A Royal Wedding and a freebie!

I'm moving house and so I'm crazy busy right now, but I had to drop in and let you know that the fabulous Invitation to a Wedding quartet from Sophie Weston, Jessica Hart, myself and Anne McAllister, published by Tule, is now available in paperback. Just look at those luscious covers!

It won't have escaped anyone's notice that we have a real royal wedding this spring and we were all delighted to hear that Meghan Markle and Prince Harry have - like Hope and Jonas, our own royal couple - decided to invite the locals into the grounds of Windsor Castle to witness the arrival of the bride and the royal party at St George's Chapel. We are all smiling.

And here's the freebie..

It's Read an eBook week and to celebrate I've made a number of my books free at Smashwords including a rare opportunity to download my Little of Book of Writing Romance.with a click that will cost you nothing.

Here's the link so don't delay - grab them for your reader! 

Five Steps to a Becoming An Author

I've been a published writer for a heap of years and I'm often asked how I started. I'd dabbled as far back as school. Started stories but with no idea how to finish them.

This is my first published writing ever. It was bought by a magazine (still going strong) called Women's Weekly and they paid me £20. I was finally in print.

Ambition # 1 ticked.

I wrote an article about having a baby in Bahrein (she's now the lovely Mummy Blogger Hooked), was paid £40 for that and I had the money for a portable typewriter. Two articles meant it wasn't a fluke. I was a writer!

Ambition #2 ticked.

Every afternoon the BBC broadcast an iconic radio programme for small children called Listen With Mother that began "Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...'

I had small children and every afternoon we sat comfortably and listened. There were songs, poems and a story and I thought - as you do - how hard can it be to write a little story like that?

The answer was, is, that's it's a lot harder that you think. Starting is easy... Of you go with a lost button, a plain coathanger, a homeless cat.... Finishing it was the tough one but I battled through with the plain coathanger. It was a rubbish but I'd written a beginning, a middle and an end.

My second attempt, with the homeless cat found a home with D C Thomson, a famous British company publishing magazines and comics. A New Home was published in their Twinkle annual that year. Twinkle was a "picture paper" for little girls and I wrote a lot of stuff for them. (This is one...) Poems (they paid best), short stories for the annual and a ton of comic strip stories for the picture paper itself. I just wrote the words (and described what should be in the picture) - I didn't draw the pictures.

It looks very simple but you have to cram a lot into a very few words. It's direct, active and low on adverbs. Very good training. I was earning an income from writing, having meetings with a publisher to discuss what I might to do next. I was being taken seriously as a writer.

Ambition #3 ticked.

I also had half a dozen stories accepted by Listen With Mother and still have tape recordings somewhere of the programmes in which they were read out. That was huge. Really. And my son's Reception teacher had the whole class listen to one of them - and I made the local newspaper!

Ambition # 4 well and truly ticked.

It was fun and I loved doing this but it was no way to make a living as a writer. I needed to move on. I sold a few more articles to women's magazines, including the iconic The Lady.

The next big step was winning a competition in the magazine Writing with a short ghost story, which was a huge confidence boost. But where next?

I wanted to write full length fiction. I had just embarked on a children's story (involving a magic carpet and sheikhs....) when I read an article in a British newspaper about Anne Hampson and Charlotte Lamb (both living in tax exile - Charlotte in the Isle of Man, Anne in the West Indies.  Ambition #5 was to be Anne Hampson!

It was a very steep learning curve. I completed three manuscripts, got encouraging feedback from Mills and Boon and finally, with my fourth attempt - this time just three chapters and cheeky note saying that I'd like to know if they liked it enough for me to bother finishing it - I hooked the interest of an editor. She liked the writing, wasn't convinced by the plot and told me to start again.

I walked around in a daze for a week.

This was huge, my big chance and if I blew it...

I rethought my heroine and gave her some sound motivation, put her in the most uncomfortable situation I could imagine and nine months later - after three rewrites! - I finally got the call to tell me that they would be publishing An Image of You.

