Sneak preview of Fashionistas: Irina

I promised a sneak preview of Irina and here it is! I can't wait for you guys to get hold of a copy of this book, especially as there's a very special guest star who may well make you squeal out loud. As ever, though the book isn't officially released for a week or so, there are copies already for sale. This is because unless you're JK Rowling, book shop staff usually start putting books on the shelf as soon as they come in, never mind the actual date of publication. And it really boosts my first week sales so I've learnt not to mind. One last thing, if you have read the book ahead of the release date, please try not to give spoilers away in your comments. Anyway, on to Irina:





Irina checked the pocket of her coat again for the bulky but reassuring weight of the bolt cutters, and cast an anxious look at Sergei who was chattering animatedly to the two glacially unimpressed sales assistants

She scanned the rails for the black silk dress that Sergei's client had requested. This was the bit that Irina hated the most because she could never tell the difference between silk and satin, charcoal and grey. Actually the part she hated the most was setting foot in Kitai-gorod where everyone looked at her shabby clothes and knew that she didn't belong, even wearing the voluminous fur coat that Sergei had stolen from his grandmother.

There were three black silk dresses hanging from one rail; so understated and elegant that Irina was convinced they'd disintegrate from one touch of her grubby fingers. She grabbed the collar of the first dress, checked the size and reached into her pocket for the cutters.

"You're gorgeous," she heard Sergei say behind her. "You ever think of being a model?"

Irina scowled. She knew that he was only flirting to distract the salesgirls. And she also knew that guys like Sergei with his twinkling blues eyes and easy smile weren't interested in girls like her. But still, it was pathetic the way the sales assistants were fawning over him now, even though he looked just as out of place in their stupid, ritzy boutique as she did.

Her fingers were shaking as she manoeuvred the bolt cutters carefully between the stem of the security tag and the delicate material. Not because she was scared. Irina wasn't scared of anything but Sergei was laying it on too thick now and their cover could get blown.

"Wow! I've never seen such beautiful women." Irina shifted to one side so she could glare at the simpering sales staff and make sure that a well-dressed couple were between her and the security guard stationed at the door. Sergei would punch him when she ran for the exit, Irina assured herself as she tried to cut through the thick plastic tag.

But then Sergei's phone started ringing.

"Lilya, baby, I'm a little busy right now. Can I call you back?"

Lilya was tiny and blonde and punctuated everything she said with a high-pitched giggle. Irina yanked impatiently at the dress, which gave up the fight and tore under her impatient fingers.

She swore softly under her breath. Keep calm. Keep calm. One black silk dress was much like any other. Irina seized the next one on the rail, vaguely aware that the guard was walking towards Sergei who was badgering one of the girls to open a glass display case. They could get 1000 rubles for Prada sunglasses. It wasn't part of the plan but that's what she liked about Sergei – he was so spontaneous, so exciting and so very about to get busted.

"Leave the store now," the guard ordered tersely. "Out, or we press the panic button."

He hadn't seen her yet. Irina fumbled with the cutters again, heard Sergei remonstrate with the staff.

She felt her body grow clammy, beads of sweat popping up on her forehead as a hand clamped down on her shoulder. "Any second now, that security guard is going to see you," a voice advised her. "If I were you I'd leave the dress and come with us."

Us? The well-dressed couple had her book-ended. Irina's eyes darted wildly around and came to rest on the man's polished black shoes. He spoke Russian with an accent. The woman was younger, blonde, elegantly dressed in a soft leather coat and staring at Irina incredulously. What a bitch!

"Go away," she spat loud enough that the security guard slowly swung round. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

She could already see Sergei sidling towards the door, not even bothering to look back and check that she was OK. Then he was gone, an indistinct blur streaking past the window and she was on her own with the guard striding towards her. They didn't carry guns, Irina was pretty sure about that. Not here where the rich came to shop. Though you could never tell with the private security firms.

Irina tried to put the dress back on the rail; wrinkling it in her sweaty hands, messing it up like she did everything. "I… I…" the words were stuck in her throat, but the woman was calmly shielding her from view, taking the bolt cutters out of Irina's hands and dropping them into a capacious Gucci tote.

"Do something, Henri," she hissed in English. "And do it quickly."

Henri was already pushing Irina towards the sales desk. He presented the dress that she'd already torn with a flourish. "I'm terribly sorry but my niece has had a small accident. We'll pay for it, of course."

Irina waited until he was taking a credit card out of his wallet, before she bolted, the worn soles of her trainers skidding across the highly polished marble floor, but the blonde woman was blocking her exit.

"Don't even think about it," she rapped out. "Just stay there and smile and remember to thank your 'uncle' for getting you out of this mess."

Her 'uncle' had a stiff cardboard bag in his hand, as he nodded his head at the staff before hurrying over to them. "Let's get the hell out of here," he gritted between clenched teeth as they bundled Irina out of the door.

"What do you want from me?" she demanded brusquely, trying to wrench away from them as soon as they got outside. "You want me to pay you back for the dress, huh? How do you want me to do that?"

She knew about rich tourists. There were girls that hung around on the edges of Sergei's gang who'd come into the city and go to the fancy bars attached to the biggest hotels. They came back the next day with tearstains, bruised lips and fistfuls of dollars.

The woman was pulling Irina into the weak sunshine spilling down on Tretyakov Drive. There was nowhere to hide from two pairs of beady eyes that swept over the moth-eaten fur coat, the grubby tracksuit bottoms and trainers poking out from under the hem and Irina's face. Her stupid, sallow face with the blotchy brown marks all over it.

Irina sized them up – the woman could easily be knocked over, but Henri was tall and she could feel the tensile strength in his hand as he kept a tight grip on her arm. "I didn't ask you to pay for the dress," Irina insisted again.

It was like her words were made out of air. They simply brushed them away and continued to stare at her.

"Have you ever seen cheekbones like hers?" the woman said in English because they thought she was some dumb hick. "And she's tall."

"Thin too," the man added, actually daring to pull back the side of her coat, even as Irina hissed at him. "Rangy, she's got long legs."

Any moment now, Sergei would roar up on his bike. Except Sergei was probably halfway to St Petersburg by now and Irina was on her own. They didn't know that she could speak English and that was something at least that she could use to her advantage. Maybe even take the woman's bag while she was at it.

All Irina needed was to come up with a plan while they talked about her like she was a slab of meat on the butcher's block.

"I wonder how she photographs," the woman was saying and Irina couldn't help the shudder that ran through her. Everyone knew a girl who'd gone off to Sweden or Germany or Switzerland with a rich foreigner who'd promised her a passport and they were never heard of again. Sergei said that they got sold into prostitution rings. They'd sit there wide-eyed, listening to him go into lurid details. Then he'd ruffle Irina's hair. "Not like you have to worry about that," he'd say. "You'd have to pay them." And they'd all laugh. And Irina would laugh too, though actually she didn't think it was that funny.

"I'm going now," she said decisively, because the icy panic washing over her was making it hard to think clearly. "Get your hands off me or I'll scream."

She'd never screamed in her life but they didn't know that.

But they weren't letting go, instead the man nodded and the woman turned to her with a smile. "Tell me something, have you ever thought about being a model?"

Public Service Announcement

I'll be posting a sneak preview from Fashionistas: Irina later in the week but for now I just have to say:

It's Edie. Ee-dee. Not Eddie. Short for Edith. Please stop spelling her name wrong as it causes both Edie and I untold amounts of distress.

Live on

Sarra x

All the news that's fit to print...

Happy Valentine's Day, readers

You know, I'm so glad I work from home and I don't have to see those really smug girls on the tube clutching bouquets of red roses. Yes, because I am bitter, thank you for asking.

