Choices (Yup)

 

During a rather boozy celebration of last week's ten year anniversary (pop a bottle man! Ten years is a long time!) my beautiful friends asked me a casting question. Who would be your leading men, if you could have anyone, no questions asked, no budget worries, anyone? 

"You can't have the Duke of Hastings," one friend reminded me. "He's not on any of your covers, and you dragged a certain author for blackfishing covers."

Oh yeah, I did, didn't I? Good times... So obviously, my current book is a shoe in for the His Grace, Simon Basset aka Regé-Jean Page. But the others? (insert awkward face). 

When I do my cover requests, I hunt for pictures that fit my characters as best as possible and it's always harder to find Black women than it ever is to find sexy white tanned muscled torsos. So anyways, Windows' initial inception (well revised to include banging) coincided with my obsession with Eddie Cibran and his dimples. I have no idea who would be throw the knickers away, they're no use right now enough to make me tattoo his name on my body. No, I lied absolutely. Henry Cavill could do it with a grin and a sideways glance at my bustline. (It's the first thing men look at guaranteed). 

For Murano, the Beppe inspiration was the delightful Oliver Cohen-Jackson, of the Haunting of Hill House fame. He does dangerous/mad/funny/loving beautifully well. 

My other male character obsession was and for the large part still is Bren Macclellan from Wynne's Surprise. Oh my god, I haven't loved off the laptop like that since, well since Nick. And his inspiration was Jai Courtney. But with a Scottish accent obvs. Like Hot Muse Hank was deeply worried, the man took over my day to day for months. I'd dream about him, it was weird and wet dreamy and I should be embarrassed but it was great for the book. 

Have you seen the body on Lucas Gil? Coz that's who would play Remains' Jamie. Niels Strøm would be played by the Kingslayer Nikolaj Wadu-Costa and Arthur McWorth of An Art To It allowed me to cougar my way into Harry Styles' fanclub. I adore a bit of Harry, I truly do. 

So those are a few of my potentials, if I could cast the mens. I'll show you my ladies next week. Thoughts, suggestions, reminders all welcome! 

Perfect Ten

 

 

Happy Ten Year Anniversary to me then!

It really has been a whole decade since I thought, lemme add banging to this story about a Mafia guy called Nick in love with his best mate called Gina. Then lemme put it on Literotica. Then lemme get a publisher (enter stage left Jayha Leigh). Then lemme get absolutely stoned in Brighton and figure out a way to add another fifty thousand words to it. (Enter Hot Muse Hank to tell me “bitch, add more sex!”) Lemme give you some Tony Caristo, sprinkle in a little Rocco Mamione and a healthy dash of Beppe Nardiello. Oh and if we’re adding a little spice to the mix, Gianluca Caristo warmed by Durante Da Canaveze all under the heat that is Sir Massimo Da Canaveze. Lemme give you some of my favourite places, my favourite shops, my favourite things to do, lemme share a little trauma coz it’s good to share. And ten years later, here we are. 

So, as if it were a lifetime achievement award (I’d like a BAFTA one day) let me say some thank yous:

The Lady London and her ever patient squire Papa London. What would I have done without you spelling out words in Fante to me and asking why only to be thoroughly distracted by watching something on TV instead. 

My bros, endless sources of amusement! 

Hot Muse Hank, where would I be without your guidance? 

Ms Jayha Leigh for finding me and testing me and encouraging me and introducing me to my next big thanks

The Queen of Hearts, Barb Wilson, the most magical of editors. There are things I wouldn’t have linked or understood or even come up with in the absence of your wonderful, magical guiding hands.

My fellow authors especially Janet Eckford and Nikki Winter and Violette Dubrinsky. I’m a solo artist by my very definition, but solo artists do have producers and sound mixers and all sorts. They have collaborators who will tell you ‘nah, son a little to your left.” I'm so grateful for the time they gave to me. 

And finally, my readers. You, yes, I’m looking right at you! Thank you. I thought Windows was a pump and dump, to be fair. I thought it was finished and nothing else would come of it. I didn’t think I’d be writing about Massimo’s elegant feet or Tony’s propensity to smack a bare bottom or Auntie Belinda’s love of swimming or Rocco’s tattoos or Beppe’s Prince Albert piercing! Yet, here we are. Because you asked, maybe threatened to cut me a little if I didn’t.

And I’ve expanded that little universe to my other stories and I’m getting back to a place where I can write just as freely about new characters. I love writing. I always have. I always will. Let’s see what the next ten is about. Got to be wilder than this!

 

    

Celebration

Omfg, where did a whole decade go? I had a memory pop up the other day on my mobile to remind me that on 16 February 2021, it will be ten whole years since Windows was published. I mean... what the hell happened? 

I'm actally shocked to reach this milestone, I truly am! Remember the first cover for Windows and I put it on a cake? May have to do that again for next Tuesday, pop a few bottles and drift into the bliss of a hell of an achievement. 

