Hilary Boyd is a bestselling author of romance novels. Aged 62, she opened her computer one day to find her love story, Thursdays in the Park, catapulted to the top of the Amazon bestseller charts – where it stayed for 6 weeks…
Hilary Boyd, Penguin Books
I just thought you should know who you’re married to…
Romy and Michael had it all. 30 years of marriage, two wonderful sons and a beautiful home.
Until a letter arrives containing a shocking accusation, and everything falls apart.
Fleeing to an idyllic countryside village to find time to think, Romy finds herself drawn to Finch, a handsome stranger with a tragic past. Is this a chance to start again?
“Full of conflict with many twists and turns”
“A beautifully written and tense family drama“
“A brilliant page-turner“
“Boyd rebuffs any comparison with Fifty Shades of Grey. She insists her second novel, Tangled Lives, which came out in August, has very little sex. But she is just finishing her third, Straight to the Heart, about a middle-aged nurse…”
I’d been writing novels for years – all rejected by the publishers – until I reached 60. Which was a total shock. Me… A Senior Citizen? Surely it was too late now to be a published novelist. The breakthrough moment came in the park with my gorgeous grandchild…”
Q&A With Hilary Boyd "Talking about myself in print is something I’d never done, until I became a published novelist. It was scary. What should I tell, how much, how personal? Would anyone really care what went on in my life – be gripped, for example, that I like...
I’m in a much more cheerful mood this week. The reason? Food! Specifically, my sister, Judie’s, little cheese and chilli biscuits. Completely delicious to nibble with a glass of wine. I have no idea how she makes them, but I hope she doesn’t lose the will to do so.
Maybe I’m becoming increasingly grumpy in my old age. But I’m worried we’re all turning into a nation of navel-gazers. Our lives have become so small and self-contained, we seem to be focusing on ourselves to an unhealthy extent.
The virus is messing with my head again – amongst everything else it’s messing with. I’m just settling down to write my next novel. It was to be set in 2020, but now I’m having a drastic rethink. I can’t comfortably start a story that will span the year when I don’t know how it will all end. It’s not like Brexit, where you can just not mention the damn thing – leave politics out of the picture altogether.