience. It’s a lovely lovely film. I went on Saturday and went into sob overdrive. The film is so long and emotional that I’m sure that my excess tears were diverted to my bladder. During the scenes of waifs singing in heavy wet wet tinkling splashy releasing rain near the end, believe me – I knew their pain. (Now, style purists, tell me that adjectives have no effect!) When I got home, the movie soundtrack haunted me and I dived onto You Tube. I found there a little gem which just kinda says something about genuine people and their hearts.You know, I loved the folks in this clip and if I had to have a picture of an audience, it would be them. 

My Emma Thinx today is a lift from Escape To Love. It kinda sets the tone.

Emma Thinx: Love is hands up when no one has a gun. 









Une Passion Parisienne

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There is  often a conflict in my mind between the artistic and the commercial. Recently I have been working on some poetry and videos to publicise my next book and my last one. Poetry was my first teenage expression of myself as a writer. I remember how I used to look at drab terraced urban houses and watch the red of passion bleeding out into the grey pool of everyday. The folk who queued with me for tube trains and buses had known first kisses, and shared with me the aching expectation of wholeness that LOVE, and only love, would bring. 



Like many women, I have known the desert and the jungle of love.  Somewhere deep down in me has always been the defeatist clerk, telling me to forget the Romance and warm my lips on the cold bottom line. I think this voice is in a lot of us. It is the reason I write  Romance. When I wrote “Knockout” I took my readers to Paris to some moments I had lived myself. A week or so ago, I completed a video in which the text is taken from the book. It’s not a sell. It’s a truth of my life just a little overdressed.


Emma thinx: Love is letting go, but get a grip on him first. 




A Romantic Love Poem From My Heart

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OK, I went down to the water and jumped in. Well, not quite. I went down to the river and made a bit of a film. I had decided to write a poem after many years abstinence. Then, never content to do something simply, I shot some video, did an audio track, badgered some fabulous young innocents into being actors and musicians and splashed it up on You Tube. The footage is from my beautiful home town at Saint Savinien in France.

Now the reason for all of this is that I am writing a novel in which the heroine re-finds love after a long period of both sexual and emotional uncertainty. She looks back to first love as a way of recapturing a standard by which to measure her current feelings. In order to write this up as well as I can, I needed to get my own mind back to that place. As a young writer, I wrote many poems. I was a short story writer who enjoyed poetry by true poets. All the same, when it comes to love, nothing works like poetry. I believe this is because in times of emotional overload we cannot provide any objective view of our own state. Poetry scores by taking the love victim outside of themselves by talking to them about what is inside them. I think this makes sense. I am always in love at some level. I don’t think I could write Romance if this were not so.

Here it is then; my poem from the shoes of my heroine through the eyes of my own life. 


Emma thinx: Love gets better, but seldom stronger.





Autumn In Saint Savinien

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Anything I can babble on about today is quite pathetic as I watch the drama along the east coast of the USA. My heart goes out to all those affected. We are so weak and small when Nature bites.

I heard the news today – Oh boy, they’re gonna sell New Scotland Yard. Yes, they are going to sell the iconic HQ of the Metropolitan Police, the centre of Detective Inspector Anna Leyton’s world. Who would buy it? Perhaps a couple of Mexican drug cartels have the cash? Sometimes I cannot believe what I hear. Earlier this week they sold Admiralty Arch to a hotel chain. We have already sold our energy and water companies, all our public housing, our railways and airports. All our automotive brands have gone and all our ships are built abroad and mainly sail under foreign flags. Maybe there’ll always be an England but for sure, we’ll have no democratic control over it. You know what will control it don’t you….yes MONEY. 

Sold! Perhaps her majesty may pass.
For Sale. No parking issues for owners


Still, why should I care today? I am at my own home in France. As far as I can tell, the French resist all attempts to lure them into the total fluidity of globalised moneydom. In my village, you need the local accent to buy a baguette. They tolerate me because I am a cranky old Doris who knows enough local people to be seen in public kissing clinches. 

sun sets over CharenteMaritime


So, I went out with my camera and took some postcard shots of autumn in rural France. Although I’m fairly much in work ethic melt down, I have been writing. Just between us I’m getting to that lovely state with my current book where I’m kinda in love with the hero. This sent me into a frenzy of poetic remembrance of past amours and you’ll soon see the ripe fruit. 