Ambition #5 ticked and nailed to the wall!

I loved the original cover and I also love that Mills and Boon have recently reissued this book in digital format so that it's available again.

My next book, The Sheikh's Convenient Princess, published early next year, will be my 65th title for Mills and Boon.

So do I have any ambitions left? Well I've never made tax exile like Anne Hampson and Charlotte Lamb, but yes. There's always something bigger, something just over the horizon to be reached for. I'll keep you posted!

Liz Fielding's A Summer's Lease will be free on Amazon from 8th-12th September.

The Sheikh's Temporary Princess?

The good news is that my latest book is now going through the long procedure that starts after I've finished it and my editor has said "Yes!"

Copy-editing (to catch the boring stuff like typing errors, spelling mistakes, whether I got into a muddle with my time-line and check that my heroine's eyes didn't change colour half way through. (None of that happened!)

It's still without a title, although in my head it will always be The Sheikh's Temporary Princess. I'll let you know what the combined might of editorial, marketing and the tealady decide when they've made up their mind.

The publication date - so far - is February 2017 which seems a very long time to wait here's link to my Pinterest page where I gathered loads of lovely inspirational pictures of jewellery, clothes, shaded courtyards and of course my hero.

Meanwhile, allow me to introduce Sheikh Ibraham al-Ansari (Bram to those who know him), former downhill race ski champion, superb horseman whose string of polo ponies are named after the brightest stars, The disgraced and disinherited heir to the throne of Umm al-Basr.

He's in a jam. (Make that another jam.)  He's got a temporary PA from the fabulous Garland Agency  - the uber efficient Ruby Dance - but what he really needs is a temporary wife.

"Garland Girls" have a legendary status, but will this "Girl" live up to the billing and save him from an arranged marriage?

Serial Liz Fielding fans will remember that Amanda Garland first appeared in her brother's story, Dating Her Boss and I thought she was so interesting that I wrote her own story. It's told in the The Baby Plan.

Oh, and her step-daughter, Sadie Redford, runs the car hire company that gave things a helping hand in the Sheikh's Unsuitable Bride. Which reminds me. Sadie really deserves her own happy ending.

Getting Organized - Liz Fielding

I'm deep in revisions for my new book - the one about the sheikh and his temporary princess - which have to be on my editor's desk on Monday.

Due to all manner of "stuff", this has taken me a very long time to write and when I send it away at the end of March (my ed had a two-week holiday and flu between then and now so she's taken a long time, too) I was heartily glad to see the back of it.

A few weeks break - in which I got into a short story (more ice-cream but not finished yet) and a ton of reading - and the characters, the story have come back to me with a freshness that has made the revisions, the careful reading to see where I can strengthen motivations, give the story extra breadth and sizzle, has been an unexpected pleasure. I hope, next month, to be able to give you a title and a publication date.

In the meantime I've been catching on a "new thing" via writing mates Ally Blake and Anne Gracie - the bullet journal. This is something that calls out to my love of stationery, notebooks, pretty sparkly pens and stickers of all kinds!

Bullet journals are all about organization and if the last year has taught me anything, it's that I need to be more organized.

Obviously I had to research all the gorgeousness of bullet journals on Pinterest but before I embark on the extravagance of a Midori Travel Journal I'm going to have to see one, hold one and that will require a trip to somewhere that offers "serious" shopping. Hello, Bath...

Meanwhile, I've resurrected my old Filofax to give it a go. It's black and boring - I'm already coveting this pretty purple one -  and I have a birthday very soon. Maybe this year, when my desperate family ask me what I want, I'll have a list!

More Ice Cream

While I'm awaiting my editor's thoughts on the manuscript I've just submitted, I'm writing a short story spin off from my "ice cream" trilogy (Tempted By Trouble, Anything But Vanilla and Vettori's Damsel in Distress).

