Lindsey Kelk Interview And Extract From What A Girl Wants

Lindsey Kelk is a British writer and used to be a children’s book editor. She loves living in New York but misses Sherbert Fountains, London and drinking Gin & Elderflower cocktails with her friends. Her first series of books was called ‘I Heart Series’ and follows the life of Angela Clarke as she travels to some of the world’s finest cities. Her second series of books now follows of the life of Tess Brookes, a girl who always had a plan but things don’t work out, she has to reconsider things, ‘What A Girl Wants’ is the second book in the series.

1. To the readers of the website, that may not be familiar with you, can you tell us about yourself and your writing.
   Hello! My name is Lindsey and I am a lady that watches too much TV, is far too interested in lipstick and Twitter and occasionally writes books. I’m from Doncaster originally, lived in London for seven years and now I live in New York. I won’t lie, it’s pretty exciting but it is going to bankrupt me. Too. Many. Shops.

   My books are fun, funny, smart rom-coms about fun, funny smart women (at least that’s the theory) and deal with all the issues that we women have to contend with in today’s world. The boys are covered too but I don’t know as much about them, so let’s just stick with the ladies for now.

2. What’s your favourite book of all time?
   ‘The Secret History’ by Donna Tart, I read it when I was in university and I’ve read it more or less every year since.
3. Out of all the books you have written, who is the character you like the most?
   Argh, that’s like picking a favourite child! Probably. I think out of everyone, I’d be friends with Tess from ‘About a Girl’ and What a Girl Wants’. We’re both pretty type A but terrible at making’ decisions.
4. What book did you read, that made you decide to become an author?
   There wasn’t one specific book, I’ve just always loved writing stories. As long as I can remember, I would read a book and then make up my own story afterwards. I was probably a bit of a weird kid to be honest…
5. What’s the best part of being a writer?
   The freedom. I love to travel and when your office is your laptop, you can work from anywhere. The downside is that it often looks like I’m sodding off on holiday all the time, I am actually still working, just somewhere that isn’t my home! My friends don’t have a lot of sympathy for my crazy deadlines when I’m whining from LA.
6. If you weren’t a writer, what do you imagine yourself doing instead?
   At this point, I really can’t imagine. I was an editor before this and before that, I was in PR but I was useless at that. If I didn’t like the product, I was rubbish at pretending it was any good. I’d love to be a make up artist but the ones I know have to get up very early and that would not be good for me, I’m a night owl.
7. What tips or advice would you offer an aspiring writer?
   It sounds obvious but write as much as you can and read as much as you can, it’s the only way to find your own voice and style. The more you read, the more you learn about writing.
8. When sitting down to write, what is the one thing you always need beside you?
   Diet Pepsi. I’ve got a pretty serious addiction at this point… it’s not healthy! I’m slowing weaning myself off the Haribo though. Slowly.
9. If you were stranded on a desert, what three books would you bring with you to occupy your time?
   ARGH. SO HARD. ‘The Secret History’ because it’s like a comfort blanket to me these days, ‘The Complete Works of Shakespear’e because I might actually finish ‘Coriolanus’ (don’t tell my uni tutor, totally never read it and got a first on my essay) and ‘Heaven’ by Virginia Andrews because it’s ridiculous and I was obsessed with it as a teenager.
10. And finally Lindsey, do you have any new projects coming up on the horizon?
    Lots! I have a special ebook coming out at Christmas called ‘Jenny Lopez Saves Christmas’ – pretty self-explanatory – and I’m also working on my new book, which will be out next spring. It’s all new, new characters, new stories. I’m excited.

Follow Lindsey Kelk on Twitter Lindsey Kelk for updates or check out her website at Lindsey Kelk

Read on for a little taste of Lindsey’s brand new book called ‘What A Girl Wants’

PROLOGUE

[amazon_link id=”0007501536″ target=”_blank” ][/amazon_link]On the one hand, you might have said my day wasn’t going terribly well.

But on the other, I had told Amy that I wanted to make big changes in my life and there weren’t many lifestyle changes more significant than swapping a luxury Italian palazzo for a prison cell.

And my second prison cell in two weeks, at that. Clearly I was going for some sort of record. It was one thing to say you wanted to start over, it was another thing to start over as someone on the ‘no fly’ list because you were considered an international flight risk. I was almost certain the generally accepted way of society was to go the other way.

I took a deep breath, blew it out hard and examined my bitten-down fingernails while trying to remain calm and wait for someone to appear and make this entire mess go away. Ideally someone I knew, accompanied by someone with a working knowledge of the Italian legal system, but at this point, as long as they didn’t have a gun, a pair of handcuffs or a pointy stick, I’d be happy.

And if they did have a gun, a pair of handcuffs or a pointy stick, but also came bearing biscuits, I’d probably be just as happy. Did everyone get this hungry in prison? Had I missed dinnertime?

‘This is what happens when you’re too busy working to watch telly, like normal people,’ I admonished myself. ‘If I’d watched Bad Girls or Cell Block H like Amy, instead of doing my homework, I would know these things.’

I traced a shallow line in the cement floor with the bare big toe on my good foot and wondered how it got there in the first place. I’d been thoroughly searched on my way in and anything that might have hacked a seven- inch gash in a concrete floor had been removed from my person. Hairgrips, the belt from my dress, even my bra. I had nothing left on me but my knickers and my beau- tiful bright pink dress.

At least, most of it was still bright pink – there was quite a lot of muck and a few well- placed splotches of blood around the hem. But still, I had told Kekipi not to give me a dress with a train, so this was entirely his fault. Well, apart from all the bits that were my fault. Which was most of them.

