My other (writing) half

Did you know that I also write chick-lit under the pen name Lola Salt, together with the fabulously talented Harper Collins author Becky Wicks? (She called me her writing lobster…awwwww)Image

Tomorrow, our FREE comedy novel will be featured alongside best-selling, world-famous Irish author and the queen of chick-lit, Marian Keyes, on the new chick-lit section on Wattpad. The Extraordinary Life of Lara Craft (not Croft) is a fun story concocted by the two of us. Here’s my interview with Becky.

So Becky, you’re one half of Lola Salt, do you want to tell the story of how we met and decided to write Lara?

 We met rather serendipitously through a mutual friend called Ric, who we both knew from London. We had a couple of glasses of wine and started talking about the mad success of 50 Shades, and both being authors we thought, hey, we should totally write the next erotic fiction! But we couldn’t do it without laughing, so it kind of turned into a project we shot back and forth over the course of a few months, until we had something real… a funny, adventurous tale of a woman looking for love in all the wrong and slightly ridiculous places. It was never really a decision to write it… it just kind of flowed to the end and before we knew it, we had a book we both loved writing and reading back. We really hope everyone else gets as much fun out of it as we did.

 What was it like to write a book with another person?

Awesome! It was actually really easy writing with Sarah, because she has the same (slightly weird) sense of humour and I think we just knew where each other was going… say if I had an idea and didn’t quite know how to make it work, Sarah would wrap it up, and vice versa. It helps to be on the same mental wavelength as someone when you’re writing, I can’t imagine writing a book with say, an elderly man, or an actual teenager, the differences would be too great and it wouldn’t be fun. Like you’re supposed to know when you’ve met ‘the one’ I think Sarah and I knew that each was ‘the one’ in writing terms. Haha! She’s my writing lobster ;-)

 Some of the more crazy stories in the book (like the Arab prince who is imprisoned in a replica Bel Air mansion in the middle of the Dubai desert  because his family are so ashamed that he’s gay) are actually true…tell me more about that?

 Oh yes! I used to live in Dubai (which is what my first non-fiction book Burqalicious is about) and I heard about this poor gay Arab who wasn’t allowed to ever leave his house. He also had a waterslide and ridiculous amounts of money, so that eventually became the character CP, who befriends Lara. I never actually met this guy in real life but you can just imagine the sort of stuff he might get up to in that house, all alone in the desert. It was the perfect base on which to build another adventure for Lara.

 In the book, Lara travels all around the world delivering random packages to some very entertaining characters – what’s the most memorable place you’ve been to on your travels?

 I would probably say Bali because I lived there for 8 months last year, and it really had an effect on me, not least because it’s where I met Sarah. There’s a definite magic there, something that makes you believe that anything is possible. I also recently fell in love with Cartagena in Colombia. It’s a fairy tale city within the old walls, full of bright flower-covered balconies and horses and carts trotting on cobblestones. Colombia in general is one of the most amazing countries I’ve ever visited – every day there was exciting and the people are beautiful. Especially the men.

 If you were Lara where would you like to travel, with what package and for whom?

 Oooh, good question. Hmm. I think I’d like to deliver some sort of secret proof of alien existence back in an old episode of The X Files, to the sexy Fox Mulder (he was soooo hot in season one). I think he’d fall in love with me instead of Scully and we’d have fun dashing through the universe on our home made spaceship. Of course, this would also require a time machine.

 Tell me about your other books…

Well Burqalicious is the first one – set in Dubai. It’s a non-fiction travel memoir of what it was really like working for a celebrity mag/website during the boom. I dated a Muslim man and basically had what you’d call a dream life for a while, but it didn’t all work out that great in the end. The second one, Balilicious is also a non-fiction memoir of living in Bali, hanging with the Eat Pray Lovers but also really getting to grips with local culture and customs (and sexy divers in the Gili Islands).  I had an amazing time there and learnt so much. The third is what I’m still writing now in South America. Latinalicious. That will be out this December.

 What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

I would say write. Don’t just think it, do it. Every day. And don’t ever let anyone stomp on your dreams. I think for both Sarah and me, writing sort of comes naturally. If we don’t do it, we feel like we’re wasting time. I think if you have a passion and ambition and more than that sometimes, a great idea, you shouldn’t let anything stop you, least of all yourself. Go for it.

 What next for you and Lola Salt?

