For today and tomorrow only, Three Men on a Plane is just 99p!
It was great fun to write – eventually – (it’s based on something very true and I can tell you that, at the time, there was nothing funny about having three different exs all getting on the same ‘plane together – Good Grief – but I did see the humour in it afterwards). I wonder what you would make of the same situation?
I was thinking about my new e-book covers and how pleased I am with them. At last someone has got it right. They are unmistakably feminine designs but bold enough and colourful enough to knock away any thoughts of those floppy, flowery, soft focus, pastel-hued watercolour images so favoured by many publishers for their ‘Women’s Fiction’ and so laughably what women are not really about at all.
The last thing any of my heroines embrace is floppy, flowery or soft focus and if they are involved with pastel-hued watercolour it’s probably because they are attempting to paint with it, probably to grab a little time out of their packed lives for themselves, and probably failing. (NB. Watercolour is the hardest of all painting skills along with fresco. I know, I know, JMWTurner made it look easy but it isn’t…)
The situations I write about (and which many so-called Women’s Fiction authors write about) are simply called life and getting through it in the best way you can. We mostly do not wear floral frocks when we are getting through our women’s lives, we mostly wear things like tee-shirts and leggings and jeans and we might crave a red carpet dress but we’d probably look a bit lumpy in it and feel terrible guilt at not spending the money more practically. And if we live in idyllic little cottages with roses round the door, the roses probably have sharp thorns. Possibly deliberately. So, if you are looking for heroines who swoon into the arms of sun-tanned blokes with white teeth and large cheque books who need to be cured of their pain you probably don’t want to read Mrs Cheek’s oeuvre. If, on the other hand, you want to read about women who apply humour and intelligence and pragmatism to their lives – Oh – and sexiness,too, if they can squeeze that in (pardon the pun) – then you might find what you are looking for in my novels.
The first of these new covers is on ‘Three Men on a Plane’ – I hope both jacket and book will make you smile.
I have no spatial imagination. That much is now perfectly apparent after my several forays into something delightful called Creating Your New Kitchen: Creating Your New Kitchen takes place in the company of various kitchen designers/suppliers who have sat me down in front of their screens and tippy-tapped on their keyboards and made marvels appear before my dazzled eyes – cupboards, shelves, thin units, fat units, ovens, pan-drawers, islands all pop up in happy unison on the screen – and I am mesmerised. ‘Oh yes,’ I say, ‘Lovely.’ But when I get back here where this transformation is to take place one fine day, can I imagine how it will look and where everything fits? I cannot.
So I ask for dimensions in the faint hope – and what do I, a dinosaur get? Millimetres. You might as well suggest that I measure the place in hands or rods and perches. When I was a girl out and about with the boys – in those far off days when pub closing times meant the ringing of a bell at 10.20pm for ‘last orders’ and you were strictly out on your ear at 10.30pm, there would always be a rush for the bar. The boys would get in their final pints. The pints would be brought to the table. The last available pint of the night and to be savoured. Usually at this point M.Wilson, for that was me before the delights of marriage turned me into M.Cheek, would decide it was time to powder her nose. She would stand up. At which point all the boys at the table who had been casually leaning back on the banquette chatting easily would throw themselves forward and hug their beers to their chests. For I was known to have no spatial awareness. I could take with me as I swished past the table several pint glasses, usually full ones, and usually at the end of the session when no more was forthcoming. This trick has remained with me ever since. Do not put me in a restaurant where the tables are cramped or you will see some poor diner lose his dish of the day to the floor. Or her glass of Merlot will be dashed to the ground. I have been thin when this took place, and I have been fat when this took place and I have been pregnant – it is not to do with my dimensions but the dimensions of the world that I can’t quite get. So I suppose the only thing to say by way of compensation in the matter of choosing a new kitchen is that it will be a terrific surprise. Quite literally. Watch this space.
(There is very little mention of kitchens in Three Men on a Plane – I am pleased to say. So you can look at this beautiful new edition by clicking on the link and feeling quite unafraid of the domestic consequences. There does seem to be quite a lot about bedrooms, though. Much safer territory… After all, even I can imagine a bed.)
I’d like to send you a short story, for free – you just need to tell me where to send it