Today was calm and mellow with the river full and reflection rippled. The shots are from the river bank at Taillebourg. This place is truly paradise.


Emma Thinx: Romance is not a love story. It’s a fictional truth. 



Emma’s Dilemmas

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When I was at school, deep deep down, I wanted a badge. Many other girls had sports teams badges and there were badges for prefects and monitors. My one ascent to power was when I stood in as a deputy lavatory monitor but I was not given a badge. My temporary position gave me the power to eject loitering girls from the toilet area and report any incidences of cigarette possession to the Authorities. I was ready to betray every friendship in pursuit of a badge but no one offended and my chance slipped away. 



But now, at last I have a badge. I have become an editor. Thanks to Loveahappyending.com I have started to edit a regular feature on writerly topics. Smoking and loitering will be permitted. If anyone knows where I can get an official editor’s lapel badge, please please please Miss, I want one so much!


Emma thinx: You never grow taller than the shadow of childhood.


Oh Autumn – Love Child of Spring

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Oh juice! Oh fullness; Oh grown love-child of Spring !

Season of mists and mellow novelists; Ah yes Autumn it is. Cold arrows of rain drench my heroine’s passion as I sit here trying to write about rising sap and hormone inspired springtime lust.  I always find it easier to write during the actual season where my characters are. Trouble is, it would always be Spring or Summer. All that northern writhing on rugs in front of open fires has always seemed hazardous to me and you have to be careful about where you catch sparks and chilblains. 

Torn wings of toil, mortal beauty in the last sun.


England is the most wonderful of countries. Yesterday I cycled to the country town of Stockbridge and sat in the warm sun watching an alien tweed clad upper class world go by. I stopped and watched the last late cygnets in the river Test. Four deer startled and ran through the sun dappled woods where the bluebells will bloom in May. I long for them now and for their prophets – the snowdrops. 

Today is cold and the last swallows fill their tanks before hitting the gas pedal and heading south. Geese begin to gather at the starting line. Soon enough it will be out to work in the dark and home in the dark. Perhaps I should strategically place a furry rug in front of the open log fire and do some research. No fire – no problem: I could paint some flames on a radiator in the lounge I guess.

Willows overhang a sun warmed river Test. 


In these last days of pseudo summer I took some pictures. Once upon a time I could have done a poem but that gift voucher is long ago spent on frippery, anger and hoover bags. 



Emma thinx: If it’s going, let it go. Just keep hold of the string. 




My Starter Starz

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Winners have no mercy 

Recently I found myself being a sweet old grandma playing pooh sticks with my (step) grand son. If I had realised that he could not swim I would never have thrown him in in the river.(Well, he is 17). Luckily he was saved by some Amazon trolls who lived under the bridge. From now on I’m sticking to twigs.

This incident gave me the impetus to embark on my “Pass The Book” campaign. It is a simple enough idea. I give a reader a book, they read it, comment upon it if they wish and then pass it on. 

Starter Star Super Nurse Kate

Readers are encouraged to send in photos of themselves with the book and prizes will be given for the most unusual locations. Once the book sets out, no one knows where it will go. The great river of literature will sweep them on to the foaming passionate seas of Romance. On the other hand, it might get left on the bus and tossed in the bin. Other copies might find their way to the libraries of wealth soaked Oiligarchs, Princes or the give-away bins outside junk shops. The great thing is that anyone can see the track of the text by logging on to Pass the book Hall of Fame. You can see where your book has been and also where it ended up after you. 

Starter Star (Education Angel) Maid Marian

There is a copy for a blog reader anywhere in the world. If you would like to be a Starter Star, leave a comment indicating your interest on this post. A random reader will be selected on 5th August. The winner will receive their copy by snail mail.


I must give credit to Debra Hamel and Gypsi Phillips for coming up with the Pass The Book idea.


I know there are drought sufferers out there. If only I could send you some rain I would. All the same, Great Britain has resumed its normal summer pattern. We did not win Wimbledon or the British Grand Prix. It is ennobling to live in a land of tradition. Bradley Wiggins is leading the Tour de France….


Emma thinx: Golfer’s Nirvana – a whole in one. 



















Gather Thee Rose Buds

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 As you will know, I spend a portion of my life at the wheel of a bus. Another portion is dedicated to general mother hen coop behaviour and a huge floral purple chunk is lavished on Romance writing. This has always created problems of identity and to some extent fear. In the back of my mind was that one day I would be driving a bus load of rugby club stag night revellers and that one of them would have read my book and would seek to discuss that naked outdoor scene. 

