High Price not a £5 bang on the street corner.


It’s here! ‘Fifty Shades of Brown’ and what a battle it has been to get it here. There was a frightening moment when it almost wasn’t here at all. In fact there was a shaky moment when it looked like there would never ever be another book.

I started ‘Roxie Brown’ about four months ago and during this time I had family move in with me. There is much to be said for having a young child in the home. They bring great pleasure. There is also a great deal of disruption. As it is I shed enough tears writing a novel. It became pretty clear I would be shedding more while writing this one. I’d been used to silence during my writing day. Now I was contending with toilet chains being pulled, bathroom doors banging, footsteps up and down the stairs, the sound of laughter from below my writing room and the clashing of pots and pans. And so the tears would come, partly out of frustration because the book wasn’t going the way I wanted and tears of stress from dealing with the noise while trying to write.



To top it all I’m  OCD about the house and do prefer things just so. Occasionally I would pop downstairs for a drink and see the lounge was a tip where my little grandson was playing and my kitchen turned upside down as stepson cooked dinner. I’d creep back upstairs, shed a few more tears and continue with Roxie. So with all this going on it was not sensible of me to look at the Amazon charts as well was it?

I’d recently been signed to an agent, the lovely Samar Hammam who previously handled Bernard Cornwall among others. She was keen to represent me. I was keen to be represented. Then came the disappointments. Large traditional publishers are struggling to sell romantic comedy as so many self published or digitally published authors are selling e books for pennies. I didn’t want my e books to be sold for pennies. I work hard six months of the year to produce a book. I make my living from writing. When I worked part-time and wrote novels I was never able to produce two books a year as I do now. I wanted to continue as a full-time writer. A traditional publisher was interested, she said, but the advance would be very small. I checked out their authors on Amazon and saw again that their books were selling for pennies. I, then, stupidly checked the charts again and saw that the low-priced e books were high and mine were dropping.

I didn’t write for several days. I thought things through and told the doctor aka Andrew, my lovely husband, that ‘Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown’ would be my last book. I was not prepared to compromise myself. I couldn’t sell my books cheaply. Samar suggested the occasional offer to promote sales. I was reluctant. I couldn’t understand readers not realising that a writer can not survive if they sell books for 99p or less. I saw readers putting their argument forward for downloading books free from a website by saying that they are not ‘all rich and comfortable’ like us authors. Hello! I wish I was. The only stinking rich authors are the likes of J K Rowling and E L James.  But all the same, you wouldn’t nick a bag from Debenhams would you? And that’s what free download sites are doing. Stealing authors hard work and giving it away. That was it! Roxie Brown would be my last book. I vowed never to write another. I stuck to this. I emailed a few close friends and close author friends and told them of my decision only to have them throw up their arms in horror. ‘You can’t stop writing, that would be madness.’


I know it is not readers fault that the books are so cheap. It is e publishers and other writers that lower the prices. I bet Sylvia Plath never had this problem.

My husband chatted to me. A good friend chatted to me. I finally, albeit very reluctantly, changed my mind. But I have now decided that the charts don’t bother me. I’m not going to compete with 99p or less authors. I won’t drop the price of a new book to reach number one. I like to think my ego is not that inflated. I love my readers, I love interacting with them. They are good friends. So I will be writing for them. If new readers come on for the ride that is great.

I do believe that low-priced e books will eventually crash the market. Writers and publishers cannot survive. Everyone wants their pound of flesh and there isn’t much left out of 49p 89p and 99p. You can’t buy a roll of loo paper for that. It’s wonderful for the reader but I hope they realise that eventually the authors they like may stop writing simply because they cannot afford to. Imagine what they must earn per book by the time they have paid their publisher, Amazon and of course the damn VAT that is now slapped onto them. 10p a download maybe is what they may be getting. An author may as well go out into the street and ask ‘Do you want six months of hard work for free!’

I’ve worked long and hard for this. I won’t do that. I’d rather stop. I will allow the odd special. A past book for 99p or maybe the odd free promotion but I won’t sell new books for less than £1.99. I sometimes think that is too cheap. As an author friend once said to me ‘I’d rather be a high-priced call girl than a $5 bang on the street corner.’ I couldn’t agree more.

So, enjoy the new book and here’s hoping there will be another. I expect there will be. I find it too hard not to write.