More books, hopefully. We’re planning a sequel to Lara featuring her friend Lucy and it’s sounding hilarious so far. Stay tuned!

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/becky.wicks

Twitter @bex_wicks

Web: http://beckywicks.com/

To read my interview on Becky’s blog click here.

On Creativity and a return to the UK

Last night was the first time in three years I’ve cried because I missed home. I had a craving for fields. Yes fields. And woods. And the smell of bonfires. And strawberries. Summer and autumn sights and smells. So if you dropped me back in the UK right now I’d swear at the cold and the snow and get back on the next plane, tossing my rose-tinted glasses into the bin on the way.

But most of all I was crying for my family and friends.

An email from my brother triggered it. Talk of my nieces and nephews. An email from my best friend too, with the butterfly heart-beating possibility that she might be coming to visit in March. The hope of that being tempered by the possibility she may not, just squeezed my emotions in such a way I burst into tears. OK, there was also the fact of a tax bill I have no idea how I’m going to pay. It had been a hard week.

Hard in that after three years, John and I are still finding our feet here financially. We walked out of well-paid jobs into a life of instability but outrageous potential. To pick yourself up from nothing and get back to a state of feeling comfortable takes a lot of hard work or a lottery win.

Though maybe that’s the point. Maybe ‘comfortable’ is not a place I subconsciously want to reside in. Being uncomfortable makes me work hard, push boundaries, try new things, keep trying new things when the first ones fail, keep throwing stuff at the wall in the hopes that one day something will stick. Would comfortable equal lazy and complacent? It’s a possibility.

My mum asked in an email ‘why not come home?’ and even through my tears (some now of guilt) I smiled and shuddered. Because even though I miss fields and strawberries (Kintamani ones have nothing on English ones) and bonfires and family and friends I could never move back there.

It’s hard to explain to people who haven’t been here. I have days where I hate Bali (the days when I’m told that ‘no your hard drive still hasn’t arrived from Singapore because it’s been diverted via Surabaya and now they’re holding it back until we pay a bribe’…the days when the internet fails for no reason and it takes a week before anyone can fix it…the days when I’m told I have a black magic curse on me) sure. But 99% of the time I love it here. And that’s not just because I don’t have to do the dishes.

I love who Alula is here. I love the world she gets to grow up in – this magical TV-free, advertising-free place where she is so, so happy. Never has a 6 year old child been so innocent. She’s growing into a conscious, kind, generous, empathetic and wildly imaginative child, as at home in a developing Asian world as in a first world city, able to flit between an American and English accent before ordering a juice in Bahasa.

Yesterday she said to us ‘I love living in Bali’ before skipping off to play among the butterflies.

I love that just as Alula gets to be creative and explore her imagination 100% of the time, so do I.

I love that John’s creativity has soared and he’s poured it into two incredible new businesses to inspire others’ creativity and connection.

I love the friends we have made here – all passionate, creative and entrepreneurial.

The word I keep coming back to is creativity. And the more I reflect on it the more I realize that for me, creativity has become a central component of living. It’s one of the main things that now gives my life meaning. Not always happiness that’s for sure, but definitely meaning. I see it give meaning to John and to Alula every single day as well. This is how we live now. We can’t ever go back from that. It’s inconceivable.

Which isn’t to say you can’t be creative in the UK. But it’s a hell of a lot harder. It would be something we squeezed in between going to work, doing the dishes and prising Alula away from CBBC.

This place is where we get to explore outrageous possibilities unfettered and unhindered, supported by the energy and people around us. So no, we’re not moving back to the UK.

While so much potential has been fulfilled there’s still so much ahead of us.

(sorry parents).

The Extraordinary Life of Lara Craft (not Croft)

I’m super excited to share the news that my first adult book is out now!

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It’s published under the pen name Lola Salt and it’s a comedy romance. Think Bridget Jones if Jackie Collins wrote it.

It’s a collaboration with the fabulous Becky Wicks. We met when Becky was in Bali writing a travel memoir and, over a bottle of wine and a rant about 50 Shades, we decided to have a go at writing erotica – I mean, how hard could it be?

Turns out, very. We giggled too much writing the naughty scenes, so eventually we decided to quit trying to write erotica and stick with comedy…and so The Extraordinary Life of Lara Craft (not Croft) was born. We sent our Lara off on a series of adventures, mostly inspired by actual events that had occurred to me and Becky. We even had Lara visiting the Island of the Gods where I had particular fun drawing from all the whack job crazy folks I’ve met over the last three years. Obviously, for the record, it’s ALL A WORK OF FICTION, ahum.

