Susan Mac Nicol is here as part of her tour with Virtual Writers, to talk about Cassandra by Starlight, her contemporary romantic suspense novel published by Boroughs Publishing Group.
A London woman is swept off her feet into the glamorous yet surprisingly dangerous world of an up-and-coming star of stage and screen. Unconventional though she may be, Cassandra Wallace leads the life of an average Londoner, from blind dates to rush hour traffic. Then, along comes Bennett Saville. Sensitive, charming, erudite, the up-and-coming actor is like the hero of a romantic movie. He counteracts the tragedy that brought them together, and from the tips of his Armani loafers to that scorching hot kiss he seems absolutely perfect. Only, he’s ten years younger and from the upper class, and those emerald eyes beget dangerous secrets. The world is a stage, full of hungry leading ladies, and how long can any fairy tale last before a villain appears? Yet, on Bennett’s arm each new day is an adventure, and a true romance will always find its happy ending.
About the book:
Interview with Susan Mac NicolSusan, how long have you been writing, and how did you start?
I’ve always written whether it be short stories, poetry or songs. I have an uncompleted fantasy novel in my drawer that I started when I was 16 years old – it’s 30,000 words and hasn’t moved in *muffles voice so no can hear* years. But last year when I got the idea for Cassandra by Starlight, the words just seemed to flow. I found that elusive muse that I’d missed for so long. It took hold of me with a passion I hadn’t felt before. Now I can’t not write.
I feel I’m cheating myself if I don’t share the thoughts, characters and world creations in my head with my laptop, with the hope of eventually bringing them to the reader. It drives my family crazy as they’ve just lost their mother and their wife to the laptop and the inner workings of her own fevered brain.
The same thing happened to me! What do you like best about writing? What’s your least favorite thing?
The thing I like best is that I can create my own worlds and fantasies and populate them with characters. I try and develop them the way I want, but they don’t always do as they’re told. Sometimes they go off at a tangent and take me to places I really don’t know I was headed. And that’s fine. It’s what characters do. So this constant journey to places I’m in with people that are forever steering me in another direction--that is just such a hoot and a rush.
But it also means the rush has to end and you have to come down from the high. And that’s the bit I don’t like. I have to set aside my virtual, fantasy world and come back to reality, to eat, to make nice with real people and do the day job. And I know this sounds a little freaky and that’s also all right. I think every writer feels the same; some just don’t admit it.
I think you're right. Do you have another job outside of writing?
I have a full time job as Regulatory Compliance Officer in the lovely city of Cambridge (UK). It’s a pretty dry and involved job which entails reading lots of European legislation and seeing how we can apply it to the business in a way that’s commercially viable. Not very exciting to an outsider, but it can be fun. I look after implementing solutions to reduce Financial Crime aspects such as Anti Money Laundering and Fraud, so it can get a little interesting.
Very interesting. How would you describe your book in a tweet? (140 characters or less.)
Contemporary London. Meet a handsome actor, a sexy older woman, a crazy stalker, a schizophrenic mother, a gay best friend. Sheer escapism.
I'm sold! Do you outline, write by the seat of your pants, or let your characters tell you what to write?
I’m not a plotter. I am a pantser. I start out with an idea, the first line in fact, and then the words just flow. I do make a list of the main characters with a few lines on each about looks and character. Then as I write, I add the incidents to what I call my ‘Timeline’ sheet so I can keep track of when I had what happen. It saves reading back through the story too much. I have absolutely no idea where I’m going with the story until I get there. In the end it all seems to come together. I think the characters tend to dictate where I go. *Listens to the voices in her head* Hi guys, good to see you again.
What do you do to market your book?
Obviously this is the other part of writing a book that you have to work on. Gone are the days of you simply being the creative talent behind the story. Now you have to promote yourself and the book too.
Before I started on this caper, I didn’t have any social networks. I pooh-poohed Twitter, hated Facebook, and didn’t know about anything else out there. Wow. Was I ever a virgin. Now I know more about social media marketing than I ever wanted to learn.
I’ve learnt how to ‘Facebook.’ I have my own author page as well as a personal account which is used for my writing anyway. I’ve learn how to tweet and how to target my audience for best impact. I use Pinterest to show my book in pictures. I’m on Linkedin. I use Amazon Author Pages, Goodreads to showcase my books and tell people about what I’m reading. I have my own website. I run two blogs, one in Wordpress linked to my site and one in tumblr to target other audience mix. I have a book trailer. I’ve been interviewed by local newspapers, been on a local radio station and had e-book signings at libraries. I comment on my publisher’s blogs, contribute to their newsletters and showcase stuff on their Facebook page. In short, I think I’ve done everything I can to try and get my work out there.