Meanwhile ‘Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown’ is available here

‘Croissants and Jam’ is on offer for a short time here

And you get all my other books at a reasonable price here

Thanks for you fab support. I love you all

Much love



The Fat Club

light  You know that moment. That light bulb moment. The moment when you think ‘I’m fat’? As opposed to I’m a little overweight or I’m a bit dumpy or, I’ve gained a few pounds. It’s that awful torturous realisation that it isn’t just a few pounds around the tummy and that those clothes in your wardrobe that don’t fit anymore, haven’t actually shrunk. And stuffing them to the back like they’re the ones that should be ashamed, isn’t really helping either. You’ve basically got bigger right? And you’ve only got bigger because you keep pushing stuff into your mouth. Yes, it really is that simple. The final straw for me was when the doctor aka my husband, said ‘Your bum really does look big in that dress.’ Shock horror, as I honestly thought he would never notice and that those baggy tops were hiding that extra two stone from his ever watchful eye. That sneaking those extra fig rolls into my mouth when he was at work meant he wouldn’t notice. It seems not. I had to face it. I was getting fat. I couldn’t pass off two stone as a couple of extra pounds any more. The Doctor was concerned I’d get diabetes but then he is always concerned I’d get diabetes. If I was anorexic he’d still be worrying I might get diabetes. He read somewhere that diabetes was the biggest killer of women and everything I do he watches with a sharp eye. The truth is I had been avoiding the long mirrors and telling myself that that new top didn’t fit in the shop because it obviously had the wrong size tag on it. Ha, there’s a limit to how many items have the wrong price tag on, right?

I know to use the word fat is not politically correct. I should say I’m overweight. That would make everyone more comfortable wouldn’t it, including me? But the fact is I am fat or at least I was. I’ll never be anorexic. Not that I underestimating the pain of anorexia. In fact someone close to me was anorexic. The fact is food is one of the most dangerous things we have in our house. It’s one of the things that most of us suffer some kind of dependency with, either using it too much or going the complete opposite. It’s never really about food but how we feel emotionally. I don’t see anything wrong in admitting that I was getting fat. In fact, by accepting it, I actually started doing something about it. After the light bulb moment I decided it was time to take action. I do sit around a lot. Not because I’m lazy you understand but because work dictates that I do. It’s quite hard to write a novel standing up. Although, having said that, I did get a fair amount of exercise every time I headed downstairs to stick my head in the fridge. I would eat a lot of liver pate on crackers and worse than that a lot of fig rolls. In fact I have been known to eat more than one packet in a day and then there was the chocolate. Not that we have it in the house. Oh no. Chocolate in the house is a no no. That was until the doctor’s son came to stay with his five year old son and that was it. I was doomed.  On a bad writing day I would think nothing of sneaking into their room and stealing some of the five year old’s stash, usually after I had run out of fig rolls. How low is that and I never felt guilty? God forbid I should get off my arse and walk to the shop, although it is a three mile walk there and back from where I live so you can’t really blame me. But before we all get too depressed about my fatness let’s get fat into perspective. If you can run up and down the stairs without getting breathless and your feet swelling then you’re not really fat are you? You don’t have to be a size 8 and look like Kate Moss. I’ve always been slightly overweight and that’s okay. I didn’t struggle with walks or even try to get out of them as I have been doing of late. But as soon as your health suffers then it’s time to take back the control. It’s not the worst thing in the world to be a bit overweight. But it is clearly a woman thing. Now I’ll be accused of being sexist but seriously there are more women at slimming clubs than men, although it could be argued all the women frighten them offfat

Yes, you’ve guessed it I popped along to a slimming club. This helped enormously in the first few minutes when I saw there were people (mostly women) much more overweight than me. But then I stepped on the scales and had a minor heart attack when I discovered I was well over twelve stone. I’d been kidding myself for the past year that I was ten stone. Mind you, the last time I weighed myself, I was, so I could be forgiven for deluding myself that nothing had changed.  I was given my booklets and told to ‘fill my boots’ I of course took this quite literally and hardly looked at the material except to see what the Syns were and how many I could consume on a daily basis. I didn’t take much notice of the A and B choices. Oh yes, slimming clubs are very technical but basically they all come down to the same thing. Eat less fat and sugar and basically you will lose weight. I chose only to hear ‘fill your boots’ and that is what I did the first week, stupidly expecting to have lost weight when I returned the following week. Far from it, in fact I gained.

