Mary McCluskey talks about the anticipation of finding a great story.

I can’t remember when I didn’t want to be a writer. I was always scribbling something, even as a child: stories, little plays. One memorable playlet, written for my sister when she was going through a fortunately short-lived religious phase, was called something like And the Angel Appeared Unto Helen at the Bottom of our Garden by my Dad’s Green Beans.


I wrote a more serious story a bit later. It was about a young girl who single-handedly saved the neighbourhood from accidental bulldozing by a drunken developer. (The antagonist was based on the brickie who lived next door.) I was about eleven.

At that age I was reading everything I could get my hands on. I was voracious. My mum purchased paperback editions of children’s classics – Black Beauty, Treasure Island, Little Women. I loved them all. I just about wore out Little Women. I read it so many times that I knew the first pages by heart. Even today, the first line of the novel comes into my head every Christmas morning.

The best reading material, however, was to be found under my dad’s side of the bed. He was a huge fan of classic crime writers like Raymond Chandler and James M. Cain. I didn’t always understand the plots but I greatly enjoyed the dialogue of those hard-bitten characters.

My great reading resource, however, was the local library. My favourite place. I can recall even now that sense of joy, of anticipation that I felt on each visit as I walked through those doors and wondered what treasures I would discover, what new characters I might meet. I still feel like that today.

intrusionA loving couple, grieving the loss of their son, finds their marriage in free fall when a beautiful, long-lost acquaintance inserts herself into their lives.

Kat and Scott Hamilton are dealing with the hardest of losses: the death of their only child. While Scott throws himself back into his law practice in Los Angeles, Kat is hesitant to rejoin the workplace and instead spends her days shell-shocked and confused, unable to focus.

When an unwelcome face from Kat’s past in England emerges — the beautiful and imposing Sarah Cherrington — Kat’s marriage is thrown into a tailspin. Now wealthy beyond anything she could have imagined as a girl, Sarah appears to have everything she could need or want. But Sarah has an agenda and she wants one more thing. Soon Kat and Scott are caught up in her devious games and power plays.

Mary McCluskey hates crowds but loves new places and new beginnings. She was born in Warwickshire and has lived and worked in a number of cities in Europe, before finding a home in Los Angeles, California where she married and had two sons.  She is presently back in Warwickshire, in Stratford-upon-Avon, William Shakespeare’s old ‘hood.

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