When you start a new book, do you know what the entire cast will be?
No, I have no idea. I know who the main three or four might be, and I have a vague idea what I want them to be like. But the others tend to creep up on me when I’m not looking.
Take Dylan Donahue, for example. He simply and very rudely insinuated himself into the conversation in the car on Bennett and Cassie’s first date. I had no idea he was popping in, and once he was there, it was very hard not to write the character of a more mature friend to Bennett, who was gay, Irish, totally wicked and a complete nutter for the most part. He’s got no shame in shooting his mouth off, much to the eternal shame of his long suffering partner, Alec, whom he tends to embarrass every time he gets the chance. He and Bennett have this incredible relationship as a straight man and a gay man and it was a lot of fun to write.
What would Cassandra say about you?
Hmm. It probably wouldn’t start off complimentary. Driven, focused, obsessive, impatient, control freak, and total arsehole when it comes to shutting people out and writing, ignoring them at all costs. But I’d also hope they might say creative, warm, humorous, aspiring to be more considerate, loyal, principled, and a good writer. I guess that’s up to him. He can be a bit of an arrogant tosser himself, mind you.
Are any of your characters inspired by real people? Who?
And this is where I effuse...the lead man, Bennett Saville, was inspired by a wonderful British actor we have the honour to have here in the UK. He goes by the rather unlikely name of Benedict Cumberbatch. The BBC TV series, ‘Sherlock,’ in which he performed opened my eyes to this young actor, and I confess I’m a bit of a fan girl of his. So when I was looking for a lead man, where better to base him than in London, in the acting and film profession, and modeled (very loosely, she hastens to add) on Mr. Cumberbatch. My book dedication even mentions him as I thank ‘Mr BC’ - without the inspiration for Bennett, I don’t think I’d have been as enthused to write the story.
As for Cassie- the book refers to her looking like Michelle Pfeiffer, although Cassie is younger than Ms. Pfeiffer. So while that might not be the ideal choice, I think the beautiful Naomi Watts might be. She would certainly bring the sexy and alluring Cassie to life and seeing Benedict Cumberbatch and Naomi together in the main roles seems like a match made in heaven.
Are you like any of your characters? How so?
Yes. Cassie is very much modeled on my experiences and my character. Physically, we’re certainly not alike, I wish I looked like her, but there are definite similarities. I was in a car accident and suffered the same injury she did, the broken femur. A lot of my own beliefs and opinions come out of her mouth, the reason she holds back emotionally is something I suffered and overall, her general feistiness and strength and of course, weaknesses, are my own too. We like the same music, read the same books and hold the same dreams. In the second book of the series we find out how she practiced Wicca, something I do too.
What song would you pick to go with your book?
The whole Starlight series was written to the music of Noel Gallagher and his High Flying Birds album. The song If I had A Gun is Cassie and Bennett’s song. It’s the song that’s playing in the car on the first date, and it’s the song Bennett (who’s not much of a dancer) requests at the end of the third book, to celebrate his and Cassie’s momentous w****** event. I’ll leave this to your imagination as I don’t want to spoil it.
I loved the words to this particular song, seeing in my mind’s eye Cassie watching Bennett and almost agreeing with the words as to how ‘Godlike' he was to her when she first met him. It’s really sexy.
How do you handle criticism of your work?
I have to confess I’ve been fortunate in not having to tackle too much negativity so far. Yes, there has been the occasional review which didn’t please me, but you know what? It’s a personal choice for a reviewer and not everyone sees the world or my book like I do. I’ve been honoured to have reviews that for the most part like my writing and my stories and have said as much. I’m actually not one to let a bad review affect me too much. I’d rather shrug it off and get over it. The good stuff people say far outweighs the bad.
Where and when do you prefer to do your writing?
My writing tends to get done when I arrive home after six pm each day. I’ll have a quick Coke or a cup of tea, watch someone make dinner (I don’t cook much, the husband and kids prefer to do that so I’m fortunate in that respect) then settle down in the lounge in the corner of the couch with my laptop on my knees. The family talk around me, the TV blares, the dog throws his ball at me in the hope I’ll throw it for him--but I shut the world out and simply write. Often to the detriment of said family who stare at me in frustration when they haven’t yet had an answer to a question. Sorry, guys. You know what I’m like.
