I’m very excited because this month sees the release of the first book I have written for Young Adults: The Accidental Life of Jessie Jefferson. This is the first in a series of novels about fifteen-year-old Jessie, who discovers that her dad is famous bad-boy rock star Johnny Jefferson. 

I first wrote about Johnny in Johnny Be Good, which sees my heroine, Meg, go to work for him as his PA. Three books later I followed up on their story (under some duress from you lot!) with the sequel, Baby Be Mine. When I was writing Baby, I had an idea to write about the twenty-something daughter Johnny never knew he had. This daughter – Jessie – finds out the truth about who her real dad is following the death of her mother, who was one of Johnny’s first groupies (you haven’t met Jessie’s mother in any of my adult books, for those of you wondering).

I write my books in real-time, so I would have had to wait a few years to write a story about a heroine in her twenties (Johnny is only in his mid-thirties himself). Then my friend and fellow author Ali Harris (who I’ve dedicated Jessie to) suggested that I write for Young Adults and I realised I could tell the tale of a teenage Jessie now – and, better still, turn her ordinary-girl-turned-rock-star-daughter adventures into a series. Now I will be releasing two books a year: my usual chick-lit, plus a book about Jessie. 

Hand on heart, I do believe my regular readers will enjoy The Accidental Life of Jessie Jefferson, if how much I loved writing it is anything to go by, and I’m dying to find out what they – and hopefully some new, younger readers – think. But, equally, I believe it’s important that my current readers know that Jessie is primarily aimed at Young Adults, and this is why I felt passionately about making sure the cover looked very different to my adult books. I hope the photographic (as opposed to illustrated) artwork prompts people to take a closer look at the synopsis so that they realise that Jessie is something a little bit different to the usual. My writing style is the same, but my protagonist is younger and the story length is slightly shorter, so I’d be disappointed to get negative feedback from people thinking they’re buying a full-length adult novel. I’d also hate any readers to think that I’m no longer writing for adults, because I am, and Thirteen Weddings, my eighth adult book, is coming out in May.

As I’ve said, I loved writing from Jessie’s perspective, but it was slightly strange writing about Meg in the third person. I was happy to have the chance to tell things from her side of the story in the eBook short story Johnny’s Girl, which came out in November 2013 and ends with Meg waiting to meet Jessie. I’m sure that won’t be the last you hear of Meg, though, and I’ve even thought about writing some of the chapters from The Accidental Life of Jessie Jefferson from Meg’s point of view. 

If you like the sound of this, make sure you stay tuned to www.paigetoon.com, Twitter (@PaigeToonAuthor) and Facebook.com/PaigeToonAuthor, where I’ll keep you up to date of any developments… Can’t wait to hear what you think of the book, so please let me know on Twitter and Facebook and in the on-line reviews that so many of you take the time to write – I’m so grateful!

As With or Without You is set between Hollywood and the UK, it was obviously essential for me to go to Hollywood to do some research about how the rich and famous live. I know. What a tough assignment!

I had never been to Hollywood before, so I needed a chaperone who could show me around and accompany me to all the hip places to be seen. Luckily, my old friend Jacqui Moore, who had launched Loose Women with me many years previously, now lives in the US and, although she is based in New York, she spent many months in LA where she organized some of the biggest showbiz awards shows. 

So Jacqui flew in from New York, I flew in from London and we met in the arrivals hall at LAX, with Jacqui yelling ‘Warner!’ in her distinctive Brummie accent as I walked through the gate. We hired a car and Jacqui drove us to the Four Seasons, where we were staying. Again, she had spent many months staying in that famous hotel, so it was no surprise when the bellhops opened her car door and welcomed her back by name.

Over the next five days, we met up with several ex-pats who are enjoying life in LA, the most ‘fabulous’ of whom was the wonderful Sharon Osbourne.  Sharon is an old friend and she couldn’t have been more helpful, even though she had a lot going on in her life at that time. She took us to Soho House, which was packed with Brits abroad, and told me how life is for the rich and famous in Hollywood.

Another expat who helped me enormously was Natalka Znak, a TV producer who had recently relocated from London to LA. Natalka was so accommodating of my request to see how the Brits live in Hollywood that she even invited Jacqui and me to her young son’s pirate pool party at their house!