There are always minor characters who beg for a story of their own. Some become books but some are smaller than that. Ria (Knickerbocker Gloria) and Graeme Laing, who appeared in Anything But Vasnilla fall into that category.

The scatty ice cream genius Ria is enormous fun and I've been having a great time on Pinterest finding the kind of clothes and jewellery she would wear.

And who would be the stiff, formal, beautifully dressed millionaire who needs the "creases shaking out of his trousers" - her complete opposite - Graeme Laing?

That was surprisingly easy. :)

All that's left is stand back and watch the fireworks as these two overcome their prejudices and discover that they are made for each other!

Gorgeous dress and fabulous jewels...

Research is one of the best things about being a writer. When I first started writing it involved trips to the library, coming home with piles of books on wherever I had happened to be setting my latest story. Travellers tales, gorgeous coffee table books with photographs of deserted lagoons so luscious that you could almost feel the sand between your toes, lovely houses, background information on trades, crafts.

I had lovely conversations with helpful tourist information officers in London embassies — and always sent them a signed book as a thank you. I had a breathtaking brochure describing all the fabulous houses on Mustique where I set All She Wants for Christmas.

At the moment, tempted by my editor, I working on a new “sheikh” story — working title, The Sheikh’s Temporary Princess — and I’m having an absolute ball on my latest passion, Pinterest.

It’s a marriage of convenience story, always fun, and my Cinderella needs a “princess” dress for her transformation. This is the one I chose. And these are the jewels her prince gives her to wear on this momentous occasion...

Here’s a sneak peek—

Ruby’s heart was racing and in an attempt to slow it, reclaim control of her body if not her life, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again Bram was standing in front of her and her heart rate shot through the roof.

She had only seen in him in the most casual of clothes, a towel, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, dusty riding clothes, the chinos he’d worn with a loose, collarless shirt to travel into the city. Now he was wearing traditional robes.

Everything was simple, understated. A plain white thaub over which had been thrown the finest camel hair bisht, a fine white keffiyeh held in place by a plain black egal and at his waist he carried a knife in a traditional, curved black and silver filigree scabbard. Simple, understated, regal, he was every inch the desert prince but it was his face that held her, his golden eyes, a jaw strong enough to slay dragons, the seductive curve of a lower lip that she wanted to suck into her mouth.

No, no, no—

‘Wow…’ she said, all faux brightness. ‘Look at us.’

‘Ruby… Rabi…’

She frowned, distracted. ‘Rabi?’

‘It means harvest. For the contract I had to give you an Arab name. I tried to get as close to your own as I could.’

‘Harvest?’

All afternoon Violet and Leila had talked about weddings. Their own, those of their friends. They’d shown her photographs of their children assuming that she would soon be a mother and she’d had to play along, smile as if she couldn’t wait.

The name he’d given her implied fertility, fecundity and the lie was like a cold hand squeezing her womb.

‘Your father will like that,’ she said as he put down the leather case he was carrying. He glanced up, frowning, clearly catching something in her tone. ‘Good choice,’ she added with the smile she’d once practised in the mirror. The smile she used to cover hurt, pain, the spiteful remarks of others. It had been so long since she’d used it that her cheeks creaked a bit with the effort, but it seemed to reassure him and, as he opened the case, she didn’t have to pretend to catch her breath as he revealed the jewels within.

Her gasp was totally real.

‘Oh, my…’ she said, staring at the art deco parure of diamonds and rubies.

At one point, feeling that she had to add something to the dress, shoe, underwear debate she’d suggested that perhaps she needed some colour to offset the silver-grey but Leila had it covered with ruby polish for her nails and colour for her mouth.

‘You approve?’ he asked.

Approve? Was he kidding? ‘It’s perfect… How did you know?’

He smiled. ‘Violet sent me a photograph of the dress, although I have to say it looks a lot better on you than a tailor’s dummy.’

She felt her cheeks warm as he continued to look at her and she said, ‘You owe her, Bram. She must have had a thousand things to do today but she and Leila have overseen every detail.’