I'll do something for you guys as well - I have to I mean I wouldn't still be here if it wasn't for you. And probably me and Lady London getting absolutely wasted in Kos, wandering through the Greek supermarket and buying all sorts of rubbish in sight. The way you guys embraced my darling Nicky and his little blue flower Gina, the way I've tattooed Nick's surname on my body that gets me the side eye on the regular. It's on my hip but a little to close to the kitty cat and to date, it's my only tattoo, its's truly taken over my life in the best possible way. I'm so happy that my stories have touched you, made you a little bit horny, intrigued you, inspired you, and become a fond memory, like an old friend. If I could hug you all (sans this panoramic business) I would. And a la Sofia buy you a bottle of champagne, I'd do that too. 

Last and by no means least, Jayha Leigh deserves my biggest thanks. She saw something, a spark that led to an Italian fire that is now eternal. Thank you Jayha, forever and a day. 

Cheers ma dears! Per centi anni! 

Back Once Again

  

I wish I was au fait with technology to put that video of Leo Di Caprio from Wolf of Wall Street whispering "I'm not leavin'. I'M NOT FUCIN' LEAVIN'!"

It's been a long while hasn't it? How are you? How's life been for you? Don't mind me if I say, life has been kinda crushing. I've always said that I'm not someone who can write while emotional and given I've either spent the last nine months in tears, prostrate on my bed wishing I was looking up at an Japanese sky or drunk or all three, trust me when I say I have not been able to write. 

Fast forward to December 2020. I've got M&S mince pies with salted caramel cream, I've learned how to perfect a roast pork with crackling, in a cider and apple sauce, I've discovered hot chocolate made with Baileys and I've spent more money on white wine than is sensible, I have taken to walking in the woods in wellington boots, like a heroine with resolvable problems and thereby discovered investigative podcasts! Billy has evolved beyond a fifties housewife! 

You know when you have to do something, so you procrastinate? My state of procrastination is to put on marigold gloves and clean. I can't do anything in silence, so I usually play music but ever since one of my bezzies told me about a fascinating podcast by John Sweeney. Look it up - it's brilliant. Scared a few folks on a walk with it on full speaker volume. 

The world is so changed from December 2019, I think to myself listening to Sir Sweeney's devastating investigations. What would we do without podcasts, Netflix, Disney+ (I am an actual simp for zaddy Mandalorian)? We do Zoom parties. We text more than ever. We go on socially distanced walks with our doggos. How do I fit a new world into an old one? How to I link the two differences? How do I make it believable for myself and a reader to reach into a place that hasn't existed before? And let me Carrie Bradshaw for a minute and realise something (another relic coming back from the televisual grave). Isn't that what investigative podcasts do? Do that reach for us? From the future into the past to explain what we wish we'd known? And that, my dear reader, allowed me to write again. 

So here we are, with sorry to say a pretty dark story. It's just where I am at the moment. I'm sure I can get back to the light eventually, but me and my bottles of Sancerre say after after. 

The wonderful Garrett of Black Jazz Books designed this cover for me and I thought you deserved to see what I'm working on. Finally. At damn last! Blurb and excerpt will come later. Like I said, it's dark and when I say dark, yeah... (Marge hiding her face gif). 

Auntie

This year is being an absolute see you next Tuesday and continues to batter me.

I lost one of my favourite aunties yesterday. Not an African auntie, but my proper same surname as me Auntie. For all the aunties that tell you about your weight or getting married, my Auntie was genuinely concerned for me and my wellbeing. 

When I had my first period, my Auntie was straight around with an embroidered white blouse for me to go with the white skirt my mother wanted me to wear (don’t ask), to have a ceremonial celebration of my womanhood. It was acutely embarrassing but it was precious. 

Auntie made the best doughnuts and had the best laugh. She did nothing but love her family to the ends of her perfectly coiffed wig. She was decent and honest and God fearing and I don’t know what her kids will do without her. They’re not kids any more but when it comes to your mum? You’re always a kid. 

My Auntie’s knowledge and power and understanding has fed a lot of my books and she was unabashedly proud of me. I can’t quite believe that I’m never going to see her again. Or hear her laugh. Or the way she says my name with such affection. She was at home with me and my mum having a couple of glasses of wine when I received my first email from Jayha Leigh. The three of us were cackling in the car as my mum dropped her home. Another sign of her decency - she loved a glass of red and a hard spirit or two. 

I’m going to have a hard spirit for her. Just for today. Given the pandemic means we can’t travel to Ghana to honour her in the way we Ghanaians usually do, I’ll toast to her and all that she gave me.

Rest well, my sweet Auntie. You’ve earned it. 

Love In A Time Of Madness

And is this time not mad?

Briefly, I've been thinking about my Italian Knights babies and what on earth they'd be doing given the current situation.

