Ain't yer got no sense of yoomer?

Having actually watched poor Ian Rankin (teehee!) on the Crime Thriller Awards last night, I have to admit that his comment was, indeed, a throwaway joke. I'm not apologising for being defensive on behalf of the Romantic Novelists' Association, or writers of the ubiquitous Women's Fiction, merely saying yes, it was a joke, and I'm sure he would be astonished at the reaction it has provoked in our community.

I can, unfortunately, see how our combined raised spines would appear to the general public. Do I need to spell it out? I think the title of this post says it all. So come on, ladies and gents, think of a good joke for the crime writers. (Oh, that includes me, doesn't it? Bother.)

After a comforting discussion with my publisher the other day, I'm pleased to report that I have a stay of execution on the current book - pub. date now moved to April - another book is required after that, and large print and audio versions of Murder in Bloom are out on Monday. All the Libby Sarjeant series is now in audio, but this will be my first large print. Thrilled to bits. I will be able to eat for at least another year...

Blood on the carpet says Mr Rankin

Apparently this is what happens whenever two or more romantic novelists gather together. Harpies and harridans, the lot of us.

Now, I'm a member of the Romantic Novelists' Association and the Crime Writers' Association. Over my years of membership, I have met more close friends through the RNA than the CWA could shake a stick at. They are supportive, helpful, genuinely pleased at each other's successes and have a unique New Writers' Scheme. I have been a member of the CWA for three years. (Sorry - was there more to that sentence? No? Ah.)

So please, crime writers, leave it out. It isn't funny - it may have been when first uttered fifteen years ago - and it most certainly isn't true.