Here’s the Blurb:

When ex-circus employee Lara Craft is dumped for a contortionist, there’s no point in sticking around. Delivering packages to random global corners for a mysterious concierge company seems like the perfect way to hide from her humiliation.

As she travels, a suitcase full of whips and props might well prepare Lara for proposals by Arabic princes, advances from Christian cowboys and kidnappings by pirates, but nothing can prepare Lara Craft (not Croft) for what happens when she discovers that the best and most exciting thing about her life is right where she least expected to find it. 

And you can buy it from AMAZON in every country NOW!

And follow us on Twitter @LolaSalt

And to wet your appetite further, some of our favorite lines from the book, including this one which actually happened to me in Bali:

“I hope you’ll stay for Blissology?’ the man suddenly said, grabbing for her hand.

‘For what?’

Davidoff smiled serenely at her. ‘I’m a holistic escort. I have a PHD in Blissology from the Maharishi Kundalini University of Carlsbad. I’m about to hold a session.’
‘Right,’ said Lara. ‘What do you do exactly?’
‘Well, I interpret our human purpose by looking at quantum physics, an individual’s astrological alignments and the I Ching.’
‘And what does that mean exactly in English,’ she questioned, feeling herself zoning out.”

“This isn’t just any shirt,’ he told her. ‘This shirt was worn by he-who-must-not-be-named in the first of the Twilight films.’

Lara’s mouth fell open. She blinked several times. What was he talking about? Voldemort wasn’t even in Twilight.”

“Somehow, perhaps because of the way he spoke in a manner reminiscent of Jack Bauer from 24, Lara calmed down.

She repeated his words in her head. Wait. Assess. Intel. Yes, OK, that sounded sensible.

Then the hysterical coward in her reared up unannounced and she tried to run for the door again.”

“Don’t you want to find your purpose?’
Lara glared at her. ‘Right now my purpose is to get the hell out of here and then I’ll figure the rest of it out the normal way; by drinking vodka. Or maybe I’ll read Eat, Pray, Love all the way through…”

“He took her around the place, pointing out the hybrids and divulging a few of their clients. Lara could barely believe so many celebrities she knew were actually sick and in need of medical marijuana. She tried to make a mental note of their names but knew she’d forget them later, given that she’d already forgotten her own middle name.”

Beachwalk Kuta: Hell discovered on earth!

“I am never, as long as I live, stepping foot in Kuta ever again. EVER!’ I tell John after a day at Kuta’s new and glitziest mall ‘Beachwalk’ which should come with a sign saying: ‘check your soul at the door.’

I should have known to be suspicious when I took Alula to the loos – brand spanking new and already the locks were falling off, the floor was some weird fake brick linoleum and there were signs warning people not to squat on the toilet seats (actually Alula does need reminding because once a colonic therapist told her she should squat to poo, so she does. Everytime*). But you know what I’m saying. The place is like Hugh Heffner – from the outside it’s had a lot of work done, enough to attract the young and big breasted, looking for some glamorous times, but once you get past the dubious cosmetic work it’s gross and shoddy and corrupted on the inside.

Beachwalk was filled with crazed holiday makers. Who goes on holiday to shop in a mall that has all the same brands as you can get in your home town at more expensive prices? Who does that? Who, in fact, goes on holiday to Kuta?  WHO???? My brain demanded an answer to this seemingly unfathomable question. If you holiday in Kuta please for the love of GOD email me and tell me why.

Back to the mall. There was this tinny elevator music which pierced my brain like blunt fork tines. Repeatedly. Violently. Until I wanted to smack a real fork repeatedly into my ear drums to make it stop.

Every single shop assistant had been replaced with manic robots programmed to bounce up to you at the door, grin and then follow you, standing over your shoulder as you tried to browse. And most annoyingly, none of them had been programmed to understand that the subtle subtext of ‘I’m good thanks’ is actually ‘Fuck the fuck off.’

I was not feeling the Christmas cheer. I was feeling like I wanted to hurl myself into the three-inch deep pond and drown myself. And then the choir started up and I almost did.

