Today on Pretty Feet I'm welcoming the lovely Wendy Lou Jones, whose new release, By My Side, is her second book for Harper Impulse.
About Wendy...
My name is Wendy Lou Jones. I was born and raised in West Sussex, England and moved to Birmingham to study Medicine at University, where I was lucky enough to meet my husband. We now live in a little village in Herefordshire with our two grubby boys. I discovered a love of writing not long after my youngest son started school. And if you were to ask me what it was that made me make the switch, I’d tell you quite simply, that it started with a dream.
And her latest book...
My name is Wendy Lou Jones. I was born and raised in West Sussex, England and moved to Birmingham to study Medicine at University, where I was lucky enough to meet my husband. We now live in a little village in Herefordshire with our two grubby boys. I discovered a love of writing not long after my youngest son started school. And if you were to ask me what it was that made me make the switch, I’d tell you quite simply, that it started with a dream.
And her latest book...
By My Side
Betrayed by her boyfriend and best friend, Lena is left empty; trapped under a weight of guilt and loneliness. Then, at her lowest point and when she needs it most, a mysterious stranger comes into her life with a tale of friendship, family, and finding love in the most unexpected of places…
Katy Heath is definitely not thinking of love when she comes across consultant, Adam Elliott, berating some poor patient on the ward one day. In fact it is Dr Peter Florin who quickly has everyone’s hearts aflutter with his easy smiles and practised charm.
Yet Katy comes to realise that there’s more to Adam than his determination to push everyone away and it’s not long before she finds herself longing to reach out to touch the man within, healing the pain of his past.
As Lena is drawn into Katy’s story, she begins to learn – just as Katy does - that the course of true love never did run smooth.
Where to buy By My Side...
Find all the buy links at: www.harperimpulseromance.com/authors/wendy-lou-jones
And now for Wendy's shoes...
Betrayed by her boyfriend and best friend, Lena is left empty; trapped under a weight of guilt and loneliness. Then, at her lowest point and when she needs it most, a mysterious stranger comes into her life with a tale of friendship, family, and finding love in the most unexpected of places…
Katy Heath is definitely not thinking of love when she comes across consultant, Adam Elliott, berating some poor patient on the ward one day. In fact it is Dr Peter Florin who quickly has everyone’s hearts aflutter with his easy smiles and practised charm.
Yet Katy comes to realise that there’s more to Adam than his determination to push everyone away and it’s not long before she finds herself longing to reach out to touch the man within, healing the pain of his past.
As Lena is drawn into Katy’s story, she begins to learn – just as Katy does - that the course of true love never did run smooth.
Where to buy By My Side...
Find all the buy links at: www.harperimpulseromance.com/authors/wendy-lou-jones
And now for Wendy's shoes...
And Wendy's shoe story...Killer Heels
A few years back, just before I started to write, I was shocked by a hideous picture of myself, into going on a long diet. For nine months I counted calories and took myself off to swim. With two little children, I had had little time to exercise and plenty of left-overs to consume, but by the end of it I had lost over 2 and ½ stone and was back down to the weight I was when I got married, if not the shape. It wasn’t long after this that I was invited to my husband’s work’s Christmas Party and I needed to dress up and show off the new me. I bought a pair of long, flowing black trousers and a halter neck top in black with sparkles; all I needed were some heels. I wanted to look good, the first time I had a chance of doing this in years, so I hunted around for some black heels with either gold or silver decoration on them. They needed to be high, because my legs aren’t the longest and the trousers really were. Then bingo, I found them: a cross between gold and silver very high and absolutely fabulous. What could possibly go wrong?
Pain, that’s what could go wrong. I hadn’t even got to the meal and my feet were killing me. I was used to living in pumps and flat boots, not 6 inch high heels. The thought of the dance floor was making me quake. But I gave it a go and only slipped out of them once or twice while I was resting through the bad songs, finally pulling them off in the car on the way back home.
‘F**k-me heels’, that’s what the other women there had called them. That’s what I called them too after that, but not in the same way! I love my shoes. I’ve never worn them again, but they stand on top of my wardrobe, in pride of place as a piece of art to be appreciated.
Now I take more care of my feet and keep them warm and snug whenever I can.
A few years back, just before I started to write, I was shocked by a hideous picture of myself, into going on a long diet. For nine months I counted calories and took myself off to swim. With two little children, I had had little time to exercise and plenty of left-overs to consume, but by the end of it I had lost over 2 and ½ stone and was back down to the weight I was when I got married, if not the shape. It wasn’t long after this that I was invited to my husband’s work’s Christmas Party and I needed to dress up and show off the new me. I bought a pair of long, flowing black trousers and a halter neck top in black with sparkles; all I needed were some heels. I wanted to look good, the first time I had a chance of doing this in years, so I hunted around for some black heels with either gold or silver decoration on them. They needed to be high, because my legs aren’t the longest and the trousers really were. Then bingo, I found them: a cross between gold and silver very high and absolutely fabulous. What could possibly go wrong?
Pain, that’s what could go wrong. I hadn’t even got to the meal and my feet were killing me. I was used to living in pumps and flat boots, not 6 inch high heels. The thought of the dance floor was making me quake. But I gave it a go and only slipped out of them once or twice while I was resting through the bad songs, finally pulling them off in the car on the way back home.
‘F**k-me heels’, that’s what the other women there had called them. That’s what I called them too after that, but not in the same way! I love my shoes. I’ve never worn them again, but they stand on top of my wardrobe, in pride of place as a piece of art to be appreciated.
Now I take more care of my feet and keep them warm and snug whenever I can.