‘I’ll repay her when I donate to her charity tonight.’ He turned to the case and picked up one of pair of bracelets that nestled against the silk. ‘Shall we begin?’

She raised her hand without a word and he fastened the wide cuff of diamonds and rubies over her left wrist. Was he taking care not to actually touch her or was that her imagination?

He repeated the performance with her right wrist and no, it was not her imagination. When the

clasp proved awkward she saw that his hands were shaking. No doubt like the Imam who fainted, he was counting the cost of this temporary arrangement but the jewels, at least, could be returned when it was all over.

She held out her hands to look at the result. Hers were shaking, too, she realised and he caught them and held them, held her gaze. If he thought that was going to steady her he couldn’t have been more wrong.

‘Are you going to be all right, Ruby?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ she managed through a throat that felt as if it had been stuffed with boulders. ‘It’s just that I’ve never worn anything quite so…sparkly.’

He laughed. ‘Shall we try the collar?’

She nodded and he released her hands to pick up a necklace that was a simple V-shaped geometric collar of diamonds and rubies, with clusters of rubies forming hearts down the centre of the V.

It was set dressing, she told herself. Putting on a show to convince his father that this was real.

‘You seem taller,’ he said, as he lifted the collar to her throat.

‘It’s the shoes.’ She lifted the skirt an inch to reveal a barely-there shoe, her ruby painted toenails.

He glanced down and it seemed half a lifetime before he finally looked up. ‘Very pretty,’ he said, his face expressionless, ‘but I’m going to have to ask you to bend forward a little.’

She dipped her head and as his fingers brushed against the back of her neck she struggled to control the shiver that rippled through her body, tightened her nipples into hard buds against the lace that he would see the moment she straightened.

After what seemed like an age with his arms around her, drowning in the scent of clean laundry, warm skin, something that might have been sandalwood, the clasp finally clicked into place. He stepped back and she could breathe again. Too soon…

The backs of his fingers brushed against her skin as he lifted the collar and eased it into place so that the row of hearts was perfectly vertical and the necklace echoed the neckline of the dress where it dipped between her breasts.

‘How does that feel?’ he asked.

‘Heavy…’ There was a heaviness in breasts and low in belly. An ache between her thighs. It had been a long time since she’d shared a bed with a man but with every touch the heat was building.

‘It will soon be over,’ he said, reaching for one of the earrings — long falls of diamonds and rubies.

‘Shall I…?’ she asked, shakily. She was unravelling and if he touched her again…

‘Your hands aren’t steady enough.’

‘If you were wearing this many diamonds you’d be feeling a bit wobbly,’ she said.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ he assured her.

‘I doubt it and you wouldn’t do this for Bibi,’ she said, desperately, her knees, hips melting as women’s bodies had melted since the morning Eve woke up and discovered Adam staring down at her.

‘No, Bibi would come ready gift-wrapped,’ he agreed as he carefully fitted the earrings in place.

And it would be his duty to unwrap her. In her case he was doing the wrapping but it wasn’t going to be Christmas for either of them.

‘Are they comfortable?’ he asked. ‘Not too heavy?’

She shook her head and they brushed against her neck.

Next he took the small, matching tiara from the centre of the case and lifted it onto her head, setting it firmly amongst the ruffle of curls arranged by Violet’s hairdresser before, taking the last item from the case, a curious piece of white gold, scattered with diamonds and rubies arranged in flower shapes.

‘What is that?’ she asked.

‘Give me your left hand.’

She raised it and he took it in his, held it for a moment before sliding the confection over her hand so that the gems sparkled along her thumb and index finger. ‘A double ring,’ he said, continuing to hold it.

‘Did I say wow?’ she asked.

‘I think that’s my line.’

‘No, really. I feel like a queen,’

‘You look like one,’ he assured her.  ‘No one is going to lift an eyebrow when I tell them that when you appeared, unexpectedly, at the fort yesterday morning I knew that I could never let you go. They’ll only wonder why on earth it took me so long to figure it out.’

