1) First, tell us about yourself – where you live, your family, and those sorts of details.
I live in Sydney, Australia. I share my compact, inner-city terrace with my musician partner and our teenage daughter and son. I worked in IT for many years, but these days I’m lucky enough to be a full-time writer.
2) How long have you been writing?
I dabbled in writing on and off throughout my life but only became serious about it in 2009, so that’s four years ago.
3) Do you have a favorite place to write?
My desk is by the window in our bedroom, and that’s where I most like to write because it’s sunny and I can shut the door for some quiet. When I need a change of scenery, I take my laptop to the kitchen or living room.
4) Why did you decide to write Darke London?
I wanted to write a story set in Victorian London because I love the foggy, gaslit atmosphere of that period. I had my hero and heroine in mind, and I wanted to incorporate a little bit of the supernatural in my story so it’s not a straight historical romance.
5) Who is your favorite character in your book and why?
I love my heroine Nellie Barchester. After a horrible physical assault, where she barely escapes alive, she has to find a new identity for herself and also has to confront the fears of her past.
6) How about your least favorite character? What makes them less appealing to you?
Well, that would have to be my villain. He’s vicious and nasty and so obsessed with his grand idea he’ll stop at nothing. Fortunately, he gets his just deserts.
7) Do you proofread/edit your own books or do you get someone to do that for you?
I proofread and edit my books before I submit them to my publishers. Then the publishers’ editors will edit and proofread my books some more until they are ready for publication. It can often be a long, involved process, but I learn so much from my editors.
8) What do you like to do when you’re not writing?
I love to read! Sometimes I feel guilty for reading when I should be writing.
9) Do you read much and if so who are your favorite authors?
Yes! I don’t have auto-buy authors as I like to read all sorts of genres and authors. Some recent authors I’ve enjoyed include Liane Moriarty, Meg Benjamin, and IJ Parker.
10) What question do you wish that someone would ask about your book, but nobody has? Write it out here, then answer it.
Hmm, tricky question! What is the heat rating of Darke London?
I would grade it 3 out of 5; not sweet but not scorching hot either.
Thanks for hosting me on your blog today!
Uncanny Chronicles, Book 1
Number of pages: 157
Word Count: 50,000
Cover Artist: Kanaxa
The only way to save her life is to resurrect the dead…
Julian Darke was only a newborn when he was abandoned on the doorstep of a gentleman doctor. Though raised with love, he is driven to discover his true origins.
Convinced Sir Thaddeus Ormond knows something, Julian shadows him one night—and is shocked to see a young woman thrown from Ormond’s carriage and accosted by a thug. Julian manages to save her life, but not her face and hands from horrific injuries.
Nellie Barchester doesn’t recognize the scarred, disfigured stranger in the mirror. Though the gifted doctor and engineer has done his best to repair the damage, scars ravage her body, and chill her soul with the realization that her own husband may have plotted her death.
Julian’s tenderness is a balm to her soul, and Nellie is drawn to the edge of passion by a man not repelled by her deformities. But as their pursuit of the truth draws them into London’s underbelly, they cross the path of a ruthless enemy who will stop at nothing to fulfill his schemes.
Warning: Can a brilliant but troubled doctor find happiness with a woman scarred both inside and out? A hint of the supernatural plus a night of passion spice up this Uncanny Chronicle.
“What have we here?” Elijah lifted the stained cloak covering the woman. He froze. “God in heaven! Her face—”
Julian nodded grimly. He had seen her face earlier on and, after a cursory examination, had instinctively hidden it with her cloak.
“Well?” Julian asked.
His father grunted. “See for yourself.”
For some reason, instead of staring rudely at her exposed face, he found himself reaching for the hood of the cloak and smoothing it back from the woman’s head. A handful of brown curls tumbled out, incongruously bright and clean and fresh against the oozing mess staining everything else. The tang of spilt blood hit the back of his throat, like the taste of pennies. He swallowed hard, aware of his roiling innards. Why was the smell of blood unmanning him like this? Since he was old enough to walk, he’d assisted his father. He had lanced boils, drained suppurating wounds, stitched up gaping cuts, all with nary a wince. And he was a qualified doctor too. He’d dissected corpses, amputated arms and legs, trepanned a number of patients. In all these years he’d never suffered a queasy turn, and yet now his stomach threatened to unman him. Why now? Why did this woman affect him so?
She was a stranger to him; he’d never laid eyes on her before this evening. It must simply be his body protesting, sapped of energy after the tribulations he’d faced tonight. He willed his nerves to steady as he took a proper look at the woman.
Under the harsh, hissing light, the white of her face was crisscrossed with deep gashes, like a peach haphazardly sliced open. Mercifully both eyes appeared intact and unharmed. Congealing blood spattered the front of her dress, the pattern of the faded cotton submerged beneath the sticky mess. A swelling contusion on her right temple indicated the heavy blow which had rendered her insensate.
Elijah lifted up one of the woman’s hands. “What happened here?” His voice was rough with disbelief.
Julian could only shake his head at the bloodied stumps, all that was left of the middle and ring fingers. He had bound his handkerchief as best he could around the hand, but there had been considerable loss of blood, and the fingers had been crudely removed, leaving behind a messy lump of flesh.
“Can we save her hand?” he asked.
“We shall do our best.”
Using a sharp pair of scissors, Elijah began to cut off the woman’s dress in order to complete his examination. As the shears tore through the thin material, the woman moaned. It was no more than a murmur, but it seemed the most blood-curdling sound Julian had ever heard. She squirmed, her flailing arms almost knocking the scissors from Elijah’s hand.
“Hold her down, son,” Elijah barked.
Julian obeyed, but the instant he pressed down on the woman’s shoulders, her eyelids flew open. Two green eyes stared up at him, frozen in a moment of sheer terror. With the glaring lights overhead, he must appear like a dark silhouette looming over her, Julian surmised. And then every thought fled from him as she started to shriek and thrash her limbs, struggling with all her might to free herself.
Elijah exclaimed as the scissors were knocked flying from his grasp.
“Hush now, hush. You’re safe—” Julian tried to comfort the woman, but she only fought harder, her strength surprising him.
She thinks I am her attacker, that monster assaulting her with his knife. The realisation was enough to make him lift his hands away from her. She tried to sit up, but before she could move Elijah darted in and covered her nose and mouth with his chloroform pad. Her muffled screams continued, her eyes above the pad bulging with horror, but moments later her eyelids drooped, and she collapsed back on the table.