And so it went on. I attended meetings religiously. I stuck to the plan religiously. Aside from literally stripping off when I got to the scales I did everything to make sure I was lighter before stepping on them. I walked to club. I peed before weigh in. I removed every item of clothing possible. One week I even prayed. I was actually getting close to bribing the weigh in girl with a huge bar of Yorkie. But I never lost more than a half pound and even then not every week. Some weeks I gained, some weeks I maintained and the odd week I may have lost a minute amount of fat. Depressing or what? I was sodding starving. I lived off porridge with fat free yogurt for breakfast and overdosed so much on sweetener that someone said I have no doubt given myself a brain tumour. I’m not sure what’s worse. To be fat or have the sweetener induced tumour. Anyway, let’s crack on. Lunch was Quorn mini sausages which taste foul but I’m used to them now, along with salad and Rollmops. Followed by more fat free yogurt and hey ho a treat, some sugar free jelly (more sweetener I hear you cry) I don’t stand a chance do I? Dinner would be fish and salad or a jacket potato. But no matter what I ate or how little, I still couldn’t seem to lose weight. Finally I lost it, my temper that is, not the weight. I came home and sent a text to my slimming buddy and said ‘I’m not going any more,’ and then immediately hit the chocolate. She later text back to say ‘Oh, well, I’m not either then. I’m not going alone,’ and she immediately hit the wine. The pleasures of making the decision to leave fat club … except it only lasted a day and I changed my mind. I invested in a fitbit and found my tape measure. I was losing weight. It may not show on the weighing scales but the fat was coming off. I started walking and more came off. I walked every day and even more came off. Walking became easier and I finally got into those clothes that had been shoved to the back of the wardrobe. Better still the doctor said ‘Your bum looks good in those leggings.’ What’s more I felt better. I also learnt that weighing scales aren’t the be-all and end-all. The important thing is that I’m getting fit and feeling good about it as I do. Yes, I’m still eating the rabbit food but it’s not so bad and I’ve begun to cut out carbs. But I do have chocolate on occasions and cheese. I’m more conscious of what I put into my body and even more conscious of how I treat it. I’m not a fitness freak but I’m certainly aware of my food intake and how it affects me. So, if you have any great recipes do let me know and if you haven’t tried overnight porridge then you really must. It’s fab, filling and helps you lose weight. Just weigh 35 grams of oats, add lots of raspberries or any other fruit of choice, top with lots of fat free natural yogurt, sprinkle with sweetener and stick in the fridge overnight. Delicious!

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Ooh a little PS, my new novel Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown is released on the 14th August. To celebrate, my two best-selling novels ‘Croissants and Jam’ and ‘Coconuts and Wonderbras’ are currently 99p on Amazon. Get them here, here and here. 


Much love





Miss Wrong And Mr Right


Hello Peeps, how are you? 

I’m beyond excited. I don’t think anything can excite me more than having the brilliant Robert Bryndza on my blog. Not only is he a fantastic writer but also a good friend. If that wasn’t enough, he’s also a fab cook. I managed to talk him into bringing along one of his famous apple crumbles, which I’m thoroughly enjoying. Maybe I can steal a couple of his recipes before he leaves.

Robert preparing the apple pie.

Anyway, less of my waffle and more from Rob, not that he ever waffles. He may make them though. Ooh, I wonder if he’s got time before he goes.

Hi Rob, thanks so much for coming onto the blog today and more importantly thank you for the apple pie, it’s delicious, especially with this custard you brought along. 

Hello Dame Lynda, it’s wonderful to be visiting you on your website, thanks so much for welcoming me here today!

Well, if you bring lovely food you can come whenever you want.

I have an exclusive extract from my new romantic comedy Miss Wrong and Mr Right. First though, here is a short introduction to the book…

Natalie Love has worked hard to have it all: she runs a successful theatre in Soho that’s about to host one of Hollywood’s leading stars. Her biggest supporter is her eccentric Hungarian Gran, and she even has the ‘perfect’ yoga teacher boyfriend – Namaste!

Life in the bright lights of London has always been Natalie’s escape from her chaotic country family in rural Devon and Jamie, the childhood sweetheart she left at the altar 15 years ago. And then he turns up at her theatre door…

With rivalry clouding old feelings, events in Soho bring Jamie and Natalie together in hilarious ways. Gran is loose in the city once more, it seems to be raining sandwiches and records are broken for Burlesque flash mobs. If she can keep her world together, will Natalie discover who is really Mr Right, and that perhaps she isn’t Miss Wrong?

A delightful new romantic comedy, from the Number 1 best-selling author, Robert Bryndza…


The following extract is when Natalie takes Anouska, her Gran, for a routine bunion operation…!