It's been a tough couple of weeks, overshadowed by grief and loss, but I'm climbing out of the hole and have many things to tell you.

The first is that the third book in the Fashionistas series, Irina, goes on sale on March 20th if you live in Britain or can order it from amazon.co.uk or play.com.



It's quickly followed by the release of the fourth and final book, Candy, on April 17th. Here is a first look at the cover:



And here is the back cover blurb:

Candy Careless is the daughter of punk royalty and the acid-tongued star of the reality show that's boosted her eccentric family's flagging fortunes. When Candy gets her heart broken she heads for London to escape the pressure of cameras in her face 24/7 and break into the world of fashion. Her bark and her bite alienate everyone, from herthree flat-mates to the intriguing Alfie, but whatever. Not her problem. But when dark secrets threaten to destroy everything Candy's worked for, she begins to realise that she's not really the sassy girl she plays on TV.

As ever, I'll post sneak excerpts from the books, nearer to publication. And they usually turn up in bookshops a couple of weeks ahead of the official release date so keep your eyes peeled. There's still no sign of an American release, but that brings me very swiftly to my final piece of news. I've written a short story, Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others, for a US anthology entitled Does This Book Make Me Look Fat? I'm in the company of some really great authors like Sara Zarr, Carolyn Mackler and Megan McCafferty all writing about weight and esteem and body issues. The book comes out in the States this summer but non-Americans should prolly be able to order ir through their country's Amazon site on import.

So that's some booky stuff to look forward to. By the way, what do you all reckon to this Adele vs Duffy stuff? I admit I'm kinda underwhelmed by both of them. Great voices and I love to see younger girls coming up through the ranks and getting attention, but they just don't move me. I really loved Laura Marling's single, New Romantic, but the album is a bit disappointing, though I really like the track, Failure. Someone on MySpace (I'm sorry I can't remember your name and you didn't Friend me so I couldn't message you a thank you!) tipped me off to a great Swedish singer called Nina Kinert and I'm hoping for new Hello Saferide and Saint Etienne albums this year. What are you listening to that this Belle And Sebastian fan might like?

Remember, that even if there weren't any cards waiting for you on the doormat today, I love you!

Live on

Sarra x

10 reasons why you need to see Juno the moment it comes out...

I'm in love. L.U.V. I saw a preview screening of a new American film called Juno on Monday, which I think anyone who likes my books will adore.

It's the story of 16-year-old Juno McDuff, who gets up the duff to her orange TicTac addicted boyfriend and follows the story of what happnes next. This is why I loved it:

1. Juno is a snarky, moody, too cool for skool, but dorky girl with a hamburger phone.

2. The film doesn't send out a message that sex is bad, OMG!, and let that be a lesson to you. You get to make up your own mind.

3. Juno has a little sister called Liberty Belle who has the funniest Munchkin face I've ever seen.

4. Juno's boyfriend, Bleeker, is just as inarticulate and wussy as most 16 year old boys are.

5. It has the best sound track, including my third favourite Belle & Sebastian song (Expectations) and the good bits of The Moldy Peaches - their quieter, more whimsical stuff not the songs where they're just being silly.

6. You'll see it again and again and you'll memorise your favourite lines. At the moment I'm quoting, "I need to know that it's possible that two people can stay happy together forever."

7. It's got me really excited about the book I'm writing and about being brave and writing in a way that's different from other writers. My books have been rejected by TV and film peeps for "not being filmic enough" so I'm heartened that there are still people around who realise we don't necessarily want to see perfect, beautiful people messing up in a perfect, beautiful way on our screens.

8. Juno was so good that even the woman sitting three rows across who must have been a semi-finalist in the National Bag Rustling And Eating Really Noisy Snacks Awards didn't annoy me that much.

9. It has Jennifer Garner in it. And I have a huge girl crush on Jennifer Garner in this completely irrational, I'll-see-anything-that-she's-in-even-if-it's-really-crap way.

10. At the end I even squeezed out a few tears and I can't remember the last time a film made me cry.

So, Juno comes out on February 8th, so cancel all your other plans and go and see it. Then let me know why YOU loved it too!


Live on

Sarra x

The Random Days Of Chrismukkah: The Lost Girl

Happy New Year to one and all! I am feeling a little bit fragile this morning. Except it isn't actually morning because that was over and done with while I was still sleeping. Oh dear!

Anyway, my random Chrismukkah gift-giving continues with a bit that got cut out of the final draft of Let's Get Lost, like a deleted scene friom a DVD if you will. I tend to overwrite then find myself having to cut thousands and thousands of words from my final drafts. Alas my files for LGL are really disorganised and this is all I could find. It's the bit where Isabel has been snogging one of those chavvy boys in the park. And it's completely unedited and it a very clunky past tense. Why did I do that?!


CUT SCENE FROM LET'S GET LOST


Rob really had been the best of a truly bad bunch. At least he'd hit puberty. We'd drunk these two super-sized bottles of cider quickly enough to qualify for the world record before Rob had dragged me off in the direction of the hut behind the Crown Bowling Green. He'd fancied himself quite the raconteur and regaled me with all these stories about how he could break into a car in five seconds and steal the stereo and the sub woofers, whatever the hell they were, before anyone realised. He was quite the charming conversationalist.

"People are real twats," he'd sniffed. "Most of the time they leave the doors unlocked."

"You don't say."

"Yeah. I've never really talked to a posh bird before."

I arched one of my eyebrows. "And how's it working out for you?"

"Dunno," he'd said, after a minute's thought. "So you gonna let me feel you up then?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I'd caught a flash of pink and I knew Nancy was in the vicinity already to report back. "C'mon, then," I'd sighed. "You can kiss me if you like."

After Rob had thoroughly rinsed my mouth out with his tongue for a good few minutes while I carefully manoeuvred him out of the line of fire, I'd had enough. Then he'd mauled my tits like he was trying to tune in one of those purloined car stereos and I'd had more than I could stand.

I'd gently extricated myself from his octopus-like embrace and firmly removed the paw that was clamped around my left buttock.

"What did you do that for?" Rob had asked, trying to worm his leg between mine while I thrust my head back to evade any more spit.

"Don't get me wrong, this has been real and stuff but I have to go," I'd said very pleasantly given the extreme mauling I'd just suffered. "Maybe I'll see you around."

He'd reached for me again as I'd adroitly side-stepped out of the path of his questing hands. "You're tight, you know that," he'd told me furiously.

"Gosh, thanks awfully for enlightening me." He didn't seem to be getting the message that I'd rather have my skin removed from my body with a rusty potato peeler than kiss him again. He'd kept lurching towards me with his lips puckered and Jesus, those hands… They should have had a government health warning tattooed across the knuckles.

"You know you want to," he'd cajoled, grabbing my wrists and it's so annoying that even the weediest boy can overpower me. But even weedy boys don't have nails as sharp as mine or know how to use them.

He gave a girly squeak when I dug them into the back of his hands and finally let me go. "Sorry about that," I'd chirped. "Did I mention that I was a Mormon?"

And then I turned and ran while he was still scrolling through the empty files where his brain should be to understand what I was saying.

The Random Days Of Chrismukkah: Don't say it's a crush 'cause it's not, it's the real thing

Just before I head bathroomwards for a super intensive beautification programme as I'm going out tonight, I'm posting the next Chrismukkah gift for you.

This is Edie's (of Diary Of A Crush fame, like you didn't already know that) giode to crushing. Way back when God was a boy, this was a non-Edie feature for J17. And after that, it became an Edie-centric article for my micro-site, which has floated off into the interpipe ether. So its now here for your reading pleasure, even if it is slightly dated now.