Every morning, we would start our day with a run around Beverly Hills, then return to drink tea and eat muffins sitting out by the pool. It seemed more than a little ironic that the spa pool overlooked a huge plastic surgery clinic, which several of the hotel guests seemed to have visited, judging by the ‘work’ we witnessed on the sunbeds arranged around the terrace. 

Jacqui and I made full use of the Rolls Royce, which is specifically for the use of guests staying at the Four Seasons. We were chauffered by the enigmatic Nelson, as we visited various romantic restaurants such as Little Door in West Hollywood and Shutters on the Beach in Santa Monica, both of which became locations in the novel. We drove along the Pacific Coast Highway towards Malibu and gaped at the magnificent properties on the cliffs overlooking the ocean and around the Hollywood Hills, imagining how it would be to live in one of the multi-million dollar properties nestled in the hillside. Most of all we laughed, talked and laughed some more. 

Los Angeles is an amazing, interesting place with a beautiful climate and breathtaking beaches nearby but, even after such a brief visit, I knew I wouldn’t want to live there. It struck me that it could be a lonely place to be, as you have to drive everywhere and it doesn’t seem the type of town where you make real, lasting friends. There is a superficiality to everyday life that I would find difficult and you are very much defined by your job and your level of success. 

Having said that, who am I kidding? If one of my novels was ever made into a Hollywood film, or if I got offered a big TV job out there, I’d be on the first plane to Tinseltown tomorrow! It’s the place where big dreams really do come true. 

The Best Christmas Present of All
by Ali Harris


I’m a sucker for old-fashioned values and each year I desperately want Christmas to feel like it does in the classic American movies, or when I was a child. 

Like Evie Taylor, my main character in 'Miracle on Regent Street' and 'A Vintage Christmas', I yearn to come out of shops laden with beautifully wrapped boxes, tipping my felt hat and snuggling my hands into a fur muff as I head off for afternoon tea somewhere lovely (Lily’s Tea Room at Hardy’s, perhaps!) having bought each of my loved-ones some perfectly elegant personalised gift. I scour small shops and antiques emporiums, trying to find the perfect stocking fillers for my two small children. Wooden toys, books, board games, tins of sweets, tangerines, classic Fisher Price toys and a bag of chocolate coins all feature this year.

Each year I immerse myself in classic Christmas movies like 'It’s a Wonderful Life' and 'Miracle on 34th Street'. I string popcorn and cranberries and marshmallows on the tree with my kids like Eloise in the classic 1950s children’s books and make gingerbread with them whilst listening to Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby. Then I get stressed about how much work I have to do and end up staying up all night to make up for indulging my festive fads.

I also find myself spending a lot of my time moaning about how technology has changed our festive future forever. I refuse to internet shop and tell my kids Father Christmas doesn’t deliver gadgets (my four-year-old son has asked for an iPad which he will not be getting). One of my two-year-old daughter’s favourite presents from last year was a vintage 1980s Woolworths Fairground that was mine when I was a child. We have such fun playing with it; each time we do I feel like I’m at once recreating and reliving my childhood Christmases. It’s like I have one foot in the past and one in the present…

The Present. It’s funny that we call it that, isn’t it? Since having kids I’ve become aware just how quickly time passes. I may yearn for bygone days when I spent Christmas Eve peering up at the stars hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa and his reindeer instead of manically running around, prepping and cooking and wrapping and writing, but then I have to remind myself that what I have now, in this moment, in the present is the best gift of all. Being Santa Claus to my kids, celebrating with family and friends, making new memories is what it’s all about. So what if I end up getting their presents online? With the time I saved I may even take them to see that new Disney Christmas film they want to see. 

After all, it’ll probably be considered a good old-fashioned classic one day…

She may be alive, she may be dead, but either way she haunts you. She’s the Other Woman... 

But you can do nothing about her relationship with your man, for it happened in the past. She might have been his first wife, his childhood sweetheart or a live-in girlfriend, but you can’t help thinking: ‘Did he love her more than me?’ Or - worse - 'Does he love her still?’

These days we’re generally more relaxed about our partner having a romantic history, and expect him to be accepting of ours, too. It’s unusual now to find a man with 'no previous owner', so to speak; commonplace for them to have been actually married. This doesn’t mean though, that we don’t occasionally feel mild irritation, a frisson of rivalry, if our man even mentions his ex-, never mind if she actually appears at the front door to drop off the stepchildren. Sometimes hot jealousy can damage our relationship with him, or in some cases destroy it.