Do you ever get writer’s block? What do you do when it happens?
So far I’ve been very fortunate. I’ve always had the inspiration and the story has simply been written. I did struggle a little on the last one, the crime thriller, as it was something new, and I was out of my romance comfort zone. But it didn’t take long and the words flowed again. I tend to simply leave something to stew when it isn’t working, do something else then go back to it.
If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go? (Don’t worry about the money. Your publisher is paying. )
I want to go New England in the US and go to Maine. I’m a huge Stephen King fan, and I want to visit his rather quirky house and go meet him for a cool drink on the porch. I have an affinity for this part of the States even though I’ve never been there before. I love the look, sight and sound of it and I’d really love to visit it and spend more time there. I want to eat the famous lobster, look at the beautiful New England scenery, especially in the fall, and admire the architecture and cool colours of the New England houses.
I'm with you there. Maine is one of my favorite places. Although I've never met Steven King. What are you working on now?
I currently have the last book in the Starlight series waiting at my editor, along with three other full length books she’s going to be busy with.
Saving Alexandria is a tale about a woman with a violent past who needs a saviour to help her fight her demons and find peace. It’s a rather erotic and spicy novel with elements of S and M, based again in the film world with a handsome lead actor called Sage and Alex, a woman who simply wants to be loved.
Then there’s a two book series called Double Alchemy, which is a paranormal romance suspense involving Wicca, Warlocks, and witchcraft and set close to home in my home county of Essex. The story of a powerful Warlock, Quinn, and his independent and fiery partner, Kate, will take the reader into seventeenth century witch hunts, dark alter egos and modern reincarnations of historical villains.
Then as I’ve mentioned, there’s Born Human, my detective/crime thriller with a rather contentious theme that a reader will either agree or disagree with, the theme of retribution. Finally, I’m trying my hand at writing a gay romance (male/male) called Loving Matthew with what I hope is an engaging storyline and believable characters. It’s a first for me, and I have some help in the guise of a male gay friend who will help me with *ahem* reviewing the sex scenes for realism. It’s a win win situation for both of us....
Wow. You've put me to shame. Do come back when these books are released. I'd love to hear more about them.
Excerpt from Cassandra By StarlightChapter 1
The day the sky fell changed Cassie Wallace’s world forever. She woke up that morning with the expectation that this day would be like any other. She also had a slight hangover from the abundance of wine she’d drunk the night before to try and get through a blind date organised by her work colleague, Sarah.
The evening had been a total disaster. Not only had the man been an absolute misogynist, one of the cardinal male sins on Cassie’s unwritten list, he’d also had a habit of leering at her chest every time he spoke as if he thought it might talk back to him.
She’d smiled politely whilst thinking she’d like to take his smarmy public school tie and shove it down his throat. When she’d finally left at around eleven, she hadn’t been able to get away fast enough.
She stood in her bedroom, checking her outfit in the mirror and sighed.
Was it too much to ask to find a decent man just to share things with and have a good time? They all seemed to be absolute idiots and in the old but true cliché, only interested in one thing.
Cassie had been out on a few dates in the past few months but somehow she never made it past the first one. A previous date gone wrong had told her she was too independent and perhaps a little bit ‘emotionally challenged, not affectionate enough’ for him.
She’d shrugged this off but it had hurt her deep down especially as she knew it to be true.
My bloody expectations aren’t even that high, she thought in exasperation as she fastened her necklace. It’s not as if I’m such a great bloody catch myself! Middle-aged and not really all that exciting. I’ll take what I can get within reason.
Cassie smoothed her skirt down over her hips and picked up her handbag.
When she left the house at six thirty, it was a typical dark English winter morning. Forty- five minutes later she was sitting in the traffic on the motorway, listening to the news bulletin.
“Bloody idiot,” she mumbled in between bites of a banana that she had hastily grabbed on her way out. “He wouldn’t know a bloody budget if his life depended on it. Silly sod has got no idea how to run a bloody country.”
She crept forward in her Honda Jazz at about two miles an hour, watching the traffic in front which seemed to have ground to a halt for no reason at all.
I really need to try and find something closer to home, she thought, not for the first time. This travelling lark is really starting to piss me off. Four hours a day in traffic is not my idea of time well spent.