Lord  Lucan

And so it was that I did something rather naughty. Normally such things bring me pleasure but today I have to confess. The photo on my website and blogs was not me. I bought it from an agency and I have no idea who she is. Of course, she is not beautiful and sophisticated like me – although a goodly number of anonymous gentlemen have been very drawn to her, seeking friendship and small amounts of money for their plane fares. If you look at the photo today – yes – that is me. In the end I figured that since in a year I had not met any drunken stags who had read a book, I had been worrying about nothing. When I wrote the book and brought it out, I had no idea what would happen and knew nothing about modern publishing. Sending off stories to faceless editors was easy and for all they cared I could have been Lord Lucan. In fact, I think that would have been a great gimmick.


 Putting all that aside, something quite remarkable happened to me. I was invited to join an online literary group of writers, reviewers and publishers. Going under the title “loveahappyending.com“, they have been in business for a year and aim to showcase and support authors and readers for mutual benefit. They held their first literary festival ‘A Summer Audience’ at Tetbury on 16th June. I met some fantastic and energetic people. At the end of the session they announced their choice of new authors – and I was one of them along with Ali Bacon and Carol E Wyer. This was a big WOW moment for me that dwarfed the responses of my passionate heroines. Being chosen is such a great thing. Everyone was so welcoming and I felt wanted straight away. Whatever happens in my writing career, this will be a top moment for me.  To see my author page on their platform click here.

The Love A Happy Ending Team



The group is an astonishing mixture of styles and genres. There is everything from crime to spiritual healing. Until now I have had very little exposure in the UK and I look forward to joining in all the activities of the group. I would like to thank all the guys who fixed the food, arranged all the logistics and made the day so enjoyable. I’m hoping to introduce some of the elements of publishing that I have learned the hard way by marketing in the USA.  Everybody loves a happy ending. 




Emma thinx: The happiest endings don’t. 







Beached Wail

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It is that insecure first Wednesday. All in all life is good since I am alive and in France. As for the writing – well, I wish I could claim great success. These days it is very important for me to try to remember that I have been at this game since my teens. Sadly that is about 35 years. I also try to remember that the “writer” is someone other than my whole being. In here there is a woman who goes to work, talks to neighbours, shares lives with children and grandchildren etc etc. Once again I find myself  hammered by remarkably spiteful critics – all of whom arise from free book days. I do pose the question to myself that if I am that bad, would I be worth attacking with such vehemence? It  is all very much of a puzzlement to me. Why are there no readers who just kinda find a book OK, not bad, quite entertaining, undemanding but not life changing? If a free book is so bad that you can only face a few pages, why would you spend half an hour pounding it when it has not cost you anything and, by your own admission, you have not read it?


This problem of the free book critical wave appears to strike many writers. Dotting around the forums I find writers who were doing well until they went free but now have had to pull their books, change their names and titles. So far I still have more likes than not but it is something I am watching carefully. The real problem is that I do not think anyone involved in publishing knows where to go. I often feel like a complete innocent longing for those simple days when I typed out stories for magazines, sent them off and sold about one in five. At least dealing with editors meant that they made sense and knew their readers tastes. If they did not like the story they did not buy it. They did not waste time telling you how bad you were.  The internet and celebrity mags largely killed the print market for stories. The affairs of the stars trumped any invention of the old story hacks. 


And finally about reviews, recently I checked out Hitler’s “Mein Kampf” on Amazon because I was going to buy a copy for a young student of history. A guy had done a puffed up (Aren’t I clever) review stating the grammar was incorrect in the translation from German and had accorded the one star of his lofty judgement. The truth is that the the translation does a brilliant interpretation of Hitler’s atrocious grammar. The guy was a murdering dictator – not a budding author likely to be grateful for a grammar lesson from the underlings who transcribed his rantings. I must be one of the only people ever to have been cheered up by Adolph Hitler.

Figures in an unwritten book



I still want to write but the writing always gets shuffled to the bottom of the pile both by the business of life and to some extent the discouragement of it all. The same story wanders about in my head but will not form. They are like strangers on a huge beach, unknown to me, always walking away with backs turned. They have a life and a story in their faces. I took a picture of them on my local beach….


Emma thinx: Relax: all the sand will run out long before the time.