The Secret Author

Yes I love to write, but…when it comes to marketing, I’m useless!
I’m a self published author and always have a story in my head. A story that needs to be told, and if I don’t let it out, it would surely drive me CRAZY! (I’m halfway there already)
When I finish my books, and tell all of my friends about them, they faithfully support me so there is a flurry of sales for which I’m very grateful, then it’s up to me to continue my marketing campaign. It never happens because I simply don’t know where to start.

I’m no good at self promotion. I’m excellent at promoting anyone or anything else successfully, and with enthusiasm, but not myself.

I’ve written ghost stories, thrillers and, more recently, a children’s book. My editor thinks my books are pretty good, and as an old girl, I think I’m pretty interesting, but unfortunately I’m a secret to myself.



I’d planned to have this book released by Christmas 2017. I know, it didn’t happen. I love writing so much I don’t have time to publish, and I certainly can’t afford a publisher. Oh well, when it eventually does get released later this year it’s going to be a bargain book for those of you who love England, especially the north-east. The stories packed into this book include;

Ghosts on the Sand (set in Blackpool)
Guy at the Bar (set in Brompton-on-Swale and Richmond)
Camera (set in Brompton-on-Swale and Richmond)
The Engineer (set in a fictitious village in County Durham)

Why are most of my stories set in the North East? Because it’s the best part of England. Northerners are genuine, down to earth and fun!

I was born in Bishop Aukland, lived in Shildon until I was 4 years old. I then fled with my mam to Etherly and Butterknowle to escape my violent dad. Mam finally found a job and house in Summerhouse, county Durham, where we lived until 1967. When she remarried we moved to Brompton-on-Swale, the village that shaped my life. Even though I live in the United States now (well until I retire to Italy), Brompton-on-Swale is on my mind a great deal. I wish I could become a famous writer. If I did I’d make sure to let everyone know where I came from. I’d tell them about that down to earth little village, where everyone knew everyone else and looked out for their neighbors. Many folks were born there and never moved away. They are the lucky ones. My wandering spirit won’t let me stay in one place too long. I pop back every now and again. Yes, it’s changed, but I still think of it as home.

The Argument!

I got married in 1977 and the haunting started soon after. Lots of things happened, which I thought were attached to my husband. Some of them saved his life, but I will talk about those in another blog. This one is about ‘The Argument’

We had been married a year or less, and lived in Dorset. A beautiful county steeped in History.

We loved living there, but being newly married and young, there was obviously the odd argument. I can’t remember what we argued about on this particular night, but we went to bed without making up. This is never a good thing, and something I hate doing. On this particular night it was indeed a bad idea.

As we laid in bed we heard things move about downstairs, and then pictures fall off the wall one by one.

Back in those days there was no heating in our bedroom and the cold room felt icy. We hid under the covers of course.

We may have stayed in bed without moving until morning if it wasn’t for our black cat. Yes, my new husband agreed to let me have a cat. I know he regretted it later as he and the cat did NOT get along and tormented each other in all sorts of ways, but that’s a story for another blog too.

As we snuggled together under the bed covers a little afraid, and wondering what was going on downstairs, we heard another noise. It sounded like a child shouting “mamma, mamma” and it was coming from the top of the stairs.

We didn’t know if we needed to run because some Devil Child was coming to get us, or get on our knees and pray.

Cautiously we got out of bed and crept across the room to see where the noise was coming from.

There at the top of the stairs was our Black Manx Cat. It’s eyes were huge and crazy and were fixed on something at the bottom of the stairs. It was making a noise I had never head a cat make before “mamma, mamma”.

Our cat ran and hid under the bed, the way cats do, leaving my husband and I to go downstairs and tackle what ever was there.

We switched on every light in the house and walked from room to room. There was no-one to be seen, but the damage was done. Several photos had slid down from the wall and onto the floor.

My husband’s mother died when he was young, and I wondered if she was with us and maybe watching out for him. She may have been warning me to be nice to her son. Who knows? I will let you judge for yourselves as I share more of these stories with you.

 I have published two short stories which you can read as e-books or in print by going to the links below.

Watch out for ‘Dead of July’ my first full length novel – Coming Soon.

My second Ghost experience!

At the age of seven, I had my second experience with a ghost! I have changed the names of those involved, including where it happened.

Walton Castle


I had a friend who lived at Walton Castle.

Her mum was the housekeeper. Walton Castle was haunted. The castle had been a hospital during the Second World War and I was excited when I was given a tour of the place.

It was incredibly pretty, with beautiful paintings and ornate ceilings that looked like intricately decorated wedding cakes turned upside down. I had been left in one particular room on my own while my friend went and answered the telephone. I wasn’t in the room for long, but it was long enough. The big heavy door had slammed shut all by itself and the room got very cold and fuzzy-looking. It felt like I was looking at everything through frosted glass.

I felt like someone was in the room with me, but couldn’t see anyone, and although it was daylight, it felt dark. I had wanted to get out of the room so badly, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even raise my arm.

The whole incident only lasted three or four minutes before the door opened and my friend Shirley appeared, smiling like nothing had happened. The minute she opened the door, I bolted out right past her and didn’t stop running until I got through the big front door. I ran kept running down the big driveway to the bus stop, where I sat for the next hour, refusing to budge.

Shirley, her older sister, her brother and her mum tried to persuade me to come back, but I would not. So instead, they brought my coat and bag to me, along with a sandwich and a drink, and sat with me on the side of the road until the bus came. They asked me what had happened but I was so scared I would not talk about it. That had not been a sunstroke dream at all. That had been a real life, broad daylight scare.

This story is taken from my book ‘Girl on the Beach’ which can be downloaded from Amazon for free in the US and around eighty-six pence in the UK. My other book ‘Guy at the Bar’ is also available in print and as an e-book.