There’s a long and fascinating tradition of fictional first wives. In Jane Eyre (1847) Rochester’s first wife Bertha is still very much alive and kicking, a madwoman held captive in a Victorian attic. It’s interesting that this storyline still works in the 1920s for Edith in Downton Abbey. It wasn’t until 1937 in the UK that one could divorce an insane spouse. And what of the poor mad first wives?  In Wide Sargasso Sea (1966) the novelist Jean Rhys gives rein to her imagination about Bertha Rochester’s story.

Daphne du Maurier’s gothic classic Rebecca (1938) owes a huge debt to Jane Eyre . In it the second Mrs de Winter, a plain mouse of a girl, fearful, over-protected, believes herself a poor successor to the beautiful and talented Rebecca, whom she’s certain that her husband Maxim still mourns. A modern  version of Maxim would be sufficiently unbuttoned to explain properly, I hope. At least these days he would probably have divorced Rebecca as soon as he’d found out how monstrous she was.

My new novel, The Silent Tide, concerns a beloved first wife who dies young.  In 1950s London the novelist Hugh Morton marries his editor, Isabel, but although they adore each other the marriage quickly runs into trouble.  The twist is that Jacqueline, who is to become Hugh’s second wife after Isabel is lost in the floods of January 1953, is already waiting in the wings, dumbly adoring of Hugh and married to someone else because she couldn’t have him.  Although Jacqueline eventually nails Hugh, the memory of Isabel is to haunt their marriage.

Hugh Morton may have loved his first wife, Isabel, better than his second, but both wives had an even more formidable rival for this affections: Hugh's mother. Friction between mothers- and daughters-in-law - there's a knotty subject for another time!

The Airport Safari

I have a confession to make, more of a declaration really – I love airports.  Not in a nerdy, sit at the end of the runway with a flask of tea and a copy of Aviation Weekly ogling incoming aircraft kind of way. What I love is the excitement of impending journey, the promise of adventure. There’s lots to do:  shopping for one, people-watching for another. I liken it to being on safari: there are so many different species of traveller roaming around.

One such species is the Solo Business Traveller with their determined ‘I just want to get going, let me through’ expressions and demeanour. I suspect they must hate waiting in line behind those once-a-year flyers that arrive slack-jawed at security as if they have just walked into an operating theatre in the middle of a delicate procedure. The Once-a-Years usually have metal in every pocket and enough liquid, gels and pastes to bring down an Airbus A380.

But using their keen eye for spotting the line with the least potential delays, once the Solo Business Traveller gets past the Once-a-Years, they sail though security with a military precision that goes hand in hand with frequent flying. Belt, watch, bag coins into tray one. Laptop, mobile phone and jacket into tray two, before breezing unfazed through the metal detector.

Another member of the airport ‘Big Five’ are The Lads on Tour - especially easy to spot by their broad rictus grins. It’s the kind of unsustainable smile that starts to hurt after a couple of minutes and suggests: ‘I can’t believe I have no responsibilities for the next few days only to drink/watch sports/play sports/eat/score’. You will always see them in the bar drinking and laughing loudly.   A very different breed of traveller is the Shiny Ringed Honeymooners – most common throughout the summer months. Alone as a couple for the first time since they said ‘I do’, they only have eyes for one another and are easily identified by their bright, shiny wedding rings.  Then there’s The Hen Nighters, a rowdy crew who all sport identical day-glo T-shirts. You can always pick out the ‘Hen’ by looking for the one displaying ‘L’ plates, mini wedding veil and fake male genitalia.

I’m certain the BBC will do a ‘wildlife’ style documentary on it all at some stage. In fact, I can already imagine David Attenborough’s seasoned, knowledgeable tones doing the voice over: ‘Here we find the common Snowy White Sun-worshipper. Once a year these magnificent creatures migrate south in search of sunshine and cheap booze. Within a few hours of reaching their destination they will try to absorb a year’s worth of vitamin D by basking in the sun, eventually turning an angry shade of red. Yet, these amazing creatures have even found a naturally occurring and readily available source of painkiller for such an injury – cheap beer.’

