Wednesday, 6 July 2011

Welcome to Lisa Worrall.

It's been a couple of weeks since I interviewed anyone and I'm thrilled it's Lisa Worrall, one of my best friends on the 'net. She has a brilliant book out with Silver, called A Nanny for Nate. An excerpt is below.


How did you get started writing?

I’ve always written, ever since I was a kid, but I really got started in fan fiction a couple of years ago and it’s just taken off from there.

Was there a particular author or book that made you decide you wanted to write in the genre?  If so, who or what was it?

I was already writing in the genre with fan fiction, but RJ Scott is the one who suggested that I should submit my first original story.

Where do you write? Does your environment have an impact on what or how you write?

I write at my pc in the living room.  I usually put my headphones on, crank up the music and off I go.

What do you love most about writing?  What do you hate about it?

I love the whole process, but what I really love is when the story takes on a life of its own and runs off in directions I hadn’t even thought of.  I hate not being able to type fast enough!

How did you come up with the title?

Silver Publishing were calling for submissions for a Father’s Day theme and the idea of gorgeous guy turning up for the job of nanny, immediately jumped into my mind.  As soon as I’d decided on the little boy’s name – the title was obvious to me.

Can you tell us about your main character?

Parker Adams is the central character.  He’s a thirty two year old widow, with a seven year old son.  Being a full time lawyer is hard work and finding the balance between being a father and his job is difficult.  Things come to a head when his babysitter moves and he has to get a live in nanny.  Except the nanny that turns up isn’t the one he’d offered the job to.

How did you develop your plot and characters?

To be honest, I don’t outline any plot or characters – I just write off the cuff and they kind of develop themselves.

What are you working on at the moment?

I’m working on a detective story called Laurel Heights.

To date, what has been the best advice or words of encouragement you've received?

That the only limitations that can be put on our dreams are the ones we set ourselves.

What are three things about you that would surprise your fans?

Oh God...I’ve had seven tattoos in two years...I am a total Pepsi freak...I always look out the window before I go to bed, to check for zombies.

Where can we find you on the web?

You can find me over at www.lworrall.blogspot.com

Author Bio

Lisa is a single mother of two rambunctious children at the precious, or hair-greying, ages of seven and five; living in an English coastal seaside town - which is home to the longest pier in the world !

She has been in love with writing ever since she was called into the Head Teacher's office (Mr Croucher) for her first Gold Star for her composition at the age of seven.

She confesses to having a few romance novels up in the loft that have never seen the light of day; but was asked by a friend to write a little piece of fanfiction as a birthday present, which led to her first forage into the M/M genre. (Although one of her favourite films is Maurice and the bit where James Wilby kisses Hugh Grant is a little bit worn)

When an already published friend suggested she should have an attempt at original fiction, she was terrified but took several deep breaths and dived in, and is loving it and wondered why she never did it sooner.





A Nanny for Nate

Blurb: A year after his husband is killed in a hit and run, the only thing keeping Parker Adams going is his work and their son, Nate.  When his regular child minder moves away, he hires a live in nanny to give Nate more stability.  Due to a mix up with the envelopes, it isn't the petite Melanie that turns up on his doorstep. Opening the door and finding six feet six of Jake Walsh on the stoop fills Parker with panic.  Not that Jake wasn't perfect for the job; he was. A little too perfect, with his dark brown eyes and easy going nature.  Which is why Parker had purposely decided to give the job to the other candidate.  In the half an hour of his interview, Jake Walsh had awoken feelings in Parker that he had thought were gone forever.  How was he going to cope with the man under his roof twenty-four-seven?

Excerpt: 

"Pop, Pop, wake up."

The insistent voice penetrated Parker's blanket of sleep. Opening bleary eyes, he tried to focus on the small boy standing beside the bed. "Nate?" he mumbled, glancing at the clock and rubbing a hand across his face. "What's up, buddy? It's two in the morning."

"I had a bad dream," Nate replied, lifting the old battered teddy and slipping its already mottled ear into his mouth. "Can I sleep with you?" His question was a mumble around a mouthful of fur.

On other occasions, Parker would do the whole dreams-aren't-real mantra, carry Nate to his room, and settle him back into his own bed--but not tonight. His most recent case was kicking his ass and he'd only gone to bed an hour ago. Too tired to come up with suitable platitudes, he lifted the duvet and shuffled across the bed, giving his son room to clamber in beside him.

"Just this once, okay, buddy?" he mumbled, throwing the duvet over Nate and dropping a kiss onto red-gold curls. "Just this once."

"Okay, Pop," Nate replied on a yawn and settled himself against Parker's chest. He smiled as he tucked Emo under his arm and closed his eyes, breathing in his father's scent. He hadn't really had a bad dream; he'd only gotten out of bed to pee, but he hadn't seen Pop all day. Not that he didn't like going to Mrs Harper's after school. She had cool toys and she let him have ice cream for dessert, but it wasn't like when Pop made macaroni and cheese and they ate gummy bears in front of the TV. He sighed with the dramatic weight only a seven year old could muster; it had been a very long time since Pop had made macaroni and cheese. Tomorrow was Saturday, their day, maybe he'd make some then.