‘A fabulous dress and a king’s ransom in jewels will work wonders.’

‘It takes more than that.’ For a moment he just stood there looking at her, then seemed to catch himself. ‘Time to go.’

You can see more of Liz's inspiration on her Pinterest page.

To keep up to date with Liz’s releases, “like” her author page on Facebook (where she does regular giveaways) and sign up for her newsletter (for those little extras) at her website http://www.lizfielding.com

Cover Reveal!

I've been eagerly awaiting the cover for my latest Harlequin Romance, Vettori's Damsel in Distress. It popped into my inbox this week and I'm sharing it here first.

This is Geli's story. She's the third and youngest of the Amery sisters (Elle - Tempted By Trouble; Sorrel - Anything But Vanilla) whose life has revolved around ice cream ever since the arrival of "Rosie", a pink ice cream van.

Geli - who went to art college - has gone to Italy to remind herself that life isn't all about ice cream. (Not that she escapes entirely!)

Things do not start well. It snowed - who knew? There's a stray kitten - nothing changes. And as for her lovely apartment...

Here's the moment when Geli first sees Dante Vettori...

A few people had turned when the door opened and the chatter died away until the only sound was the low thrum of a double bass.

The man standing at the bar, curious about what had caught everyone’s attention, half turned and anticipation whooshed off the scale in an atavistic charge of raw desire; instant, bone deep need for a man before you heard his voice, felt his touch, knew his name.

For a moment, while she remembered how to breathe, it felt as if someone had pressed the pause button on the scene, freezing the moment in soft focus. Muted colours reflected in polished steel, lights shimmering off the bottles and glasses behind the bar, her face reflected, ghost-like behind the advertisement on a mirror. And Mr Italy with his kiss-me mouth and come-to-bed eyes.

Forget the thick, dark hair and cheekbones sharp enough to write their own modelling contract, it was those chocolate dark eyes that held her transfixed. If they had been looking out of a tourist poster there would be a stampede to book holidays in Italy.

He straightened, drawing attention to the way his hair curled onto his neck, a pair of scandalously broad shoulders, strong wrists emerging from folded back cuffs.

‘Signora…’ he murmured, as he moved back a little to make room for her at the counter and oh, joy, his voice matched the face, the body.

She might have passed out for lack of oxygen at that moment but a tall, athletic-looking blonde placed a tiny cup of espresso in front of him before — apparently unaware that she was serving a god — turning to her.

‘Sta nevidanco? É brutto tempo.’  

What?

Oh…

Flustered at being confronted with phrases that hadn’t featured so far on the Italian course she’d downloaded onto her iPod, she took the safe option and, having sucked in a snowflake that was clinging to her lip, she lowered her hood. The chatter gradually resumed and, finally getting a “move it” message through to her legs, she parked her suitcase and crossed to the bar.

Preorder links are up at

Nook Amazon iBooks

Cover art

For twenty years – ever since my first book, An Image of You, was published — I’ve been obsessing about cover art. That first cover was so pleasing that it would have been difficult for any of those that followed to match it.

The hero was suitably mature, the heroine had the right colour hair and the African backdrop was perfect.

Since then, covers have been a bit of a roller-coaster. One or two have brought tears to my eyes — and not of joy.

Now, with three of my early books reverted to me, I’ve been on a cover image hunt of my own and suddenly I’m feeling a lot more sympathetic for those guys in Toronto who have to produce 50+ every month. It’s a bit like a car assembly line; you don’t want to be the last one of the day.

The three books I’m working on were a mixed bag. Old Desires was pretty enough, although the hero was too young. Dangerous Flirtation was cute and got everything right. A Stranger’s Kiss was a disaster with a heroine so hard-faced that any man would have run a mile and the hero wasn't wearing one of those ridiculous collars and I was really looking forward to giving that one a makeover.