Inevitably once you find yourself at the boarding gate you start to recognise other familiar sights: the loud bickering couple that sat on the car-park bus in front of you, the laden-down family with the seat-kicking screaming toddler at the next table in the terminal restaurant.   Like safari animals, our destinies seem to merge as we all migrate towards our mutual journey.  And you just know where that seat kicking toddler is going to be sitting…

'Finding Lucky Santangelo' by Jackie Collins            

As a kid growing up I was an avid reader, devouring all kinds of stories and also making up my own – books filled with outrageous characters, yes, even at thirteen I was into creating racy exciting stories!

In the beginning my author of choice was the fabulous Enid Blyton. What a marvellous storyteller! From The Magic Faraway Tree to The Famous Five, Enid Blyton allowed my fervent imagination to run riot. And run riot it did. I started writing books at the age of ten – fun stories about teenage angst and all their problems. Writing was my passion, it was all I wanted to do. In school I came bottom in everything and top in composition. Yes! I had a vision of where my future would take me. . . all the way to the top of the bestseller list! This was my dream, but I never thought it would come true. And now – many years later, I have published 30 books – all of them bestsellers!

After moving on from Enid Blyton, I delved into the world of more sophisticated fiction – Harold Robbins and Mickey Spillane, both brilliant storytellers. But wait a minute, what was with the females in their books? They were either sex-crazed bitches or total wimps. They were either lurking in the bedroom or busy in the kitchen – nothing in between. Hmm. . . sex or cooking – not good enough for me. 

            

I hated what I perceived as a blatant double standard. I wanted to write women who could stand up to any man and do ANYTHING! I wanted to write female characters who were smart, beautiful, sexually equal, and most of all – strong.

            

And so eventually I created the character of Lucky Santangelo. Ah. . . Lucky. My fierce, fabulous, wildly beautiful Lucky – a woman who can achieve absolutely anything.

            

Born in my book Chances to the sweetly gentle Maria, and the notorious Gino Santangelo – Lucky is adored by both her parents, until her world crumbles, when, at five years of age, she discovers her mother’s murdered body floating on a lilo in the family swimming pool.

            

From then on everything changes. Instead of being her loving father, Gino becomes her strict protector – making sure nothing bad happens to her. Locked up in their Bel Air mansion, Lucky rebels. She wants to be free to choose her own path in life. She wants to enter the family business and build hotels in Vegas, exactly like Gino. Her brother, Dario, could not care less about carrying on the family tradition. So Lucky informs Gino that she is the one who will work beside him. However, as a total chauvinist, Gino says no way – girls must be married and have babies. And so the Santangelo family saga begins. . .

        

Now eight books and three mini-series later, Lucky is still my most popular character. She’s also the woman I would like to be in another life. Strong, invincible, exciting and fun! I think my readers love Lucky because she does and says all the things they would like to, but don’t quite have the courage. That’s okay, for Lucky does it for them!

       

I am currently writing The Santangelos – having recently completed Confessions of a Wild Child – all about Lucky’s crazy and uninhibited teenage years. And so, the saga continues.  Keep on reading, and I’ll keep on writing.

Love and friendship always,

 Jackie Collins

Visit Jackie’s website at www.jackiecollins.com, and follow her on Pinterest and Twitter at JackieJCollins and Facebook at www.facebook.com/jackiecollins . 

'A feast for the senses' by Rebecca Chance

Cinnamon-perfumed neck wraps, guava and mango Bellinis, Bulgari green tea toiletries, an aromatherapy room perfume menu in the hotel reception, salty sea air wafting through the white muslin draperies around the beach cabanas…I’d go back to Mexico for the delicious scents alone. And then there were the exquisite tastes, the beautiful sights, the soft sounds of the sea...Starting with that guava Bellini, offered to me by a smiling, white-jacketed waiter as I walked into the deliciously cool reception of the El Dorado Karisma hotel, my two-week stay at the resort was a feast for the senses.  

Technically, I was actually working: I was on the Mayan Riviera, staying in the smaller, very deluxe Casitas Royale section of the El Dorado, to research crucial parts of my latest book, Killer Queens. My hapless heroine, Lori, on honeymoon with her new husband, the King of Herzoslovakia, discovers, in the middle of paradise, that being a queen may actually not be all she expected it to be…and the contrast between her increasingly gloomy emotions and the sheer beauty and serenity of her surroundings was perfect dramatic material.