 The roads were quiet as we drove towards Guy’s and St. Thomas’s Hospital. It was a grey day and a light drizzle covered the windscreen. I turned on the wipers and they dragged across the glass with a squeal.

‘If I die on the operating table, I vant to be buried in my green dress,’ announced Gran.

‘Don’t be daft. You are not going to die,’ I said remembering my dream, her dead face talking to me.

‘And I don’t vant a vash and set. Some morticians just know how to do one kind of hairstyle. I don’t vant to be lying there looking like any old biddy…’


‘And you vill do my make-up. Chanel red lipstick, Givenchy powder, and eye make-up like yours.’


‘I’m putting it all here in the glove compartment,’ she said pulling out a little clear make-up bag and popping it in. ‘And if I die before they finish, make sure they sew my foot up. I vant to be buried in heels… you promise.’

‘Gran, please,’ I said my eyes beginning to well up.

‘Promise me, Natalie!’

‘Okay. Yes, I promise. But you are not going to die!’ I insisted.

 I found a parking space and then we made our way into the hospital. When Gran was settled in her cubicle on the ward, a doctor appeared and closed the curtains behind him. He was very handsome with dark eyes.

‘My, the NHS has improved since I was here last,’ said Gran sitting up and patting her hair. The doctor took out a felt-tip pen and explained the operation. How he would cut out the piece of protruding bone in her big toe, which was causing the bunion, and then reset the foot.

‘It’s a very simple, routine procedure, so nothing to concern you. One of the nurses will phone you after the operation,’ said the doctor. Then he moved onto the next cubicle leaving Gran with a scribble of felt tip pen on her foot.

‘Natalie, look at that,’ she whispered.

‘At what?’ I asked.

‘That big toe he has drawn on my big toe…Is that how my new toe vill look? It’s crap, even I can draw better…’

‘He’s not an artist, he’s a surgeon.’

‘Thank God he’s not doing my tits! Imagine the kind of tit he’d draw?’

‘Gran, it’s fine,’ I said.

‘No, I vant to vear all of my nice shoes after this operation. Vat if I end up vith a huge toe like a Cumberland sausage? Go and find him, bring him back…’

With a red face, I called the doctor back. He was very nice, and explained that the toe he’d drawn was just for guidance, and that as well as being a surgeon he was a keen amateur painter. He summoned a nurse, who removed the felt tip ink from Gran’s foot with an alcohol wipe, and he then redrew a much neater toe.

‘Perfect, a toe Sophia Loren vould be proud of,’ smiled Gran admiring his handiwork. The doctor grinned and went back to the next cubicle.

‘I still vouldn’t buy one of his paintings,’ muttered Gran in a low voice.

‘Do you want me to stay with you? I can take the day off work,’ I asked.

‘Don’t fuss Natalie,’ said Gran, settling down and opening a copy of Vogue. ‘They knock me out, do the operation and I vake up. Bobby’s your uncle. Now go to vork, I’m fine.’

 Miss Wrong and Mr Right is available from Amazon as an ebook and paperback. You can also read it for free as part of your Kindle Unlimited subscription, and with Amazon Prime;

Click here for Amazon UK

Click here for Amazon US

About the Author

Robert Bryndza was born in the UK and lived in America and Canada before settling in Slovakia with his Slovak husband Ján. His debut novel The Not So Secret Emails of Coco Pinchard became an Amazon bestseller and two best selling sequels have followed, Coco Pinchard’s Big Fat Tipsy Wedding and Coco Pinchard, The Consequences of Love and Sex.

When he’s not writing Rob is learning Slovak, trying to train two crazy dogs, or watching Grand Designs – all in the hope that he’ll be able to understand his mother-in-law, build his dream house, and get the dogs to listen. You can find out more about Robert at www.robertbryndza.com

Sign up to Robert’s New Release Mailing List here: http://eepurl.com/UITxz (Your email will never be shared and you will only be contacted when a new book is out.)

To win a signed copy of Miss Wrong and Mr Right dedicated to you, enter at the rafflecopter widget on the right hand side. Just scroll down.

Thanks so much for coming on the blog Robert, you must come again soon.

Thanks again fabulous Dame Lynda Renham for hosting me on your blog!

Isn’t he lovely? Don’t forget to buy the book. Currently only 99p.