Cassie wasn’t sure what other quality pastimes she’d be engaging in if she did have more free time, given her current ‘lack of male’ situation but she supposed she’d find something. Join a book club perhaps, or find more time to get to the gym. She might even start writing that novel she’d always planned on doing.
Her fingers impatiently drummed on the steering wheel in time to a melody on the radio. In response to another bulletin by the newscaster regarding the level of binge drinking in the county, she burst into a further diatribe. “For God’s sake, let the bloody idiots lay where they fall. If they had any brains they wouldn’t let it get that far so they needed an ambulance to take them to A and E. It’s my taxpaying money that’s looking after these morons!”
She glanced at the clock on the display. Seven thirty a.m. She’d be lucky to make it in on time today.
The story of my life, she thought resignedly. Slow death by traffic jam.
The traffic still seemed to show no signs of moving any time soon. She switched off the engine and took out her Kindle. She may as well catch up on her reading whilst she had nothing better to do.
Her concentration span was low as she tried to read. Last night’s ‘date’ kept replaying itself in random snippets of conversation. Cassie could still hear Ron’s supercilious comment about women needing to have a man in their lives to keep them focused on what was important—the man and the provision of all his needs.
She’d almost choked on her wine when she’d heard this and only just stopped herself retorting sarcastically that as a man’s needs were so simple, the only ‘provision’ they really needed was a soft toy shaped like a pair of boobs to play with and talk at. As she had very little money in her purse other than her taxi fare home, she’d stopped herself.
After the hell she’d been through sitting and listening to Ron’s drivel, the least she’d make him do was pay for dinner. Cassie had made a decision after last night. She’d stay home with her own company for the near future, with a bottle of wine and a couple of decent movies. She’d rather drool over a virtual Mark Harmon in NCIS than a real life douche bag like the Ronalds of his world. As for sex—well, that was what vibrators were made for.
It was nearly ten minutes later before the car in front of her re-started its engine and she followed suit and sped up to about twenty miles an hour as the queue took flight. She settled in as it got back up to the more respectable speed of fifty miles an hour.
As she drove she glanced idly up at the foot bridges to see the people strolling with dogs, on bicycles and footing it on their way to work.
At the bridge just ahead she saw a solitary figure leaning over looking down at the motorway below. She slowed down a little. Ever since those incidents a few weeks ago when someone had thrown a concrete bucket off the bridge at a passing car, she tended to be wary of people standing watching the traffic.
The figure didn’t appear to have anything in its hands but then she had only caught a glimpse of it before turning her eyes back to the road. She increased her speed as the traffic flowed easier.
There was no warning, just a sudden deafening bang of metal as the windscreen of her car collapsed inwards. Cassie screamed in terror as glass flew towards her like wafer thin slivers from a frozen icicle. Her hands left the steering wheel in panic, her foot pressing down on the accelerator.
The Honda Jazz went out of control, spinning around like a dirt dervish. Debris from the windscreen flew like lethal missiles around the interior of the car. Cassie cried out in pain as she was subject to a vicious assault by anything lying loose in her vehicle. She tried to cover her face in an instinctive reflex but her left arm seemed unresponsive. The pain horrifying. She whimpered as she glanced down and saw the bone shard sticking out.
In her pain and terror she didn’t notice that the car had stopped spinning. Everything went quiet. Cassie lay slumped in the driver seat, dazed and unresponsive as the shock set in. She could hear the sounds of people shouting and heard someone asking her if she was all right.
She vaguely registered the sound of screeching metal as someone tried to pull the driver door open. It was as if everything was being done underwater. The sounds were muted and her brain was sluggish.
The older man looking in at her from the road was speaking but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Cassie looked at him blankly. She couldn’t see clearly, as if a can of fine red spray-paint had been aimed at her and the nozzle depressed, coating her eyes. She tried to move her body but the pain in her right leg was excruciating.
She watched dully as the man outside starting pulling away metal struts and twisted the door to get inside to her. She could hear his voice vaguely now, a rough London Cockney accent as he spoke reassuringly whilst trying to free her.
“All right, darling? Just stay calm and I’ll try and get to you. The ambulance is on its way. They’ve told me not to move you so I just want to try get in and keep you company till they arrive. You look as if you could do with a bit of company. Just stay with me now. Don’t go anywhere.”
