I write sweet, cosy, gorgeously romantic stories about women whose lives you sometimes wish were your own.
My words began many moons ago in a corner of England, in a tiny bedroom in an even tinier little house. There was a very distinct lack of scribbling, but rather beautifully formed writing and many, many lists recorded in pretty fabric-covered notebooks stacked up under a bed.
A few years went by, babies were born, university joined, white dresses worn, a lovely fluffy little dog, tears rolled down cheeks, house moves were made, big fat smiles up to ears, a trillion cups of tea, a decanter or six full of pink gin, many a long walk. All those little things called life neatly logged in those beautiful little books tucked up neatly under the bed.
And then, as the babies toddled off to school, as if by magic, along came an opportunity and the little stories flew out of the books, found themselves a home online, where they’ve been growing sweetly ever since.
I write all my books from start to finish tucked up in our lovely old Edwardian house by the sea. Surrounded by pretty bits and bobs, whimsical fabrics, umpteen stacks of books, a plethora of lovely old things, gingham linen, great big fat white sofas, and a big old helping of nostalgia. There I spend my days spinning stories and drinking rather a lot of tea.
From the days of the floral notebooks, and an old cottage locked away from my small children in a minuscule study logging onto the world wide web, I’ve now moved house and those stories have evolved and also found a new home.
There is now an itty-bitty team of gorgeous gals who help me with my graphics and editing. They scheme and plan from their laptops, in far-flung corners of the land, to get those words from those notebooks onto the page creating the magic of a Polly Bee book.
If you like lazing in a hammock, cups of tea (or perhaps the odd pink G & T), roast dinners, magical snow, plaid pyjamas, and reading you may just have found a new little place you’ll like.