And it came to me pretty quickly:

Nick and Gina have their restaurant - Ghanaian/Italian fusion food of deliciousness. Focaccia and hard dough bread freshly baked every morning by that clever Robinson girl. Can Nicholas arrange delivery? Of course he can! It would also be the best place to get gelato in a range of flavours. They're taking gift vouchers and providing meals for freezing to food banks.

Tony and Lydia are hard at work, when Tony isn't indulging in his hobbies and giving Lyds a smack or two. Tony - hacker extreme - is fiddling with the numbers on bank accounts. He can't have people starving, can he? He's also making sure PPE is available for those who need it. He's got to protect his in-laws, or his eardrums won't survive. Lydia's nursing has always been exemplary. I can't see her doing anything but putting her everything into keeping people well. Private hospital run by her husband's best friend or no, space should be made for those who need it.

Massimo and Belinda are self-isolating in their beautiful home in London. Both Paul and Nick didn't want them to be in a different country while the UK locked down. Belinda has taken to making shitto for her babies and they collect at a safe distance. Massimo makes pasta for the street and every Friday, the neighbours sit in their front gardens and create a pub like atmosphere to enjoy their food.

Rocco and Anna have fixed boundaries and separate offices. Rocco is doing a lot of criminal pro bono for black Londoners who are being disproportionately targeted by police with little to do and rules that aren't law. Anna is fielding clients who are trying to stay afloat and keep their employees. She's also taking on free cases to keep people in work, rather than sacked. Nonna has Nick sorting her cake deliveries across London and if he's late, he has to pay her double. Deliveries to the Mamione-Taylors from Nonna and Gina are key.

Luca and Frankie are busy with their twins and work. Rather than twiddle his thumbs, Luca has set up a build your own pizza from home business - dough ready to be rolled, tomato sauce or white sauce if you fancy and sides to top it with garnishes. Frankie is working closely with domestic abuse agencies and insists that Luca provides his pizzas to key workers. She has one or two herself.

Ella and Durante's work is elbow deep in olive oil. Their town is pulling together to keep going. Durante has relied on Tony's work to make sure they survive. Ella is still shipping her divine VBR Rose oil products and ensuring shipping is free. All their children are at the farmhouse grilling, swimming or picking olives.

Finally, Beppe and Mimi returned from Switzerland before the lockdown kicked in. Beppe's been working on providing sterile kits for new mothers and the elderly. He's putting his brain to everything he can to help. Mimi is taking up those routine operations that have fallen in the path of the virus.

Busy little bees all of them. I like to think they're entertaining themselves and getting some snuggles in too, even when they're a bit tired. More than anything, I like to think that they're safe.

What The Hell??

What. The. Hell?!?

I thought me and 2020 had an agreement? I thought we were cool and things were going to be peachy this year after the disaster of 2019? And you do this 2020? I feel like I’m living in the Prince of Egypt but without the insane Hans Zimmer score.

Let me just side step by saying why are old people so stubborn? Both my parents are in the vulnerable category and should have been taking self-isolation seriously. But my mother? “I need to find something to eat!” Know what she came back with from Lidl? Quiche. Flaming quiche. And my dad? After I hand rolled some oddly shaped but highly tasty bread rolls for him bumps off to Poundland. Poundland. I- Actually you know what I did? I told my big brother who in turn FaceTimed my parents to tell them off. Now my dad calls me a grass. 🙄

Anyways, in the mire that is a 21st Century plague (I am not writing King Lear - behave. I’ve barely found the time and inclination to write this!) I am desperate to find peace in my own space which has turned into an office space. My phone which used to be an escape from everything is now the direct line to messages at all hours of the day with very little regard for my time or mental health to work.
The day job isn’t a joke. It’s an emotional toll which I’ve finally learned to balance. If I can’t resolve it by six pm, I’m not going to resolve it at ten or eleven pm. There needs to be a point of switch off and if I can’t, I won’t be able to do it for much longer. I used to be able to close my laptop and pop downstairs for a little nibble and a cup of tea. Then out for a walk and to Liberty for a comforting break. Or off to delightful Wimbledon Village (of tennis tournament fame yes) to have a wander and a cheeky shop.

Now I don’t have those modes of escape. Can’t get my nails done, my hair washed, a massage or my bits waxed. All my techniques of distraction for the next three weeks at minimum have gone.

Seriously what the goddamn hell do I do? You lot already know that I don’t write when I’m emotional and this pre-apocalyptic mess is making a bitch emotional as hell. I’m getting that trapped cat about to scratch everything enough to send you to hospital for stitches sensation of frustrated.

Is this the point where I meditate and light scented candles? It may have to be or else you’re going to find out who I am - on the news and in handcuffs...

I mean I guess I have the time to watch the shows I’ve moaned I’m too many seasons behind to catch up on as a way to destress? Nah, lemme watch season 8 of Ru Paul’s Drag Race for the billionth time instead. Then I know I won’t be disappointed by the outcome and a Jo Malone scented bath with do wonders. Coz as much as that cost, it works a charm.

Deep breaths y’all. This is reaaaaaaaaaal weird.