EDIE'S 12 DEGREES OF CRUSHING


Hello, Edie here.

Now, I might not be the class brainiac, although there are some things I'm an expert in. Like, buying vintage frocks on Ebay or 15 different ways to eat a Twix. But the one subject that I get an A plus in every time, is the ancient art of crushing. I crush, therefore I am.

I've decided to share the benefit of my wisdom and after months of hopelessly lusting after Dylan, I've worked out that there is 12 degrees of crushing from the slightly embarrassing things any girl will do to catch the eye of the heir to her heart. And then there are the other things - the deranged, insane things that will probably result in you being sectioned or sent to your room until your 30.

I've written it down in a handy list:

Low-level love stuff

1. Weirdy compatibility stuff
It's not enough to just like the look of someone. You have to know that it's meant to be. So find out his date of birth and cross-match your astrological compatibility in the love horoscope section in magazines.
Or, sit at the back of biology playing love, like, hate, adore or working out your love percentage rating (it's got to be more fun than learning about the digestive system) and boring your mates with comments like "Uh! He hates me but I adore him" or "Yay! We love each other 98%!"

2. Having a working knowledge of his time-table
How the hell else will you know exactly what classroom door your beloved will come out of at the end of fith period? And you can tell so much about a boy by knowing that he has a double Food And Nutrition lesson on Thursday afternnon, can't you?

3. Trying out his surname
Just so you know whether to keep your own name when you get married or whether you'll actually like the way Mrs Shovelbottom sounds.

4. Thinking of excuses to talk to him
Stick to the weather, dissing school and telly. Don't make the mistake of spending too long thinking of something to say. 'Cause when you do pluck up the courage to like, talk to him, you'll end up saying something completely hatstand. "Do you like The OC?" will come out as "Seth! Ryan! Marissa! Unk! Unk!" leaving your love-god with a look of bewilderment on his face. But, hey, at least you got his attention.



Mildly alarming amour antics

5. Obsessing over stuff he's touched
About a month into your crush (if no-one tastier has come along) you'll find that you've amassed a small collection of bizarre white elephants and objets d'art. Let's take a look, shall we? A couple of old coke cans, a balled up sheet of Italian vocab, an empty Doritos bag and, best of all, a sweaty footie shirt that you, erm, found in the boys' changing room. What have all these items got in common? Why, they've all known the touch of his heavenly hands, like you didn't already know that.

6. Special coded communications
Although you and your mates all know the true identities of your respective crushes, it would never do to mention them by name. Instead you create a new way of communicating with each other. Why? Because the world would end if anyone were to hear you discussing the pert pecs of Trent from the record shop. Instead you say things like, "Discman has arm bumps. Over." Should come in handy if there's over an opening at MI6.

7. Planning to bump into him
And it's not enough that you might just happen to bump into him. You plan every potential encounter with your special boy like a military campaign. For starters, you've already memorised his weekly movements so you have a pretty clear idea of when and where he'll be. You also spend hours designing a look that suggests you've just happened to throw on the nearest outfit. And then when you do track him down, you're too freaked out by his nearness to do anything but run away.

8. Ripping his number from the telephone directory and keeping it with you at all times
As if you'd ever forget his number!


Brrrrrrring! Brrrrrrring. Stalker alert!

9. Phoning his number 24/7
Because when he picks up the phone and says, "Hello, 4436988", it makes your heart turn somersaults. And if you dial 141 before tapping in his number he can never trace your call. Well, not until his family get the police involved, that is.

10. 1471ing 24/7
In your heart of hearts you know that one day your crush will suddenly wake up, realise that you're his and make that call. Until that happy day, you spend all your life doing 1471 just to check that the phone didn't ring while you were doing noisy stuff like running water or shouting at your younger brother. The fact that all your 1471ing actually makes the phone engaged should he call seems to have escaped your notice.

11. Analyzing everything
When he says, "Hi" to you after you "accidentally" crashed your bike against his, you begin to wonder what he meant. And why did his voice go slightly up in pitch at the end of the syllable? And did he raise one of eyebrows half a millimetre higher than the other one? And if he did, what was he trying to tell you? Why? Why? Why?

12. Walking up and down outside his house
You sad, sad girl. Stop it right now.

The Random Days Of Chrismukkah: Girl About Town

Happy Giftmas, readers!

I'm still in a food coma, but can just about move enough to post my send present to you: an interview with Molly from Guitar Girl. I think I did this for my US publishers when the book was first published in the States in 2004 so some of the references may be a bit dated. Oh, and the subject title is from a song by Helen Love, which reminds me of Molly a little bit. Of course, we find out what Molly did next thanks for her guest starring role in Let's Get Lost. (And you'll never guess who shows up in Fashionistas: Irina!)


1. Why did you decide to start a band?
"Because I heard Kelly Clarkson on the radio and knew that it didn't have to be like this. And I loved Ruby X and her music and I wanted to touch people like she's touched me."

2. What inspires your music?
Everything. Emily Strange, watching rain-drops trickle down the windows of the tour-bus, messy-haired boys, Chunky KitKats, running down hills really fast.

3. What advice would you give to other girls who want to start a band?
It's very simple:
1. Believe that you want to be in a band more than you want anything else in the world.
2. Form a band.
3. Play your first show as soon after that as humanly possible.


4. What's on your iPod?
"My iPod is broken because Dean got really drunk one night and decided to dunk it in a glass of diet Coke to see if it would float because he's deeply and frequently idiotic. But I did compile a really ace mix CD last night to get us all pepped up before we go on stage. Hang on, while I dig it out of my bag. OK:
1. Give Him A Great Big Kiss - The Shangri-Las
2. 40 Boys In 40 Nights - The Donnas
3. Is This What I Get For Loving You Baby? - The Ronettes
4. Can't Get You Out Of My Head - Kylie Minogue
5. Oh! - Sleater Kinney
6. Bitch Goddess - Ruby X
7. I Know What Boys Like - The Waitresses

It kinda goes on like that and you should be able to download these songs off the interpipe. Hmmm, not that I would ever encourage doing anything like that, 'cause it's illegal and stuff.

5. How do you handle groupies?
"I don't get groupies. I get cool girls who want to talk about hairslides. I get not-so-cool girls who demand that I give Dean their phone numbers. And I get really geeky boys who want to know what the chord sequence is for the bridge in Hello Kitty Speedboat. So, no groupies but that would be too scary to cope with anyway.

6. So what's the deal with you and Dean?
"What deal? There is no deal. There's just Dean."

7. And how do you feel about there being 'just Dean'?
"It's a cross I have to bear."

8. You know that people think you're seeing each other.
"Well, we are in a band together. You kind of have to see each other for that to work out."

9. You know exactly what I mean, don't you?
"I do. And I really don't want to go there. It's just… y'know… too complicated. Next question."

10. Do you regret telling the press that you were a virgin?
"Oh God! It was just a tiny slip-up, I didn't even use the v-word and then it was all over the papers, along with the words "reluctant sex symbol." It was just hideous. To come down for breakfast and your Dad's reading the paper and there's a story about his daughter's sex life. Or lack of it. And now everything's changed and people are still banging on about it.

11. When you say everything's changed, does that mean that you're not a virgin?
"It means that you better think of another question if you want this interview to continue."

12. What's the best thing about being famous?
"I'm still trying to figure that one out. I s'pose it's meeting really amazing people. Like, girls who come up to me after we've played a show and they're all beautiful and they get what I'm trying to do and it makes me remember why I started a band and what it's all meant to be about. And, though it sounds really shallow, I've also got to meet some heroes of mine though that isn't fun so much as trying really hard not to wet myself."