Dame Lynda


My HRT Nightmare

hormone1 I usually write humorous stuff for this blog. But there is a situation making my life such hell right now that I not only wanted to share but to also ask for advice and to hear other nightmare stories or stories of success. I promise the humour will return very soon. In fact there is a new novel coming out (plug) titled ‘Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown’ in fact you can pre order it now. So much humour in there it should knock your socks off.


So, twelve years ago I went onto HRT. I had all the classic symptoms, night sweats, hot flushes, migraines. In fact you name it, I had it. I think I could have coped with most of them. The Bartholin cysts, although painful, I probably could have endured. However what I hadn’t bargained for was the overwhelming feeling of tension and the terrible nightmarish mood swings. It got so bad that every other weekend I was packing a bag and leaving my husband only to return an hour later. It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic. This was usually over some little petty thing. I was slamming doors in frustration and weeping all over the place. I felt isolated, unable to cope with the smallest thing and feeling terribly unloved. Then came that fateful day, the day my fate truly was sealed. I lost total control of my emotions and my lovely husband found himself standing at the sink, frozen in fear as I held a knife to his throat. It was the last straw. It was, also, almost the end of my marriage. A relationship that means everything to me and one I did not want to lose. I thought I must be going mad, having some kind of a break down. I didn’t even connect these symptoms with the menopause. I thought that was just about hot flushes and sweats. I visited my doctor and HRT was suggested. I was nervous about taking hormones. I went home did the research and decided to try it. Quality of life was surely the most important thing. One month in and my life changed so dramatically it was unbelievable. I became the person I knew myself to be. Not only did the tension and mood swings go but also the cysts and the migraines went too. The night sweats stopped and life felt worth living again. Of course, I never thought about the future or the long term use of HRT. My marriage was safe and I was acting like a normal human being again.


Fast forward twelve years and a change of GP practice to a doctor who thumped the table and said ‘I won’t prescribe that poison.’ We’re talking HRT here, not heroin. He refused to give me a repeat prescription unless I went to the menopausal clinic at the John Radcliffe hospital. I had no choice but to go. I’m already tearful just remembering the awful year that followed. I saw a specialist who after a long chat agreed I could/should say on HRT if my quality of life was affected and in my case she felt it was. However, she encouraged me to change from my pill to a patch with a lower progesterone dose. I felt at this point I had no choice but to agree. The first thing to happen was a recurrence of the cysts. This was followed by a constant bleed. I stayed on the patch for four months, bleeding throughout and with worsened symptoms of hot flushes and sweats. Went back to see the specialist who now decided that the bleeding was maybe abnormal and a scan was organised. Three scans and a hysteroscopy later I was diagnosed with having multiple polyps which were removed from the lining of my womb. I returned three months later for post op check and discussions on HRT. Discussed yet again about reducing my intake and the consensus was to change from Femoston 2/10 which I had been on for twelve years to Femoston conti but to do it slowly. Starting on 2mg and dropping down after a month to 1 and half. No sooner I did this then my mood swings took over with a vengeance. I upped to 2mg again as advised and felt a little better. Not as good as on the 2/10. Two months later I tried again. I haven’t stopped weeping. My moods are erratic. I’ve upset half of my family. I’m at my wit’s end and don’t know what to do. The slightest drop in Oestrogen and I’m climbing the walls. I have tried St John’s Wort, anti depressant, Quiet Life, exercise, deep breathing, meditation and more. But the mood swings are only controlled when the oestrogen is increased. Can anyone advise or share their story with me. I have tried some alternative therapies to no avail. Am I fated to eventually kill someone? I mean, seriously, that isn’t acceptable is it? Maybe I should start writing crime so I can vent my feelings freely.

Thanks for reading. I look forward to hearing your nightmare tales. Unless of course you actually have murdered someone in a hormonal rage in which case perhaps you should also tell the police. All joking aside though, there is nothing worse than being out of control.

Much love



Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown



On this lovely hot Summer’s day I’m celebrating the pre order of my new novel ‘Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown’ which will officially be released as an e book on the 10th August and paperback on the 1st September. You can pre-order here To take part in our competition coming very soon, do sign up for our newsletter. There’s a link on the right hand side. Scroll down to see it. You can win some lovely gifts. It won’t be the only competition either.


To mark the occasion you can download ‘Rory’s Proposal’ for free. Here is the link. It’s available now but only for a few days. As you know we don’t often give away a free book. So get yours now before the offer finishes. Go here

rory smaller

Coming soon … Ark Morgan, a heart throb to truly rival Christian Grey ‘Fifty Shades of Roxie Brown’   I can’t wait for you to read it.


Lots of love