How do you make a tall, dark and handsome male writer of romantic fiction?
Easy.
Let him grow up on the wild North Coast of Cornwall, with Scottish
genes coursing through him. Sandwich the quiet lad between two
boisterous brothers. At length, end him forth into the world with an
education truncated by a system that recognized none of his gifts, and
set him at mind-numbing tasks. Let him marry, and then divorce. Under it
all, give him a love of motorcycles, and an equally deep love of beauty
in all its forms. Then send him, in the depths of a national and
personal recession, to university for a degree in Creative Writing. Send
him jobs as both an artist's model and climbing instructor, and shake
well.
Result? Sandy Grafton, whose dark visage, bright mind and
sparkling good humour, coupled with a love of language and his search
for his eternal soulmate, have produced a writer of rare sensibilities.
With his first romance novel on the way shortly from Muffin Dog Press,
he is hard at work on the second, often composing scenes from the
comfort of his VW Campervan, named Holly, from a favourite spot in the
Cornish coast landscape.