He smiled at her, trying to keep her reassured. With a final tug at the door, he made enough of a space to squeeze in slightly and he took her right hand, avoiding the bad condition of her left arm with its broken bone. Her hand was freezing and he rubbed it gently.
“There we go. That should feel better. You just stay calm now and we’ll have you back to your old man in no time.” He continued holding her hand, talking to her as she slipped in and out of consciousness.
In one of her lucid periods she raised an unsteady hand to her face to wipe her eyes. The fog cleared a little and she was able to focus, then desperately wished she hadn’t. Lying in front of her, across the bonnet, was a face, pulped and looking as if dark sticky jam had been smeared all over it.
She could see the eyes open, looking at her and she could see the mouth forming words before she screamed and screamed and eventually the fog of blackness claimed her and the face could be seen no more.
Doctor Ian Spencer frowned as he read the patient chart in his hand. He glanced at the patient, an old man in his seventies, matted grey hair curling around his face like tendrils of an octopus, framing a bucolic face of cherry red, his bulbous nose caked with fresh snot.
“Up to your old tricks again, Terry?” the ER doctor asked resignedly. “I thought perhaps last time we had reached an understanding of sorts?”
The old man chuckled hoarsely.
“The drink beckoned again, Doctor, I’ve told you before, cider waits for no man.” He coughed, his body wracked with spasms. The doctor motioned with a hand to the waiting nurse who offered Terry a glass of water. He drank it greedily and lay back in the hospital bed.
Ian Spencer made a notation in his patient’s chart.
“You realise this time, Terry, you’ve really outdone yourself? You had what we call a minor varicose bleed which basically means your insides leaked with blood because they couldn’t do what they were supposed to do. I managed to stabilise you and you’ve been in intensive care for two days. Given the state of your liver you were very lucky not to have it worse. As it is, you’ll need to be here a few more days before I can release you.”
“I’m very grateful to you, Doctor.” Terry leered at the nurse who moved out of the way of his groping left hand. “I can always count on you to put me right.”
“Not always, Terry, not always.” Ian passed the chart to the nurse and continued on his way.
He’d just completed his surgical rounds and was walking down the hospital corridor when he heard an ambulance arrive and saw the frenetic activity bursting through the double doors. He heard the ambulance staff calling out their incoming triage procedures to the attending doctor and watched as a trolley with a woman covered in blood was wheeled into the waiting operating theatre.
One of the staff nurses, Judy, a good friend, hurried past him.
“I don’t believe this one,” she muttered to him. “Some poor woman minding her own business on the motorway and somebody falls on top of her car. We were lucky no one else was hurt as well when she spun around or we’d be running out of space this morning.”
“What about the man who fell?”
“He’s dead, poor bugger.” Judy’s voice was terse as she hurried off.
It was some hours later in passing Ian saw his colleague, fellow trauma surgeon Phil Moodley, come out of the operating theatre where the woman had been wheeled.
“Phil!” Ian hurried to catch up with him. “Wait up.”
Phil turned and proffered a tired smile when he saw Ian.
“Ian, how are things? I’m just on my way to catch a few minutes doze. It’s been a long day.”
“How did things go in there?” Ian motioned to the OR. “I heard she was hit by a man falling on her car.”
“Yes, it was very bad. The poor woman has a ruptured spleen, a hairline skull fracture, a
broken femur and radius, and a wealth of lacerations and internal bruising.” He frowned.
“She also has a small foreign body embedded in her left temple. It’s in an awkward place and fairly deep. I’ve recommended not removing it at this time. I’m not sure it would be prudent. It doesn’t appear itself to be life threatening. She’ll be in intensive care for some time. I need to keep an eye on her for any possible embolism. She’ll probably need some physical therapy afterwards if there are no complications.”
He squinted at Ian with tired eyes. “You seem interested in this one, Ian? Did you know anyone involved?”
Ian shook his head. “I was involved in a similar situation some years ago when I was at Lakeview Hospital and that one—that one I did know. The person that fell though, not the victim.”
Phil nodded his head.
“This woman was very lucky, the young man was not. He was dead at the scene. His relatives are on their way.”
Ian nodded. “Thanks, Phil. You’d best get off and get that sleep, you look all out of it.”
Phil patted Ian’s arm and wandered down towards the staff room. Ian wouldn’t tell Phil the real reason for his interest. It was too personal and no one in the hospital knew anything about his reason for leaving Lakeview three years ago and joining Tilhurst Hospital on the outskirts of Essex.
