About Me

Thanks for stopping by!

My passion is all things writing.  You’ll find my writing scattered around the interwebs including:

Having moved on from single life in front of the TV you’ll now find my work in Stepmom Magazine.

I’m also working on a longer project that is currently about 50,000 words in and unfolding nicely.

Here’s how this whole thing started……

In The Beginning

It began in the early days of the self-published, self-illustrated launch of my short story ‘The Family’ and continued  through to my high school gushings about my first boyfriend’s Mazda RX-7, which as an unwordly occupant of the lower rungs of the socio-economic scale, I mistakenly described as a European sportscar. Since then I’ve been flinging around blowsy prose on scraps of paper, battered journals and the back of uni lecture pads. Procrastination went next-level during the era where I studied professional writing and editing and added no fewer than thirty books on the craft of writing to my already sagging bookshelves. Plenty of reading, plenty of reading about writing, not much writing.

Finding myself suddenly single in my 40s, I eventually moved on from late night Facebook rants and memes about the savagery of heartbreak to blogging about the things that happen to a 40-something woman exposed to a level of singledom not seen for about 20 years.

I felt that the newly single were completely lacking in guidance on how to navigate post-break-up grief and felt personally compelled to document the stages in TMI detail.

As I stumbled through the sauv-blanc-fuelled bad choices that are inevitable for a rookie in the current era dating world, I sought comfort in observation of of worse choices than my own.  Every mistake I didn’t make in my 20s given I skipped through that era ensconced in coupledom, I managed to make with reckless indignity in my 40s.

I relived every moment that my early 20s self had gone through in preparation for first dates and braved a school reunion as a single person. I took heart from the fact that the world’s sexiest men could be dumped.

My bestie grew accustomed to receiving text messages of meetup times, venues, contact phone numbers and online dating screen names to be shared with the authorities in the event that my lack of psycho-radar landed me with a serial killer disguised as a lonely dad from the ‘burbs.

After a while, the tone moved from the listless malaise of heartbreak and the depressive impact wrought by consumption of white spirits, and so began subtle hints of an emerging relationship.

The clues were there in everything from my enthusiasm for the new phenomenon that is the Dad Bod to the extent that I started to rehearse my relationship credentials in preparation for meeting a new set of parents.

Next minute, I married a Dad.

And with that, a woman without a shred of maternal instinct or the life skills to care for a small human, went from Sex And The City to Stepmother.