13. How does it feel to be the voice of disenfranchised girlkind?
"Am I? I get a lot of that. 'Ooooh, you're the voice of your generation', and if I'm the voice of my generation, then my generation is royally screwed. Most of the time, I don't even know what I want for dinner, let alone be able to speak up for anyone else. I don't think girlkind is disenfranchised, I just think that boys don't understand anything about us so they have to use long, negative words to describe us 'cause it makes them feel better."

14. What do you then when you're not being disenfranchised?
"Oh ha ha! I hang out with Jane and Tara. I watch my Buffy DVDs. I post on my blog. I scour charity shops for interesting t-shirts and I eat lots and lots of chocolate. And cheese and onion crisps."

15. And what are you going to do after this interview's over?
"Probably worry about all the things I shouldn't have said. And I have a meeting with my manager to discuss who's going to do be doing our merchandising. Then I'm going to go home and do my laundry. It's not very rock 'n' roll, is it?"

The Random Days Of Chrismukkah: You Can't Judge A Book By It's Cover...

To start my Chrismukkah extravaganze, I'm going to give you a pictorial guide to the Guitar Girl cover.

First there was this picture of Courtney Love, which I loved like a fat kid love cake:



I sent it to my publishers, who used the Courtney pic as inspiration and came up with this. Yikes!:



I ranted. I raved. I had to have a lie down every time I looked at the picture on the back cover. But once I calmed down, I realised that actually I rather liked the picture on the spine and also that Molly's hair should actually be a rather unnatural shade of red. There was a bit of email ping pong and then, with the benefit of Photoshop, there was this:



It truly was a Chrismukkah miracle. And if anyone says that they preferred the original cover, then I will ban them from this blog!


Check back soon to read an interview with Molly from Guitar Girl.

(Edited to add: Also Guitar Girl was originally called The Startripper, after a song from an obscure band called Biff! Bang! Pow!, but it was decided that it sounded too much like a sci-fi novel. And the rest is history. Well, not history so much as I came up with another title and all was fine.)

Much news, so much news...

Hello from my sunny study where I'm frantically trying to lose 15,000 extraneous words from the final draft of Candy, the last book in the Fashionistas series. And sprinkle magic dust on the words that are left before the end of next week. Jeesh!

I wanted to give you a heads up on my plans for next year. The third Fashionistas book, Irina is out in March and Candy will follow in April (if she's ever finished!) I hope you all squeal with delight when you discover who the special guest star is in Irina. I also have a short standalone story published in a US anthology and am in the really good company of Megan McCafferty, Sarah Dessen and Carolyn Mackler to name but a few. I'll give you more details when I have them and yes, I'm pretty sure that you'll be able to order the book from amazon.co.uk. There's stil no US publisher for Fashionistas but I'm really hopeful that now that the series is almost complete, we'll find abuyer for it. Also the news that Let's Get Lost has sold really, really, really well in hardback in the US should help. What else? Oh, yes! The Diary Of A Crush trilogy is going to be re-issued in the UK with gorgeous new covers. Well, I hope they're gorgeous - I haven't seen them yet. Apart from correcting some shocking typos and punctuation errors and updating some of the references (Blazin' Squad?!), the insides of the books haven't changed.

Then I'm going to be taking a little break from my tawdry teen fiction to write my first adult novel, Unsticky for Headline, which will be published in 2009. Please, don't give me the puppy dog eyes! I'm not going anywhere! I love, love, love writing teen fiction and will continue to do so, but I also want to write stories about older girls for an older market. Unsticky probably isn't appropriate reading for under-16s but hey, that's between you and your parents.

So, I'm aware that time constraints really prevent me from replying to comments (which can be summed up as: no sequels, no films, no US release for Fashionistas, check my blog archives for writing tips.) And I'm also aware that I usually run a competition to win the annual mix CD I compile of my favourite songs of the year, which I send out with my holiday cards. Alas, I'm so over-worked this year that I have serious doubts that I'll even send out cards, let alone burn CDs. So I'm going to do something a little diffferent. Something I like to call

THE RANDOM DAYS OF CHRISMUKKAH


In a disorganised, haphazard way I will post thrilling, lovely things over the festive period. Kind of like the special features on a DVD. These will exclude extras from Guitar Girl, Pretty Things and Diary Of A Crush that originally were posted on my Hodder microsite (which has now committed cyber suicide), unpublished extracts from Let's Get Lost and Laura and Hadley and sneak previews of Irina and Candy.

How very exciting, eh? The first post will go up around December 21st and will continue into the New Year so keep checking in.

OK, back to Candy version 3.0...


Live on


Sarra x

I've been less and I've been more...

I know. I know! I haven't updated in ages. Mostly because I've been working flat-out on the final book in the Fashionistas series, Candy. I finished the first draft yesterday (I don't get to have the weekends off) and now I'm just about to start re-writing the whole thing and hoping that I can deliver it in time for the final deadline. Ho hum!

Apart from that my life has become incredibly boring. Apart from the occasional trip to Primark, I haven't been doing much. The new Rilo Kiley and the old Feist albums are in constant rotation. I've been reading the entire oeuvre of a novelist called Patrick Hamilton, which are all set between the wars and feature desperate alcoholics and ladies of easy virtue and mya be responsible for my current state of ennui (translation: Meh!) I also really need to stop playing so much Scrabulous on Facebook.

I will have some exciting news soon about various things that are in the pipeline. Some of them will thrill you. Some of them may not but them's there the breaks.

What I would like to share with you is the cover of the third Fashionistas book, Irina. There it is at the top of the post! And also tell you that the current synopsis up on amazon.co.uk is not the right synopsis at all and is littered with typos and just plain, bad wrongness. This is the official synopsis:

Irina used to steal designer clothes from Moscow's best stores. Now she's living in London and modelling them in the pages of glossy fashion magazines. Nothing and no one is going to stop her from becoming the world's most famous supermodel. Especially not her three really lame flatmates.
But hooking up with gorgeous photographer’s assistant Javier and getting on the wrong side of top model, Caroline Knight, isn't part of her plan. Will Irina drop the diva act and let her heart rule her head just this once?


I'm also way behind on replying to MySpace messages, so I'm going to have to write a form reply letting people know that their usual queries (why is there no sequel to Guitar Girl/Diary Of A Crush/Let's Get Lost etc) can be found in the tags on this here blog.

And also still no news about a US publisher for Fashionistas. I'm as pissed off as you guys about that, but if there is any news on that front, you'll be the first to know, I promise!


Live on


Sarra x

The loneliness of the long distance writer...

Hey pop kids

I realise I haven't updated in an age. I wish I could report that I've been off doing all manner of impossibly glamorous things, but sadly that's not the case.

What I have been doing is writing so much that I'm surprised my fingers aren't little bloody stumps. The third book in the Fashionistas series, Irina, has been delivered but its release has been put back to May 2008 because of some snarl ups with the cover. And I'm in the middle of writing Candy, which is the first book that I've ever delivered late. I'm usually very conscientious when it comes to deadlines but, quite frankly, if she's done by the end of the year, it will be a freaking miracle on the scale of the loaves and the fishes!

The Fashionistas series is available in Australia and New Zealand - all my UK releases are automatically published in the Antipodes. I've also secured some foreign rights deals and so the series will be published in France, Germany, The Netherlands and Denmark. I've also just heard that Diary Of A Crush is going to be translated into Italian, which I'm very excited about. What I'm not so excited about is that I still have no news to report on a US release of Fashionistas. Currently, I don't have an American publisher so I don't forsee this situation being resolved quickly. However, Fashionistas Laura and Hadley are available on amazon.com and would make wonderful Chrismukkah gifts!