In 2009, his wife Sandra had jumped off a foot bridge straight into the path of a passing mini-van. To this day he had no idea why. The mini-van driver, a young man called Freddy Clifford, who had just become a father, had died in the incident with Sandy. The feelings of guilt for both Sandy’s and the man’s death (he should’ve known what was going on in his own marriage for God’s sake!) had never left him.
He’d left Lakeview and started again where no one knew his history and no one could feel sympathy for him. He felt he didn’t deserve it. He was sure a psychiatrist would have some insight to offer on his reaction but he had never engaged with one, preferring as he did to manage it himself.
Ian made his way over to the nurses’ station outside intensive care. He saw Nurse Angie, a bubbly young woman with bleached blonde hair and a Carry On set of breasts, sitting behind the desk. She smiled as she saw him approach.
There were more than a couple of nurses who’d tried to form a relationship with him but none of them had been successful so far.
“Doctor. What can I do for you?”
“The woman that Dr. Patel has just operated on—can you tell me a little bit about her? How’s she doing?”
Angie consulted her notes. “Let me see. Hmm, she’s in a private ICU room, so she must have great insurance. Room 310. Cassie Wallace, forty-seven years old, divorced. Her sister is coming in to see her. She’s on her way from Kent.”
She looked at Ian enquiringly. “Has Dr. Patel asked you to keep an eye on her?”
Ian shook his head. “No, just curious about how she’s doing. It just seems so tragic, minding your own business then POW! You find yourself in this situation. Thanks for the info, Angie.”
Ian made his way towards Room 310. He couldn’t say why he was so interested in this woman, only that he felt he had to find out more about her.
He clothed himself up with a mask and gloves and nodded at the ICU nurses as he walked through the main ward to the private ones at the back. The hum of machines and the absolute quiet in the ward was strangely restful. Ian reached Room 310, opened the door and slipped in.
Cassie Wallace lay on her back, surrounded by soft light from the equipment. The constant beep of the life support machines and monitoring equipment comforted Ian. This unit was dedicated to keeping people alive with the best care the hospital could provide. Cassie Wallace was in good hands.
Cassie had her left arm in a splint, her fingers cold and pale like soft, limp white gloves. Her right leg with its broken femur rested on the bed covers. Ian guessed she had pins and rods inside keeping it together.
Her face was battered and bruised from the accident. He could see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Her pale strawberry blonde hair was spread across the pillow like soft gold straw, with a large bald patch on the left side where Dr Patel had shaved her skull.
Even through the cuts and bruises, Ian could see she was a very attractive woman. Not just pretty or beautiful, but with a look of her own that even under current circumstances made her look younger than her forty-seven years. She reminded him very much of a curvier Michelle Pfeiffer. A noise at the door made him turn. Judy stood there, looking surprised to see him.
“Ian? What are you doing in here?” she whispered.
“I was just checking up on her. I know I’m not her doctor but I really wanted to see how she was doing.”
“It’s all right, Ian.” Judy patted him on the arm. “She can do with all the help she can get. I need to check her vital signs now. Do you want to stick around?”
“No Judes, I’ll let you get on with your job. Thanks.” Ian left the nurse with her patient and made his way back towards the main reception.
About the author:Sue Mac Nicol was born in Leeds, Yorkshire, in the United Kingdom. At the age of eight, her family moved to Johannesburg, South Africa where she stayed for nearly thirty years before arriving back in the UK in December 2000.
Sue works full time in the field of regulatory compliance for a company in the financial services industry in Cambridge. But she still finds time to work until the small hours of the morning doing what she loves best – writing. Since her first novel, Cassandra by Starlight, was penned, Sue has written the other two books in her Starlight trilogy, four other novels, two short stories, and a screen play based on Cassandra. Her passion is keeping herself busy creating worlds and characters for her readers to enjoy.
Sue is a member of Romance Writers of America and Romantic Novelists Association in the UK. She is also a member of a rather unique writing group, called the Talliston Writer’s Circle, which in itself has a story all of its own to tell, and lives in the rural village of Bocking, in Essex, with her family.
Connect with Susan:
Website | Blog | Publisher | Twitter | Facebook | Facebook page Cassandra by Starlight
Pinterest | Linkedin
Buy the book:
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Author Page US | Author Page UK | Goodsread
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