Making a noise that sounded a little bit like a frustrated walrus, I rolled myself onto my side, the rough concrete of the bench scratching against my skin. At least they had been consistent in their decorating, I thought. Very clear message: minimalist, spare, modern. And it really only smelled very faintly of piss. However, my hair had not fared well in the evening’s adventures and since no one in the police station had considered serum a basic human right, it was an unmanageable, knotted mess. I attempted to run my fingers through the dark copper curls, working them out slowly. If nothing else, it would pass the time until my fairy godlawyer appeared and made everything OK. I lasted about seventy-four seconds before I got bored and gave up. Plus, I really was hungry. ‘Excuse me,’ I called in a weak but terribly polite voice.

‘Excuse me? Is anyone there?’

Everything had been such a loud, Italiano, excitable mess on my way in that I couldn’t quite recall exactly what had happened. I remembered being pulled out of the car by the overenthusiastic police officer but with my hands cuffed behind my back and my hair flouncing around in my eyes, I had focused all my energy on not falling over, given that I was basically lame on one foot and wearing a full-length ballgown. After that there had been some shouting and some crying, both by me, then a woman police officer had come over, tutted a lot, then taken away my aforementioned stabbier items. At some point, a phone had been thrust into my hands but the only numbers I knew by heart were Amy’s and Charlie’s and there was no way on God’s green earth that Charlie was going to speak to me – which only left me with one option. And of course, Amy’s number went straight to voicemail.

The next thing I knew, I was shoved back here with an antiseptic wipe for my foot and two plasters. Apparently you couldn’t kill yourself with two plasters.

I could hear the distant sounds of a busy police station beyond the reinforced walls, lots of doors slamming and distant sirens, but apparently no one could hear me. Or if they did, they didn’t care.

I was starting to lose my English temper.

‘Is anybody even there?’ I shouted from my concrete block. ‘Helloooo?’

Of course. When you wanted some privacy, there was an entire wedding’s worth of people around to witness your felonious behaviour, but when you were wondering whether or not it was possible to get a cup of tea and a biscuit, nothing but crickets.

No one was coming. No one cared. Nick didn’t care, Charlie didn’t care, Amy was otherwise engaged, and who on earth knew where she would be by now?

Just as I was considering fashioning a Blue Peter-style pillow out of my frock, there was a loud kerfuffle along the corridor: raised voices, jangling keys and a lot of scuffling. Ooh, maybe I was getting a cellmate.

I sat up straight, my heart pounding.

Shit! Maybe I was getting a cellmate.

Gathering my skirts up around my waist, I stood up and held my breath. I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to achieve with my ready-to-pounce pose – I was still in a ten by ten cement cell with iron bars where a door should be – but whatever was coming my way, I was ready for it.

Unless she or he was bigger than me, in which case they would be wearing me like a glove puppet by dawn. I was not cut out for life on the inside. I would make a terrible prison wife, I had no discernible crafting talents, and the time Amy tried to give me an amateur tattoo with her compass and a pot of Indian ink she nicked from the art room, I passed out behind the human- ities block and missed the first ten minutes of my mock French GCSE.

Before I could work out the appropriate way to greet a fellow criminal in a language I couldn’t speak (not an easy task without my iPhone), two navy-clad officers burst through the door to the cell block, shouting at each other and the blur of arms and legs they held between them. I stepped back into the corner, trying to tie the skirts of my dress into a manageable knot in case I needed my legs free for kicking but there was no time. While I was faffing with the fabric, a third police officer was sliding open the bars so his mates could chuck my new best friend in beside me.

Only it wasn’t my new best friend.

It was very much my old best friend.

‘Police brutality!’ Amy shouted, scrambling to her feet and grabbing at the cell bars as the polizia scarpered as fast as possible. ‘I’m totally writing to my MP about this! As soon as I find out who my MP is.’

‘Amy?’ My skirts slipped out of my hand and fell to the floor with a damp slap.

‘Tess!’ She turned towards me, all wide eyes and filthy face, and flew over, wrapping her arms tightly around my cold shoulders. ‘You’re OK!’

‘I think we’re both pretty far from OK,’ I pointed out, glancing around at our less than salubrious surroundings. ‘What’s going on? Is Kekipi with you? They let me call someone and I called you but I got your voicemail.’

‘Oh, no way!’ She let go of my arms and laughed, before collapsing happily on my concrete block. ‘I called you! How funny is that?’

‘So funny that I might throw up,’ I replied, awkwardly folding myself up on the floor. My knees had decided that standing up was overrated. ‘Where’s Kekipi?’

‘Don’t know; I didn’t see him after they locked me up.’ Amy placed her hands behind her head and closed her eyes, her own floor-length gown having actually fared quite well. At least, hers didn’t have any blood on it. ‘I’m sure he’s coming. I’ve got to hand it to you – you don’t do things by halves these days. No one could accuse you of being boring any more, could they?’

I crawled forward a couple of feet and wrapped my hands around the bars, pushing my nose out as far as it would go and trying not to cry. I thought of Nick and the look on his face. I thought of Al and how disap- pointed he would be in me when he found out about all of this. And I thought of Charlie and how I could possibly ever make things up to him. Sniffing at the empty corridor and staring up at the full moon through a tiny window across the way, I sighed.

‘No,’ I said to a half-asleep Amy. ‘No one could accuse me of being boring.’

You can pre-order [amazon_link id=”0007501536″ target=”_blank” ]What a Girl Wants from Amazon [/amazon_link]and will be available to buy from good bookshops from 17th July 2014.