And in a weird series of events, I do have something coming out next year that will only be available in the US. It's not actually a book and I can't give you any details at the moment, but I haven't forgotten my US fanbase.

I've also been doing a lot of freelance writing for ELLE and, more recently, Grazia. If you get the current issue with Jennifer Aniston on the cover, there's an interview I did with the wonderful Kate Nash, who I have such a girl crush on. All this busy-ness means that I have a huge backlog of MySpace messages that I doubt I'm going to get a chance to reply to. As ever, my blogs on blogspot and MySpace are the best way to get all my news and most of your questions have already been answered if you have a look at the tags on the blogspot blog.

Of course, I'd probably be a lot more efficient if I didn't play so much Scrabulous on Facebook. Talking of which, I pretty much friend everyone back on MySpace but Facebook is the little corner of the interweb that I use for people who I know in real life so please don't be offended if I don't friend you back on there.

And now, since I went on a six mile (what was I thinking?!) walk this morning, I'm going to tuck into a completely guilt-free Belgian chocolate brownie. And ain't nothing on earth gonna stop me!

Live on


Sarra x

SNEAK PREVIEW! Fashionistas: Hadley!

Officially out on September 20th (though it seems to be available from most good bookshops and amazon.co.uk now, which isn't something I'm losing any sleep over), here is a small taste of Hadley Harlow to whet your appetites:


Hadley didn't believe in what might have beens. It was better to regret something you had done, than something you hadn't. That's what her yogi used to tell her. But then her yogi hadn't witnessed the moment that George and Candy first laid eyes on each other. If he had, he'd have given up on Buddhism and started stock-piling canned goods for the inevitable apocalypse.

"Oh my God, girlfriend!" George squealed, when he caught sight of Candy emerging from behind the velvet rope. "I fricking worship you, you foul-mouthed little bitch!"

"I love you too!" Candy threw her arms around George as the cameras started flashing. "You're the funniest thing in that lame-ass sitcom."

Hadley impatiently tapped her foot and waited for Candy to back away from her pretend boyfriend.

In the end, she had no choice but to trail after them, like the original third wheel, as they made their way up to the VIP area. To add insult to injury, Candy and George sailed past the door whore without a backward glance while she was forced to insist sweetly that, yes, she was on the guest list, thank you very much.

"… nightmare, Candy," she heard George say, as she caught up with them. "Used to step on all my cues and then Momzilla, that's what we called Amber on set, banned all baked goods because Hadley might get super-fat."

"I'm wheat intolerant," Hadley said icily, sliding into the booth. "And I never stepped on your cues."

"Take the stick out of your butt, Hadders," Candy advised, flagging down a waitress who deposited a tray full of garishly coloured drinks on the table. "It worked out OK in the end, didn't it?"

"How did it work out OK?" Hadley took a dubious sniff at one of the drinks and nearly got impaled on a stray cocktail umbrella. After her foray into champagne and the monster headache she'd had the next day, she was living alcohol-free.

"Well, you and George are love's young dream," Candy said archly, nudging George who giggled. "I mean, get a room, you two!"

That was obviously meant to be a joke as they were sitting miles apart but Hadley forced herself to turn her frown upside down and smile lovingly at George who pulled a face.

"Hadley's all right," he said grudgingly. "But, hey, don't you think she's really bossy under that fluffy exterior? She's all, like, hug me there's a photographer or don't act so gay when people are around." George clapped his hand over his mouth as he realised his monumental gaffe.

Candy's smile glittered. "But you're not gay," she pointed out. "Because you wouldn't be going out with Hadley if you were."

"Everyone in London acts gay," George hastily assured her. "It's the cool, new thing."

"Oh, really…" Trust Candy to be all suspicious-y.

"See, George acts all camp and stuff because he thinks it's funny," Hadley bit out, which was quite an achievement given the way her jaw was so tightly clenched. "Even though I've told him a million times that it's not."

George slid across the banquette so he could sling a careless arm around Hadley's shoulder. "You know I love to get a rise out of you, sweetness," he cooed, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek. She should have got an Oscar right then for resisting the urge to squinch up her face and rub her hand over the spot that George's lips, lips of George!, had touched.

"You're so funny, darling," Hadley simpered, patting his hand and if she dug her nails in just a teensy weensy bit, then even God himself would forgive her.

"Have a drink," George whispered in her ear as Candy waved at someone on the other side of the room. "Loosen up a little bit before she begins to realise that I can't actually stand the sight of you."

"The feeling is beyond mutual," Hadley whispered back and grabbed the nearest drink, a fluoro pink concoction with a stray piece of pineapple floating forlornly in its depths. Hadley took a cautious sip.

"This has pomegranate in it," she announced, ignoring the acidic after-taste, which was more liquor-y than fruity. "That's like a superfood."

"See, it's practically a health drink," George soothed.

Candy agreed with him. "For God's sake Hadders, stop sniffing it and just chug." She took a long enthusiastic gulp from her own glass.

It definitely tasted nicer than the champagne. And the second drink, a blackberry martini, was almost approaching yummy, though the pips kept getting stuck in her teeth.

When Candy and George went off to dance, she even managed to wave them off with a carefree smile. Oooh, maybe she could get Mervyn to leak some bitter love triangle story to the gossip rags, as long as she emerged the eventual winner.

Hadley beckoned a tray-yielding waiter so she could have another blackberry martini – they really were all kinds of more-ish. She was starting to feel fuzzy round the edges. Fuzzy was good. For the first time since she sat in her lawyer's office all those months ago, the sharp, nagging anxiety had floated away.

She was just a girl with a pink flower in her hair slurping down a martini in a club in London. She didn't have to tell anyone off or do their job for them, or remember to keep her left profile away from the cameras. If this was what drinking did for you, then she was a fan.

It was all going fine, until Hadley tried to stand up and her legs registered their disapproval. She could do things in five inch heels that most girls had never even dreamt about, but suddenly balancing on them was a problem.

Her knees knocked painfully together as she cannoned off the side of the booth and into the back of someone.

"Sorry!" And that was also weird. Her teeth had gone numb. Hadley ran her tongue over them experimentally and they all seemed to be present and correct, but actually her tongue felt odd too. Like it was made of rubber.

She needed to pee and she needed to find George and she might possibly need another drink too. It took a few seconds to get her priorities in the right order and then she was stumbling down the stairs; her hand clutched tight to the rail.

Pit-stop done, (two of girls in the bathroom had broken into a tuneless rendition of Feelin' Kinda Hadley, the theme tune from Hadley's House, which Hadley had found hysterically funny) Hadley's next mission was to find her fake beau.

The problem was that George didn't really have any distinguishing features. Apart from his spectacularly smug smile and it was too dark in the club, to be able to hone in on that. Every second boy had over-gelled blonde hair and a white shirt.

"George's shirt is Comme des Garcons," Hadley muttered to herself, scanning the crowd of blonde, white-shirted boys to see if she could spot the ruffle detailing that made George totally not stand out in a crowd.

In desperation, Hadley clambered on to a chair almost putting her heel through a girl's leg, who took it with a really bad grace, and peered over people's heads.

It was no use; she still couldn't see. Hadley carefully held aloft her martini glass and climbed up on the table. It was so much better. Now she could see George and Candy whirling around like they were on So You Think You Can Dance?

"George!" Her ear-piercing shriek didn't carry over the surf guitars bursting forth from the DJ booth, but the people who were sitting around the table that she was currently standing on, still started bitching. "I'm sorry," she hissed. "But I have to find my boyfriend."

