It would be fair to describe my working life as being too dull to be worthy of a mention. Apart from a whistle blowing incident that crashed through the official secrets act and got me on to the front page of the Observer that is. This was enough excitement compressed into a few months and involved Atomic Energy Authority police and late night meeting with journalists, worthy of a novel in itself.

My writing gives me what was so lacking in my employment. It moves me in that extreme way that excites the young. It heightens the emotions, keeps me awake at night and when I eventually sleep, it bursts into my dreams and wakes me up. I’ve become obsessed about my craft. All of my titles concern themselves with the politics of relationships, anything from the dynamics of children running wild in the playground to the more perfidious aspects of adult liaisons. I’m especially drawn to the darkly illicit world of lovers, hypocrites and gossips. I occasionally dwell in the mind of the more extreme, the corrupt, the violent and even the homicidal. I write books that explore relationships, dark, erotic, suspenseful and perfect reading for night owls.

I’ve a wonderful wife and three strong, independent children. That should have been enough to discourage an overzealous approach to socialising and arguing. Should have, fortunately it tempered my attitude to both to a degree. I started writing as a tribute to my father, a short tempered rogue, raconteur, ex-boxer and a man who I knew would put his head through a brick wall to defend his family. In fact thinking about it, he did just that a couple of times. Also a fond remembrance of my first twenty four years in this world. Raised in a busy pub, pleasure was everywhere and common sense nowhere. At present I am studying for a Degree in Creative Writing with the University of Oxford. I have always lived in and around Wantage, a peaceful down-land market town on the edge of the Berkshire downs.



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Salt of Their Blood     4 Bones Sleeping   Small Town Nocturne A Boneless Kiss Beneath The Drowning Pool