Alula of course wanted to play in the hellzone. Sorry Kidzone. Where a water feature had been set up with one stinking toilet changing room beside it. John and I stood frozen in mutual horror at the chlorinated, hazlight lit area, ringed on all sides by plexiglass. The shudder rode up my spine.

‘Why is this so grim?’ I shouted to John over the screaming competing Guantanamo soundtracks of techno pop and arcade game back noise.

‘Because it smells like a UK swimming pool.’

‘Oh yeah.’

Alula was undeterred and went careering in. There weren’t even any seats for parents to watch.

So I do want I normally do in times like these – look for booze. There was none. So I do want I normally do in times like these when there’s no booze. I grabbed my Kindle and immersed myself in a book, thanking god for authors for creating worlds I can escape into (even worlds involving murder and psychotic drug-fuelled crime sprees) – worlds that are infinitely nicer than Beachwalk.

Alula then needed a wee. I hustled her into the ONLY ladies toilet for the entire ground floor food court. And guess what? There were only three cubicles. The queue was out the door.

‘This is because stupid men designed this stupid hell hole,’ I hissed to Alula while people started edging away from me in the line. ‘Only a man would think to design a mall with only three toilets for women. A stupid man or a woman-hating stupid man. Either way said stupid man should be forced to lie down while all the women in this place who need a pee squat on his head.’

I left that mall loathing in no particular order: men, Christmas, shopping, consumerism, elevator music, Topshop and the whole world.

Tis the season to be merry. Good will to all men.

Bah humbug. And screw you Beachwalk.

* I feel the need to make clear that I did not take Alula for a colonic. We had a friend who was a colonic therapist (is that the word? It sort of suggests your back bottom needs its own black leather couch and some trauma counselling). She told Alula the correct way to poo was by squatting, so now she always crouches on the toilet seat for number twos. Combine that with the fact at Green School she is used to using a compost toilet with no flush and you can picture what our toilet looks like at home after she’s done with it.**

**I’m sure she’s going to really appreciate this being in print when she’s an adult. Sorry darling.

I am but a plaything to the Gods

Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

Today is the kind of day that makes me just want to curl up in bed and close my eyes and tune out until tomorrow comes.

Except if I did that today would find a way to fuck me over while I slept. An earthquake would hit and the ceiling would collapse on the bed, or I don’t know…something would inevitably happen just so today could prove to me that all I am is a plaything of the Gods…

It’s funny because last night I went to this inspirational talk by someone who died once upon a time and lost an arm in a car crash and now gives motivational speeches about counting our blessings. He even had the whole room on their feet as he strummed a guitar with his bionic hand, singing a song that went ‘I am blessed…I am blessed’ (very Kumbayah). And I went home thinking, yeah I am blessed, and singing it into my pillow.

And it’s like the Gods wanted to LAUGH in my face or something at my naivete (or maybe they didn’t like my singing) so they connived all night to make this day suck in order to teach me a lesson.

First off I wake up and realize that I have work to do. Now I’m not a work shirker. I work my ass off and I don’t complain because I LOVE my job (my author job that is). But lately I’ve been having to do copywriting to pay the bills because NEWSFLASH all you deluded folk out there who think authors make money WE DON’T (so if you are one of the many who download my books illegally I really, really hope that karma comes and bites you on the ass one day).

The long and the short of it is that I’m stuck writing copy about man boobs and retro bikinis and liposuction and honest to GOD about Hulk Hogan in neon spandex. Google that. Most likely I wrote it.

Seriously. I’m having to earn money for food by selling my soul and writing copy about celebs in speedos. Some days I actually contemplate just not eating ever again and keeping my integrity intact, but then I get a reminder about the school fees.

John and I sip our coffee and discuss the perennial problem we have; namely money and earning enough to stay in Bali and drink green juice. Green School fees don’t come cheap, rents have almost doubled, the cost of living is not peanuts here (SHHHHHHHH I don’t want to hear it about the pedicure obsession. I’ve cut back) and we have to fly home every summer to see family. Anyway boohoo I hear you say, you live in Paradise…and you’re right. I should quit complaining. I don’t have a bionic arm.

Kumbayah.

But we keep wondering when the time will come that we can make a good living from doing the things we love (ie. Not sourcing images of David Hasselhoff showing off his floatie). Is that day ever going to come? Our biggest risk – quitting our jobs in London – was rewarded almost instantly. It made us think we were invincible.