"You spill my drink, you pay for it," snarled one really surly girl who got even surlier when Hadley told her that there was a free bar if you were a celebrity.

"Are you from one of those sad-sack reality shows?" the girl said belligerently. "God, where do they find people like you?"

Standing on top of a table was not the best place to recite the highlights from your resume, but Hadley gave it her best shot.

Her audience was less than impressed. "Go fuck yourself."

"Well, there's no need to get snippy," she started to say when she felt two hands around her waist and she was lifted from the table and set on her own two, very unsteady feet. "How dare you, you…"

"Do you stand on tables at home? I'm sure Candy would have mentioned that before."

It was Reed. The man who'd manhandled her with his hands. At least her blackberry Martini was still intact. Hadley took a long, slow sip because table-hopping was thirsty work. "I've lost my boyfriend," she informed Reed gravely. "Your sister's run off with him. But he's my boyfriend. Mine." She poked Reed in the chest with her finger so he'd get the seriousness of the situation.

Instead he looked down to where her finger was prodding what felt like rock-hard abs, with a frown. "How much have you had to drink anyway?"

Hadley finished off the rest of her Blackberry martini in one defiant gulp. "You're not the boss of me. I'm the boss of me. And that whole stubble thing is so over. Would it kill you to shave?"

Reed rubbed the chin in question. "Yeah, it might."

Hadley squinted at him. In a sea of white shirts and blonde hair, he stood out like some black-clad interloper, determined not to get in to the Tiki swing of things. "Are you allergic to shaving cream?" she breathed, because, hello, freaky.

"You really can't hold your drink," Reed pronounced, deftly taking the glass out of her hand. "I thought all you LA kids were in rehab by the time you were 14. You're a real lightweight."

Hadley liked to think that she was dignified in her alleged drunkeness. "I never touched alcohol when I was younger. It would have totally stunted my physical development."

And deja ewwww! Because that made Reed remember he had a hard-earned reputation as a player to maintain and he ran his thickly lashed eyes all over her. She was obviously lacking, mostly in the breast department, because he turned away as someone touched him lightly on the shoulder.

Someone with straggly hair, gangly limbs and jutting cheekbones - obviously she was a successful model.

"Reed," the girl said in heavily accented English. "This place sucks. I want to go now."

He stroked the backs of his fingers down the girl's cheek but she pouted furiously and took a step back. "Now. We go now," she repeated emphatically.

"Will you be all right on your own?" Reed asked Hadley doubtfully. "Should I go and find someone?"

"Who would you find?" she asked, but he'd already turned away.

"Later," he called over his shoulder and she was left to go and fling her arms round George, and nudge Candy out of the way with her hip, just in time for a stray photographer to take their picture.

Fashionistas 2: Hadley out September 20th

Hadley Harlow was once the world's biggest child star. Now she's strictly C-list and launching herself on the London celebrity circuit to revive her flagging career. Sure, Hadley's high maintenance but she's also a tough cookie who isn't going to let anything stand in her way whether it's pesky agents, jealous co-stars or three diva-like flatmates. Not to mention the disapproval of Reed, hip film director and notorious modeliser. Like she cares what he thinks! But even when you're on the bottom rungs of the showbiz ladder, you can still have a long way to fall. Learning to live in the real world is going to be Hadley's toughest role yet...

Though I should point out that this is the UK (and Australia and NZ release date - still no news on US publication.) And I hear from reliable sources that the first copies are already on sale, if you're lucky.

Check back here for a sneak preview of Hadley in the next week or so...

Love

Sarra x

A big, stinky ball of fear... or how to interview

I have a bit of time to kill this morning as I'm doing a celebrity interview, which has been put back by an hour and a half. As a lot of you know, when I'm not writing tawdry teen novels, I earn a crust or two by writing for glossy women's magazines. The weird thing is that I've been doing this for over a decade (!) but I still get in a right panic before an interview. I never sleep the night before, my stomach is currently doing odd fandangoes and I'm manically chewing gum to get rid of the metallic taste in my mouth.

You'd think I'd be used to it by now, especially as very few interviews have turned out to be unmitigated disasters. And as I'm always being asked for writing pointers, I thought I'd compile a little list of interviewing tips I've picked up over the years:

1. Be prepared

Do your homework. Read up on the person you're interviewing and never try to wing it because therein lies disaster and humiliation. I always have a long list of questions so the conversation never lapses into an awkward silence and I can keep plugging away, no matter how difficult my subject is, until they start sharing.

2. Open questions

This is something I learnt when I studied journalism at 16 and I've never forgotten. Always ask questions that begin with who, what, where and how. This means that the interviewee can't answer them with yes or no. Fr'instance if you ask them, "Do you like cheese?", they come back with a "yes" or "no." But if you ask them, "Why do you like cheese?", they can start banging on about the joys of a good, stinky Brie.

3. Put your subject at ease

I never just launch into my questions but first explain what the interview will be about, who the readers will be and what areas I'll be covering. And then to relax them, I check that my recording equipment is working by asking them what they had for breakfast that morning! And an "I love your shoes/bag/last movie" is always a good tactical move but avoid gushing.

4. it's good to talk

Although it's an interview and you have a long list of questions, this is not an interrogation and the questions don't need to be answered in a particular order. The best interviews should be like having a chat with a friend that you've only just met for the first time. The natural flow of a conversation is far better than a stiff question and answer session and you'll find that in the course of talking, your subject will probably answer five of your questions that you haven't even got round to asking yet.

5. Record

Always record your interviews. When I've been interviewed and the interviewer is just listening and assumes they'll remember all my sparkling bon mots, I know that I'll be misquoted and they'll get facts wrong. I'm also very anti note taking. If I'm writing down answers, I'm still missing stuff and not paying attention to what I'm being told. In fact, I'm so paranoid that I record all my interviews twice; on a little tape recorder and my iPod (I have a little gizmo that I plug into the mic socket, which turns it into a voice recorder.) This is also a practical thing - God, forbid someone claims that I've misquoted them, I have the interview tapes to know that I haven't. Legally, journalists are meant to keep their interview tapes for at least two years (or is it three years, or even five? I never can remember!), after which time no libel proceedings can be brought against them.

6. Share alike

Another great tip for getting people to talk to you, especially in difficult situations, is to tell them a bit about yourself. That doesn't mean you should talk at great length about your life but say, you're asking them about a break-up, offering a little anecdote about a relationship of your own that ended badly and showing that you understand where they're coming from makes you seem a little less like the enemy.

7. DIY

Transcribing interviews is one of the most tedious aspects of being a journalist. But I always transcribe my own tapes - in fact, one of my first paid gigs was transcribing tapes for a business journalist for £10 a side! Even in the days, when I did have an assistant, I quickly realised it was best to do my own transcribing. Not just because I know that any mistakes or edits are my own but also so I really get a feel for how my interviewee talks, which is really important in writing up the piece.

So these are my best interview tips. I mainly talk to celebrities and do a little real-life, and there are other tricks to interviewing people for news stories but I don't know what they are!

And talking of interviews, in the current issue of British ELLE is an interview I did with one of my favourite actresses, Maggie Gyllenhaal, so you can check out my technique for yourselves.

Love

Sarra x

I must eat so many lemons...

Hello earthlings

After the wettest, soggiest summer since records began, I'm happy to report that London is finally sunshine-y and warm. Hurrah! Also, I escaped unscathed after getting run over by a bus but will never step out into the road without looking again.

On to more important topics. Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the first Fashionista's book, Laura. I know that it seems light and fluffy on the surface (and on the cover!) but like all my stories, it's about what lies beneath the masks that people wear. And I'm really grateful that so many of you understood that.