* * * *

"Nathaniel Hopkins Adams!" Parker called up the stairs for what felt like the hundredth time. "This is your last warning, buddy! I don't like it any more than you do, but I have to go into the office today. Now get your butt down here, right now!" He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This was not the time for one of Nate's tantrums. Bending down to pull on his hi-tops, Parker sighed heavily. How did you explain to a seven-year-old kid, without sounding like a complete asshole, that you had to go into the office on a Saturday because the case you were working on had the potential to make or break the practice? How did you explain that a man's liberty was at stake? Parker was well aware Nate was seven and he didn't care who went to jail and who didn't; all he cared about was his father dumping him at the babysitter's--again. Standing and running a hand through his short, dark hair, Parker held onto the banister and opened his mouth to yell.

"I'm coming," Nate mumbled petulantly, clumping down the stairs at the speed of a two-legged tortoise, each of his footfalls bearing all of his weight until he stood on the bottom stair, pale blue eyes glaring up at Parker.

Parker knew that glare. Hell, he'd perfected that glare; he may as well have been looking in a mirror--a very short and pissed off mirror. He ignored his son and grabbed his keys and his briefcase. Nodding to Nate to pick up his backpack, he held open the front door and waited for the angry boy to stomp past him and down the porch steps before slamming it behind them. He sighed as he pressed the remote to unlock the car and watched Nate throw his backpack into the back seat. He wondered how long the small boy was going to punish him for this one.

Climbing behind the wheel and starting the engine, Parker looked in the rear view mirror at Nate and tried to keep his tone conversational. "Buckle up, buddy." He had to swallow his smile at the ferocity of the glare Nate threw at him as the boy grabbed the seatbelt and shoved the metal tab home with a loud click, his usually angelic blue eyes hurling daggers.

"I'm not sharing with Telltale Toby," Nate snapped, looking out of the window as they pulled out onto the street.

"Nate," Parker began, keeping his tone firm. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call Toby names? It's mean-spirited."

"So is going to the office on a Saturday," Nate replied petulantly. "Saturday is our day."

Parker sighed and turned on the radio. Nate was becoming way too adept at turning the knife, and he couldn't even argue with him, not when the kid was right. By the time he had pulled the car to a stop outside Eleanor Harper's ten minutes later, he could feel the animosity from the back seat washing over him in a tidal wave. Didn't he feel guilty enough, for crying out loud? He turned off the engine and climbed out, walking around the hood to open Nate's door. "I'll only be a couple of hours, dude."

"You always say that," Nate huffed and grabbed his backpack before he jumped down onto the sidewalk and stomped up the drive. He turned and looked back at Parker as he rang the doorbell, yelling loudly, "And I'm not eating my peas! How do you like them potatoes?"

Parker sighed and leaned against the car, waiting for Eleanor to open the door. He lifted a hand in a resigned wave when Nate barged past her into the house and she gave him a questioning look. "Sorry," he said, walking up the drive to meet her halfway. "The 'tude is totally my fault."

"Don't worry about it," she replied, a soft smile curving her lips. "He'll be fine and he will eat his peas." She reached out and patted Parker on the shoulder. "You get done what you have to, and I guarantee he'll be in a better mood when you get back."

"Thanks, Ellie," Parker said gratefully, dropping a quick kiss to her cheek. "Don't let him give Toby a hard time."

"Marcus from next door is coming in to keep him company. I don't have Telltale Toby on the weekends." Her hand flew to her mouth and she winked conspiratorially at Parker. "Oops, did I say that out loud?"

"Say what?" he grinned. Parker jogged to the car and once again slid behind the wheel. He lifted a hand to wave goodbye and felt like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. Nate was looking out of the living room window. His expression was still angry, but tears rolled down his cheeks as he glared at Parker. Waving his fingers, Parker sighed heavily when Nate turned away without returning the gesture. Gunning the engine, he pulled out onto the street and turned the car in the direction of the office.

What else was he supposed to do? He was doing his best, Goddamnit. He wanted to spend every minute with Nate, did the boy think he didn't? He had to work. Keep a roof over their heads, food in their bellies. He wanted to be able to get Nate all the things he asked for. He sighed heavily and turned up the radio. Hopefully, Nate would be in a better mood by the time he picked him up.

The streets were already filled with shoppers on the drive to the office, typical for a Saturday morning in Glendale. Parker pulled down the sun visor to cut down on the glare from the California sun and sighed at the knowledge that parking the SUV was not going to be fun. If he was really lucky, he may find a space within walking distance of Starbucks--he needed caffeine and he needed it now.

"Hey, Mr Adams." The stocky, solid man behind the reception desk looked up as Parker pushed his way through the revolving door to his building. "Working on a Saturday again?"

Parker smiled and tried to juggle the file of papers with the coffee and Danish he had bought from Starbucks after parking the car. "You know me, Pete. Slave to the machine," he said, pushing the button to call the elevator. "Is Mr Ellis here yet?"

Pete nodded, checking his book in front of him. "Yes, he arrived at ten-fifteen, so he's been here about thirty minutes," he grinned at Parker. "Asked me to order pizza at noon. You want extra pepperoni again?"

Parker nodded, stepping into the elevator and leaning against one of the faux granite walls, he pressed the button for the tenth floor. "Pete, did I ever tell you you're a god?" he said as the doors began to close.

"Every weekend, Mr A, every weekend."


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