So much so that it hardly felt like work. I would get up every morning to a breakfast of omelette and bright tropical fruit. Sitting on the terrace of my swim-up suite, still in my silk dressing gown, I would write around two thousand words of the book, and then organise notes on all the amazing experiences I was having in order to use them for the Mexico-set scenes. My wonderful butlers, Elizabeth, Pablo and Liliana, organised me with crisp and sunny efficiency.

Everyone made sure I had plenty to write about for the book: I visited the temple at Chichen Itza, one of the new seven wonders of the world; swam in a cenote, one of the many underground sinkholes which are like magical secret hidden lakes in grottoes; and travelled to Tulum, where the Mayan ruins perch majestically on the edge of a cliff. I ate perfectly-grilled salmon for lunch at the Maroma hotel, and dined at Le Chique at another Karisma resort, the Azul Sensatori hotel. A molecular gastronomy 26-course tasting dinner which was one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten in my life, with locally-sourced, sensationally inventive food. I toured the resort’s huge greenhouses and Juan Carlos, the urbane and charming manager, gave me a VIP circuit of the Casitas, including a view of the two crocodiles, Pancho and Maria.

And of course, I had lots of time off! Even after writing, I had a good hour on one of the floating lilos in my private swimming pool, which led to the ‘lazy river’ that circled the horseshoe of low white Casitas suites, which in turn led to the swim-up bar and the thatch-covered terrace on which I could lounge in the shade on a double-bed cabana, sipping vino espumoso and contemplating where to go for lunch.  I did try to hit the gym most days, God knows, which was very important as there are, quite seriously, more lovely places to lie down and stretch out at the Casitas Royale than I have ever experienced in my life.

On my patio, for instance, there was a daybed comfortable enough to sleep through the night on. Then I had two loungers by my little swim-up pool, and two lilos floating on the water. Just our own exquisite Casitas garden had hammocks, cabanas and loungers, such an abundance that nobody ever had to commit the vulgarity of ‘bagsieing’ a favourite place: one would always be available. Along the stunning white beach were more cabanas, their muslin curtains billowing in the wind like sailboats, extra beach towels ready-rolled on their mattresses. 

Everything about this holiday-cum-research trip spoke of abundance: all food and drink are included, which I absolutely love. Karisma calls it ‘Gourmet Inclusive’, and the bliss of the ‘Gourmet’ part is that it isn’t overwhelming. The portions are small, balanced, delicious: you’d have to work hard to overeat, which, on a beach holiday, is ideal. No guilt, no temptation to pig out; from the refined elegance of the two D’Italia restaurants, to the fresh, bright flavours of grilled fish at Jojo’s on the beach, I never woke up the morning after the night before feeling too stuffed to wear a bikini.

The beach bar in Flamingos, the ‘horseshoe’ in which my swim-up suite was set, opened at ten am and closed at five pm: perfect timings. Vegas and Cancun are there for people who want to drink around the clock; the Casitas Royale cater to visitors who want to relax in the supremely lovely sense that everything is in balance. Food, drink, exercise – I borrowed a bicycle and had some lovely rides around the resort – sun, sea, and maybe just one more cucumber Bellini. And possibly the occasional strawberry popsicle or ice-cream scoop at tea time. Oscar Wilde’s line about being able to resist everything except temptation is very apposite when it comes to a lovely cold afternoon ice-cream!

I came home with the entire Mexico section of the book perfectly worked out in my head, the words dancing around, eager to be written. It centres around a world-class massage that Queen Lori has in one of the Sky Massage rooms, built high over the beach: Felipe, the shaman at the spa, creates a truly moving experience that is the moment at which Lori realises the extent of the mistake she’s made. The ceremony before the massage, rose-petals scattering into the water, the burning of aromatic herbs in a bowl made from volcanic rock, will be even more powerful than Lori could have imagined, crystallising in her mind the conflict she’s experiencing. I could never have imagined or written that crucial scene, or so many others, before my visit to the El Dorado Casitas Royale: it’s a magic place. And as a writer, it does go to show how essential research is. There’s no substitute in the world for visiting the place you’re describing, seeing it come to life before your eyes: the brilliance of the colours, the tastes of the food, the beauty of the country, the cinnamon-scent of the neck wrap… the trouble is, though, that in describing it like this I want to live it all over again!

(You can enter to win the amazing holiday described by Rebecca Chance in this article and in Killer Queens by buying a copy of the book and following the instructions inside.)