Unfortunately, I have no news to report about any US or Canadian publication date for the series. The British edition should be available on amazon.com and amazon.ca though. Austrlian and NZ readers, the series should be on sale at the usual places and there will be French, German and Dutch editions next year.

However, I am working on a little something that will only be published in the US next year. Can't say anymore at this stage but you guys will be the first to know when I can spill.

I've also done a little press for Fashionistas at two of my very favourite websites. The first interview is at pink-world.co.uk. You can find it here
and I also answered my own question, 'what does being a fashionista mean to you?' at chicklish.co.uk. You can read my thoughts here.

While I'm in a linky mood, I wanted to rec a couple of books I've read recently. I don't really read much teen fic 'cause I like to stay in my own little teen world but y'all have to rush out and get a copy of Notes From The Teenage Underground by my MySpace pal, Simmone Howell.
She's an Australian writer who tells the story of Gem and her two frenemies, Lo and Mira and their plans to stage an Andy Warholesque happening. Except it doesn't quite work out as Gem thought it would. This is such a great book about movies, how fraught friendship can be and what it feels like to be on the outside looking in. I really identified with it as I was obsessed with Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick when I was a teenager.

The other book I wanted to rave about is my mate Grace Dent's Diary Of A Chav: Trainers vs. Tiaras. It's about Shiraz Bailey-Wood from Essex who's a pink hoodie-wearing chav with an emo older sister, a fat dog and ambitions to become a reality TV star. Don't read it on the bus though 'cause you'll start cackling out loud and people will think you're deranged. It's also worth checking out Grace's Big Brother blog At the moment I'm hating on Ziggy so hard.

What else? I'm listening to Kate Nash too much and spitting out words in a mockney style. Want to weep for the travesty that is Britain's Next Top Model. Need to sort out what I'm doing for my birthday next week and will be fostering a six week old kitten who needs bottle feeding while my cousin is on holiday.

I'm also writing some words that will become a book one day. Y'know, same old, same old...

Live on


Sarra x

Harry who?!

Forget about the adventures of that Potter kid and get yourself to a bookshop tomorrow when Fashionistas: Laura officially goes on sale in the UK!



fash_ion-is-ta - Noun

Pronounciation: [fash-uhn –ee-stuh]

Definition:

1. Someone who eats, sleeps, breathes and lives for fashion.
2. Someone who works in the fashion industry.
3. Someone who would never be seen dead in last season's looks



Laura isn't that surprised when she beats 12000 other girls in a nationwide modelling
competition. After all, she's beautiful and beginning a glamorous new life in London as the newest model on Fierce's books was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

But is being beautiful going to be enough? Laura never expected three fame-hungry flat-mates, sleazy photographers and a weight problem to stand between her and success in the fast-paced world of fashion.

At least she can always rely on her boyfriend Tom. But things change and will Laura have to do the unthinkable and choose between her heart and her dreams of being a model?

Sneak preview of Fashionistas: Laura

I'm gearing up to the publication of Laura in a couple of weeks. It's worth reminding you that this is its UK release. French, German and Dutch editions will follow, but there's no US release date as yet. I've been getting comments from people who've already seen copies on sale. As far as I can understand, this is because bookshops receive delivery early but some of them break the publication embargo and shove them on shelves as soon as possible.

Anyway for those of you still without a copy, I thought I'd post a taster of what you'll be getting from the story of an uppity, up and coming model who has a lot to lose if she's ever going to make it in the high-faluting fashion world.

PROLOGUE

The studio lights were hotter than a heatwave in the Sahara Desert. Despite the industrial strength quantities of powder, Laura was sure that she was starting to sweat. Beside her, she could feel Nemi shaking. Her hand squeezed Laura's tightly, even though last week she'd been caught on camera calling her "a fat cow." Nemi didn't deserve to win. Nemi wasn't going to win. She had bulgy eyes, weird thread veins on her legs and, worst of all, she was a shrieking drama queen who thought that Europe was a country "somewhere near France, innit?"

Laura tried to concentrate as Daisy Bloom, ex-supermodel, now shiny-haired TV presenter went into her final spiel of the night. "The judges have deliberated, the public have voted and soon I'll reveal the winner of Make Me A Model 2007. But first let me remind you of the prizes the lucky girl will receive: A contract with international model agency, Fierce Management, a cover shoot with Skirt magazine shot by renowned photographer, Gerry Valandrey and an exclusive contract with Sparkle Comsetics worth £100,000…blah blah, for the love of God, blah blah…"

It was too bright to see the audience as anything other than a vague blur of faces, but Laura knew her Mum and Dad would be in their usual place at the left end of the third row, Tom sitting behind them. His face would be a conflicting mess of emotions from embarrassment that he was live on ITV, to pride that he had such a gorgeous girlfriend. Aw, poor conflicted baby.

Time had become just a relative concept. Laura was standing right on the edge of her new life and it was starting to feel a lot like being trapped in purgatory, eternally condemned to wish that Daisy would just quit amping up the tension even though the studio manager was holding up a card, which read, "SPIN IT OUT FOR ANOTHER 30 SECS." Also, she really needed to pee and the tape, which was holding her dress together was itching.

"Good luck," Laura whispered to Nemi, who squeezed her hand even tighter. What she really meant was, "Good luck when you find yourself asking your customers if they'd like to supersize their fries, beeyatch."

"So I have two beautiful girls standing in front of me," Daisy husked, gliding towards the two girls. Laura's face was shifting into a frozen grin, her lips sliding over dry teeth because all her saliva supplies had been directed down toward her bladder. "Stop thinking about peeing", she told herself sternly.

Daisy paused yet again for dramatic emphasis. It was verging on excruciating. "But I only have one photograph in my hand. One of these girls is undeniably beautiful but that's only one small part of being a model. We want to see if the beauty is on the inside too. Week after week, we've watched Nemi rock the cameras but we've seen an ugly side to you at the judging panel. The public love your look, Nemi, but is it enough?"

Nemi seemed to think it was because she was crying on cue like she did every week. A single crystalline tear gently rolled down her caramel smooth cheek telegenically but not enough to smudge her make-up.

"But the public also love you, Laura. You haven't had a single bad shot in this competition but we also got to see your beauty of spirit, your quirky sense of humour and even when you fell over during the final runway test, you made it work to your advantage. But is your spark enough in the cut-throat world of modelling or will it just burn out too quickly?"

Laura was tempted to scream at the top of her lungs, "Just announce the fricking winner!" But common sense prevailed at the last moment. It was taking all her last vestiges of strength to make her eyes Bambi-big so she wouldn't start crying. God, she wanted this more than anything. She wanted it so much that she could taste it and it tasted exactly like the world's biggest chocolate fudge sundae with extra sprinkles.

Daisy stood there for another five seconds. She'd told Laura off-camera that she counted in her head "one elephant, two elephant, three elephant…" so she got the timing exactly right. Finally, she drew herself up to her full 5 feet, 11 inches and tossed back her platinum blonde curls, which netted her £1 million a year in shampoo commercials. Then she drew the photograph out from behind her back.

Laura squinted at it. For one deliciously, dreadful moment she thought it was Nemi. She shut her eyes and opened them again. Had it been Nemi? It didn't look like Nemi. It looked like her in that last ridiculous shoot, where they'd had to dress up as sea creatures. Laura had been a dolphin. That grey satin dress really had done her no favours and as for…

"Congratulations, Laura, we're going to make you a model," Daisy was saying, but her words were drowned out by Nemi noisily bursting into tears.

NOW CLOSED!!!!!!!!!!Win an advance copy of Fashionistas, book one!

