Dogs are not in the least self-aware and Kaos is oblivious to the tatty matted tufts that protrude from his hind quarters and look like an ill-made wig from the cash strapped props department of a repertory theatre company.

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Last night, Jack and I drank three pints of ale in the pub. This morning, I woke up feeling great and ready to face the day. I received a scrumptious cheque in the post from the kind people who are publishing the Dutch edition of my second novel, and I was all set to drive to the hell that is Reading and pay it in at HSBC (which, incidentally, sponsors Great British Dramas, of which my overdraft is one, along with the slightly more interesting Pride and Prejudice).


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This will be fun. These are top, top, top poets. If anyone's going let me know; I'll be going to one, just not sure which yet. More details at circus member (and co-ordinator of National Poetry Day) Jo Bell's website.

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He's in the gallery of literature's lovable rogues -lower class heroes ranging from Richardson's Tom Jones to TV's Delboy Trotter, but more realistically presented. In fairy tales the poor boy wins the Princess by noble acts, which more or less summarises the plot of Q & A. The White Tiger faces the fact that life's not like that. It makes it the more depressing but the more honest book.



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This month, I have a whole new Aid to Conception. Its aim is to banish obstructive thoughts I have about my body not being good enough to grow a baby in. This is not, I hasten to add, the result of a perenially battered self esteem or anything dark like that. It's just a general feeling of disbelief about the whole reproductive process, probably stemming from the fact that I was never much into science at school, and found fairy stories far easier to believe in than sperm-meets-egg or everything-is-made-up-of-atoms stories.


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Well, judging the competition entries last night was both fun and really, really difficult. Seriously foks, the quality of submissions was very high and I think it's fair to say that any could have won.

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Firstly, the winner of our Guest Blog Competition is…GARY WILSON!
Well done, Gary, for your intriguing idea of writing about “What is Inspiration?” Gary’s post will appear in June when he will receive a signed copy of our very own Rebecca Connell’s Art of Losing.

We would also like to give special mention to Deborah Durbin, Julie P and Deborah Riccio for their thought-provoking entries!



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I can't remember the exact figure, but I believe men are supposed to think about sex for approximately 9.5 of every 10 seconds. (NB. When I 'supposed' I don't mean 'supposed-as-in-obliged'. I mean, 'supposed-as-in-inevitable.')

In a similar, though possibly less erotic fashion, I now spend 9.5 of every ten seconds thinking about sperm.

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Lynne Hackles is an accomplished author of non-fiction books and adult and children’s novels and a prolific woman’s magazines’writer.

“I was 17 when we got married. Colin (L.S.O.) and I have been married for 41 years now. Kids flown the nest. Dogs died of old age. We’ve got Win though. The motorhome I bought with my Deal Or No Deal win. The three of us go on adventures together.”



My first sale was…
Way back in the early 1980s. A letter in Woman Realm was my first experience of being paid for words. I followed it up by writing some family-humour pieces for My Weekly. Then I started writing stories for My Weekly and Annabel.

My family think my writing is…
Something to keep me out of trouble. The L.S.O. (Long Suffering One, husband Colin) is very supportive. He’s happy to drive me around the country to do talks and workshops, read my work, put cups of tea in front of me, do shopping and cooking. And no, he’s not for hire.

The best/worst thing about writing short stories for magazines is…
They buy my worst and return my favourites.



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