Replacing them with something that truly appeals to me has not, however, been the piece of cake I fondly imagined it would be. Flirting and kissing are just about nailed, but Old Desires? How on earth can I demonstrate that in a cover appealing enough, sexy enough to have the reader hitting the one-click!

Any suggestions gratefully received – and downloads of Eloping With Emmy for those that inspire me, or make me laugh!

Book at Beachtime...

It hasn't stopped raining for weeks in the UK, but I'm that somewhere in the world readers are able to stretch out on the beach under a shady umbrella, or in their gardens, with a book.

There are a load of brilliant Harlequin Romances out there this month, to pick up at your local supplier - the perfect weight not to make your wrist ache while reading - or download onto your kindle. There are titles by Cara Colter, Shirley Jump, Jennie Adams, Rebecca Winters and of course, my own The Last Woman He'd Ever Date was published on the 3rd July.

I've hardly had time to talk about this book, since I moved into my new house on the crucial day! However, we've unpacked enough for me to draw up a packing case, open my laptop and drop by to tell you that this is one of my Maybridge books. The story kicks off when "good girl" (well, almost good girl) Claire Thackeray, late and in a hurry, runs into "bad boy" (with an agenda) Hal North - literally - and they end up entangled in a ditch.

As cute meets go, it's painful and muddy and brings back a heap of memories to Claire (who had a crush), and Hal, (who did not).

It's about then, that Hal's agenda gets thrown out of the window - although he fights manfully - and Claire begins to question what she's doing with her life.

It's light-hearted, funny, with just enough emotion tossed into the mix to make the perfect light summer read. I hope you'll enjoy it.k

Claire Thackeray: Hardworking single mom and gossip columnist. Hoping for the inside scoop on sexy billionaire Hal North,
aka her teen crush!

Most wary of: Gorgeous men who set her heart racing. (Been there, got the T-shirt—and the baby!)
Hal North: Bad boy made good. Back in his hometown as new owner of the Cranbrook Park estate. Determined to put his troubled past behind him.
Most wary of: Journalists—especially pretty ones, like new neighbor and tenant Claire Thackeray.

The Newest Harlequin Romance/Riva Author

I was going to be talking about my latest Harlequin Romance — The Last Woman He’d Ever Date — today, but instead I’m making way for the newest Harlequin Romance/Riva author in the Harlequin Mills and Boon line-up.

Charlotte Phillips entered the Mills and Boon New Voices competition last autumn and when she made it through the first round, I was the lucky author who was tasked with the job of mentoring her through her second chapter.

It wasn’t my job to write her second chapter for her, but to work with her to show her where her own writing could be strengthened, offer a little advice on what could usefully be left out, give her pointers on what made a scene work and writing technique. Charlotte, let me tell you, was a joy to work with. Full of enthusiasm, excitement, passion, eager to learn, ready to listen, but with that deep down faith in what she’d written, in her story.

When she made it through to the final four I was absolutely overjoyed and although she didn’t win the competition I never doubted that she would make it through to publication.

Since reaching the final four of the competition, she has been working on a new story with the same wonderful editor who works with my own editor and does for me, what I did for Charlotte. Flo keeps me afloat, telling me what she loves about my story while homing in on the slightest weakness because, even after sixty plus books, an editor — standing back from the intense involvement that writing entails — brings a fresh eye to the work.

It’s part of the process.

I have known really good writers who have had wonderfully encouraging letters from publishers but instead of buckling down to the revisions suggested, were affronted, outraged by the suggestion that they change a word. Their mss are returned, untouched, to the drawer and never become that magic thing, a book. It’s their decision, their right, but while a mss is the sole effort of its author, a book is a collaborative effort. The ability to accept that your book isn’t perfect, that it is capable of stepping up another gear, is one of the essential elements that make a published author.

Meanwhile, if you want to share the advice that I gave to Charlotte, you can download Liz Fielding’s Little Book of Writing Romance from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Sony