Now we contemplate a second jump off the precipice. Should we start saying no to work we don’t love, trusting the universe will leap in and fill the gap? I want to believe. I do. But judging by day I’ve just had I think the universe right now just wants me to do that so it can laugh in my face when I slice myself open on the jagged rocks below.

Evidence 1: John bought me a lovely new nail polish – Chanel – gorgeous. I am carrying it downstairs and drop it. It plunges 30feet and smashes on the kitchen floor below. There are crime scenes with less splatter. And blood hoses off. Nail varnish doesn’t. (I acknowledge that by sitting on the kitchen floor dipping the brush in the splatter and painting my nails in order to at least get some worth from it, I didn’t help matters when it came to trying to clear it up.)

Goddamn it. Glass splinters in my knees, ruined nails and my entire bottle of nail polish remover used up trying to scrub off pink streaks from the tiles and kitchen cabinets.

Evidence 2: I’ve spent about 50 hours editing my third Fated book on my Kindle. I switch on my Kindle this morning and every single edit note has vanished. What? Mercury isn’t even retrograde. I hate you Kindle. You suck more balls than John Travolta.

You see where I’m going with this?

Yes. That’s right. To the cupboard that contains the gin.

ps. I know, I know…I really don’t have anything to complain about. I’m just having a winge. Humour me.

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Very excited to say that Severed, the sequel to Fated came out this week.

Buy your copy here!

 

Thanksgiving 2013

I love Thanksgiving. I mean I’ve never sat down and had a Thanksgiving dinner or anything but as celebrations go, Thanksgiving seems to me to be one of the better American traditions. It beats Christmas (stress of present buying, annoying Christmas tunes on the radio, Queen’s speech) and Easter (guilt at eating chocolate to celebrate a man being crucified) and Halloween (shit I have to come up with another costume). Thanksgiving seems a lot more humble and honest. Less consumer driven. And less costume-focussed.

Anyway, even though we’re not American, Alula is starting to sound like one and we’re the only British people we know in town, so I’m going all out and adopting Thanksgiving this year.

Here’s my list of things I’m thankful for:

1.    Living in Bali not South East London

I give thanks every single day (as I machete open coconuts and stare at the rice paddies and order up another massage) that we live here. I drive John mad by my daily announcement; ‘Can you believe we live here, that this is our life? We could still be living in Beckenham you know…(pause for horror to sink in)?’ I feel incredibly blessed we have found this unique and magical spot on the globe.

2.    For having a husband who believed in outrageous potential

John and I often comment on how we wouldn’t be here without the other. I had the urge to travel and have adventures but John was the one who ultimately suggested we cut the safety net tying us to jobs and country and just go and see what happened. He’s the one who tirelessly believed in outrageous potential…while I’d ask him every five minutes in those early months ‘are we going to be OK?’

His unfailing ability to nod and say yes saw us through some lean months (as did his ability to nab amazing design jobs all around the world and therefore keep us afloat as my meager writing advances trickled in).

3.    For having fans!

Yeah! Really! I get fan mail. Me. Actual fan mail. Really lovely, gushy letters from people who’ve read my books and think they’re the best things since sliced bread, and who go and tell all their friends to read them too! It’s amazing. And everyday when I wake up to them I smile because what a wonderful incredible thing! Except if it’s another one from the stalker who’s turning into a miniature Kathy Bates. But hey ho, can’t have everything. And it really is incredible to make a living from doing something that makes people so happy!

 4.    For having a daughter like Alula

With her Scooby Doo obsession and incredible imagination who fights with passion and loves with intensity and laughs like a witch and who at just 6 turned to me after I made a wish for ‘love, joy and abundance’ and said, ‘But mummy, we have all those things! You wasted a wish!’

5.    For family & friends

This year has been a year of friendships – from meeting up in New York with dear friends to hanging in London with oldies and besties, and seeing family and nephews and new niece and collaborating from afar with fellow writers. I love it that as I grow older my friendship circles grow and bloom too, rather than withering and dying as I think can often happen. (And if any of you read this, my birthday is Sunday and what I would adore more than anything is an email from each and everyone of you so I don’t start to miss you too much.)

Also grateful for: ice cream, cacao pow balls, being given the chance to work on the Hunting Lila screenplay, selling two more books, dancewalk buddies, pilates, chocolate, coconuts and massage.