Born in Birmingham UK in 1962, I almost immediately developed into a hyperactive demon. My mother taught me to read when I was about four; I assume to try and distract me from drawing on the walls. She placed a bookcase outside my bedroom door and I was instructed to read when I awoke before dawn. By the time I was eight I’d enjoyed all the children’s classics from Janet and John to Robinson Crusoe. My mother had made the connection between E numbers and hyperactivity by then, but my voracious appetite for books would never be subdued. By twelve I’d graduated to Lewis, Tolkein and Orwell – amongst many others – and my imagination swelled under master tutelage.
But my absolute beloved was Mr Carrol’s AKA Charles Dodgson’s, ‘Alice in Wonderland’, and ‘Through the Looking Glass’, chiefly because the nonsensical canvas of the tale was as much a conundrum as my own nightly visits to Wonderland.
My favourite lessons at school were English and Art. My inchoate artistic scrawlings graduated from the walls to . . . pretty much anything that didn’t move, but I really began to learn the skills when I was twelve, under the eccentric tutelage of celebrated artist, Ken Hancock, RIP, bless his beard. Never without a magnificent Meerschaum in the corner of his mouth. I could hardly wait for the weekly evening class, at the Sutton Coldfield Squash club, of all places. My Dad would play squash and I would join Ken’s art lesson in a tiny little room just about big enough for four and . . . me! But art isn’t a proper job is it? Or it wasn’t if you were a girl in the seventies. But, hail all gods, I appeared to be relatively academic – I understood science – so my love of animals tipped me toward a career as a vet. My brother died when I was fourteen, he eighteen. Everything changed.
My veterinarian aspirations vanished. I pursued Neil’s dream to become an actor. I won a scholarship to drama school and studied at the Birmingham Old Rep, then moved to London, did the audition rounds, and worked with some great people in TV, Film, and West End Theatre. But I soon discovered that an actress at nearly six feet tall is no role winner when most of the lead men were . . . chest height. So, I abandoned any ideas of super-stardom and moved laterally into corporate and commercial video production. I won some blue-chip clients and got the bug for writing. I first drafted The Toy Sorcerer back in 1992 and completed it, after several rewrites in 1996, but my career path once again took a sideways move and the book was shelved.
I spent ten years restoring and eco-updating a number of Heritage buildings. The last one was very telling on my old bones, so I went to college to study CAD and 3D modeling/animation in order to professionally draft construction schematics. This opened up a new avenue of 3D art and design and I’ve worked on some fabulous assignments in a variety of fields. But what has really seized my attention and held it willing captive this last decade, was my inevitable return to my first love; art. In particular, glass art. I have totally immersed myself in the medium and have gained a little positive notoriety in the last decade of obsessive devotion.
I digress; I resurrected The Toy Sorcerer in 2011 and updated it in the relevant technological advancements since originally conceived twenty years earlier. I self-published. I’d already experienced the publisher approach back in the mid-’90s and after a couple of years of that hamster wheel, I finally found a US agent. Yahoo. She died shortly after, of what I know not. Only that she did. So, when the digital age presented itself, I took the route of, ‘If you want something done . . .’ It received some very good reviews, thank you to those readers who gave up their time to appreciate. TTS’s resurrection came at another turning point in my life; one that could have ended with me living in New Zealand. But fate and a string of bad choices weren’t finished with me yet. Upon my return to the UK, the need to resurrect my own life became paramount and this was when I immersed myself in glorious glass! But there was another drive; unbidden, to continue the story I began twenty years earlier with equal fervor. And so, I wrote like the Gremon himself to complete and publish before the winter solstice 2012. And I did. I think there were some woods still scattered amongst the trees (editing/typos) that I missed on the hundredth read-through, but they have since been corrected. Glorious glass pretty much took over my life after that and I have enjoyed, and still do enjoy, every moment of my life as an artist. And things looked like they might be on the up when . . .
I was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukaemia in May 2018 and given two days to live unless I underwent ‘treatment’. I’d been feeling tired and pretty rough for several weeks, but my attempts to gain a doctor’s appointment were very much a lottery at my local surgery. When I finally did get an appointment, my GP in her infinite wisdom dismissed me saying I’d been, ‘ . . . a bit anemic in the past . . . there’s nothing wrong with you.’ I won’t go into gory detail, but essentially an infection finally got me seen by a nurse and I was sent for a blood test. Endgame: You’re dying of Leukaemia. Take a chance on getting a double dose of a nasty experimental chemo drug by ‘Random Computer Generation’ – which of course I did – or die in two days. Not really much of a choice, eh? I nearly died several times after that, from pharmaceutical poisoning. The ‘treatment’ was barbaric. The pre-transplant treatment was torturously barbaric. The recovery was a three-in-one uphill battle. The poisons I was being fed were killing me again. I decided if I was going to die it would be on my terms. I ceased taking ALL their poisons and intensified my botanical research into herbs, roots, minerals, and fungi. I got better. Rapidly. And I am still thriving three years later, without touching a single pharmaceutical. Hmmm, pure luck and coincidence, I’m sure . . .
But I am eternally grateful to every nurse and doctor that stands under their oaths to do no harm, you are the best of us. My bone marrow donor, I still do not know, except that at least one of my letters got through the wires because she answered. All I do know is that she’s a young lady in the USA thinking of going to law school – probably there by now. Much of her letter, so no doubt much of mine, was redacted to retain anonymity. But I shall be forever in her debt for giving me these last years and those still yet to come, no matter how tumultuous they are!
After two years tenuously, yet determinedly, hanging onto this mortal coil ‘Covid 19’ happened. And what an ever-intriguing mystery that is, eh? A global Nightmare Pandemic terrorising the entire human population . . . Hmmm, sounds a lot like something I wrote and published in 2012 . . . ‘The Final Prophecy’, book two of, ‘The Ancient Knowledge.’ So as the ‘Pandemic’ of 2020 hit, that unbidden urge to write rose again. I instinctively knew to shield myself from the British Brainwashing Corporation and IdiotTV and the like. Also, to shield myself from the extreme diversionary propaganda of ingenious misdirection. I did research the people with credible credentials, though. People who had been subjected to Draconian ‘legal’ N.D.A’s [pretty much death threats]. Some imprisoned for defying the totalitarian insanity of the Coven of Power. All to silence them from telling the world the truth before it was too late.
But it already is too late. Isn’t it?
Book three of, ‘The Ancient Knowledge’, may posit some interesting possibilities . . .
The Ancient Knowledge Series
The Toy Sorcerer
Imagine surviving a car crash that claimed your mother and brother. You are fourteen, struggling with terrible injuries and horrific memories that haunt your dreams. Now imagine waking up in a dimension where every dream created in the human mind is made real…
The Final Prophecy
The Final Prophecy is upon us. The demon of the Dream Realms has passed between dimensions and unleashes his spawn upon the Earth…The last days of the old order are coming to a close and humankind’s struggle for freedom in the new age hinges on the outcome of the Final Prophecy…
… is evolving
…beautifully crafted; witty, sinister, tragic, and superbly engaging from the first word…