Loves Me, Loves Me Not

This week (the shingles having mercifully abated) I've been to the swish launch party for LOVES ME, LOVES ME NOT. This lovely book is an anthology of romantic short stories of every hue, from historical to hysterical, written by members of the Romantic Novelists Association, and published to celebrate the RNA's Golden Anniversary next year.

It was quite amazing to be in the same room (and what a room!) as so many famous faces! My less-than-famous-face can be spotted here in the official photo in the back row right-hand corner just to the left of the painting, sandwiched somewhere between, and breathing the same air as, such literary luminaries as Joanna Trollope on one side and Carole Matthews and Adele Parkes on the other. How cool is that? I'm holding a glass and grinning. As per... And laughing with the fabulous Jan Jones with whom I not only share a name and a writing past but practically everything else.

It was a wonderful party. Held in the Cavalry and Guards Club in Piccadilly - truly sumptuous surroundings - it was glamour and luxury personified. As I don't get out much I was practically beside myself with excitement. My plus-one was Em-next-door-as-was because The Toyboy Trucker was away working in Crewe or Cleethorpes or Croydon or somewhere exotic like that. Em and I had a whale of a time (not to mention quails eggs - a first for me) and it was so lovely to meet up with old RNA friends and chatter to new ones. The chattering may have been a bit off the wall as I'd had several glasses of wine - and for this, and ignoring people - especially Nell who I didn't say anything sensible to at all until the last minute scramble for taxis-to-the-station, I apologise...



Loves Me, Loves Me Not contains over 40 original short stories by members of the Romantic Novelists Association and proves what a diverse lot we are, and even more so, what a broad church "romantic fiction" really is. I'm so proud to have a story included - mine's called The Wrong Trousers and is, hopefully, funny. I wanted to write something to show that falling head-over-heels in love is not simply for the young, rich, beautiful and perfectly-formed. I even managed to get a mention of magic knickers in there without falling foul of the editors (thanks, Sue and Jan!) - a subject close to my heart (well, more my nether regions) on the night as I was very brave and wore a frock and yep, magic knickers. My frock (Tesco and very low-cut so to prevent a wardrobe malfunction I stiched up the gaping cleavage on the train and managed to attach it to my bra and my skin) was purple, as were my tights and my lovely, lovely long suede boots (Primark) and I wore my trophy necklace made up of purple Fender plectrums - a throw-back to my mis-spent yoof when I collected bass guitarists...

And now it's all over and I'm back at "work" on Midnight Feast (yes, I know it's now officially called The Way To A Woman's Heart but it still says Midnight Feast on my computer files and that's how it'll stay in my heart and my head for the time being) and the frock and boots are back in the wardrobe and the magic knickers are in the washing basket and my fifteen minutes of glamour and fame are simply a lovely memory... Sigh....