EDITED TO ADD: THAT COMMENTING HAS BEEN TURNED OFF AS THIS COMPETITION IS NOW CLOSED! THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO ENTERED - WINNERS WILL BE NOTIFIED BY EMAIL.

Do you want me to bang on about how busy I am? Or repeat for the gazillionth time that there are no plans to ever write any more Diary Of A Crush books (for reasons explained in the tags to your left?) Or shall I just get on with the competition details? Yes, I thought so!

On Wednesday, I went to my publisher's offices and signed a box of advance copies of Laura, Fashionistas, Book One in my terrible, scrawly hand-writing. The book isn't on sale in the UK until July 17th but we want to give away 20 of the little blighters right now. Unfortunately, nothing in this life is for free so I'm going to make you work for a copy.

Leave me a comment telling me why you're a Fashionista. Be funny, be creative and don't forget to leave your email address and the 20 best answers get a book. It doesn't matter what country you live in either. One proviso, my publishers would like you to send them a review of the book once you've read it, saying what you thought of it. Hopefully, you'll like it and won't think that it sucks like a huge sucking thing. The closing date for this competition is Monday, June 25th so you have a little time to come up with a fantastic answer that will knock my Gap socks off.

I know that generally I'm crap at replying to comments but I do value all my readers and everyone who comments here and so this competition is a great way to say thank you. As the publication date creeps closer, I will be posting some sneak previews of the book but here's a reminder of what it's about and what the cover looks like - though now it's a bit pinkier and sparklier.




Beating 12,000 other girls to become the newest model on Fierce's books is Laura's dream come true. But she knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. She's gorgeous – everyone thinks so.

But once the thrill of winning has faded, Laura is alone in London, in a shoebox bedroom with three fame-hungry flatmates. Being beautiful doesn't seem enough now… not when her booker thinks she's way too fat, and her devoted boyfriend isn't the rock she thought he was.

Laura's got to make some difficult decisions. And time is running out…


Good luck!


Sarra x

Edited to add: Girls, please! As requested, leave your email address with your Why I'm A Fashionsta comments, otherwise there is no way to contact you if you've won.

Procrastination is the thief of time...

Hi there, my chickadees...

I sit here and realise I have no witty, amusing opening sentence so I shall just plunge straight in.

First thing I need to tell you is that my official microsite - there's a link to it on the left hand side of the page - is not working. It's reverted to a much earlier version with an old design and all the fantastic extra content (an interview with Molly from Guitar Girl, Edie from Diary Of A Crush's Guide to crushes etc.) is missing. I'm hoping it will be back up for the release of the first Fashionista's Book, Laura, on July 19th. Talking of which, I'm extremely happy to announce that Fashionistas will be the first of my books to be translated into German. The series will also be coming out en francais and I will let you know of more foreign deals as and when and if they happen.

I've just finished a second draft of the third Fashionista's book, Irina, about a mondo-stroppy Russian model and realise that it's not a final draft as I expected. So I'm about to go back and sprinkle magic dust all over it. But mostly I'm panicking because I'm heading to the States next week for British ELLE in a whirwind visit and I one of my friends is away for the weekend and has my US adaptor plugs. You know, when I was wide-eyed and younger, I always hoped that I'd get to write sentences like "I'm heading for the States next week" and imagined it was all wildly glamorous. Actually the reality is a mound of laundry and piles of work to get through before I head off to the airport and not being able to find the little thingy that turns my iPod into a voice recorder. Still, I can't complain too much.

But it does get me thinking about what a time-waster I am, even with deadlines looming. So here's a list of all the stuff I get up to instead of working...

SARRA MANNING'S AMAZING, DEADLINE-DEFYING LIST OF PROCRASTINATION

* Writing blog posts. This is just one of my many blogs.
* Spending way too much money on eBay - currently buying Marc Jacobs' flip-flops and vintage Miriam Haskell costume jewellery
* Repeated applications of hand lotion
* Adding movies to my Lovefilm DVD queue
* Googling myself in all possible permutations and combinations
* See also looking up all my books on Amazon.
* Constantly clicking 'refresh' on the Friends page of my blog.
* Playing the awful, time-sucking Snood game which I should really remove from my computer.
* Eating - favourite mid-chapter snacks include cheese and crackers, handfuls of oat flakes, blueberry yoghurt and peanut butter eaten straight from te jar. (Not altogether I hasten to add.)
* Buying songs on iTunes. The last song I bought was Hello Saferide's I Was Definitely Made For These Times, though I was devastated to discover that she played two London shows last week and I missed them. By the way, I definitely wasn't made for these times just so we're clear on that.
* Annoying my friends with pointless emails.
* Analysing my playlists on lastfm.com
* Doing the MySpace thing even though all the cool kids are on Facebook.
* Going to the gym - I actually like going to the gym but I can't help but wonder if that's because it means I'm not staring at my computer screen
* Drinking coffee and smoking fags - God, never start smoking. More than that, never learn to inhale
* Gazing aimlessly at The Great Bear by Simon Patterson, which is the picture on the wall above my desk, when I need to come up with a new character name




* Obsessing over my word count
* Making lists and not knowing when to stop

OK, I now have coffee to make, laundry to do and a chapter to go and revise, but what do you get up to when you're meant to beworking?

Welcome to the Rockalypse...

Happy Eurovision Day readers

Tonight I will be going to a Eurovision Song Contest Party, as is my wont to do. There's going to be a Sweepstake though I will pick the country that only get a measly un point from the Slovakian jury. But I think you can either turn up your nose and be too cool for skool about Eurovision or you can embrace the cheese. I embrace it with both arms!

I also just want to remind you that I do have a MySpace and that also I've just bought a 50's clock from a charity shop, which ticks so loudly I can barely hear the TV. I just felt the need to share that.

But for now, I thought I'd post an author's questionnaire I just complete for my publishers in the run-up to the release of the first Fashionista's Book, Laura on July 17th. Be warned! I ramble on and on and on and on and on...

1. Do you consider yourself a Fashionista?

I consider myself a Fashionista of epic proportions. I love clothes and accessories. In fact, two hours before I wrote this questionnaire, I was racing round the new Primark in London's swinging Oxford Street on a seek and destroy mission for a black, broderie anglaise summer frock.

I love how clothes can transform you, how you can be whoever you want to be depending on your outfit. I'm not a diehard fashion victim, I have my own look (which I call The Lipstick Librarian) but I like adding new pieces (a lot of new pieces!) each season to bring my style up to date. And I have little truck with fashion rules, like curvy girls shouldn't wear horizontal stripes. Fashion to me is just another way of expressing myself creatively and my fashion rules are that there are no rules!

My most beloved items in my closet are a vintage fitted dress with lurex stripes and a skirt that foofs out in a delightful manner and my limited edition Marc Jacobs multi-pocket bag in peacock blue with red top-stitching. It was so expensive that I had a panic attack five seconds after I signed the credit card slip!

2. Which character in your books do you identify with the most?

I identify the most with whichever character I happen to be writing at the time. I think that there is a common thread running through all my girls of people trying to figure out who the hell they want to be and how they're going to achieve that without losing part of themselves in the process. That's how I felt when I was a teenager. I knew I wanted to be a writer and I knew that I wasn't like a lot of other girls my age because of the way I looked and the music I listened to, the books I read and the things I liked to do. When I stopped kicking against that and realised that it was OK to be different, I became a lot happier in myself. So I guess I could really identify with Isabel from Let's Get Lost – not just because my mother passed away just before I started the book, but because I was so prickly and defensive when adolescence began to kick in.


3. How did you become a "Teen Queen Extraordinaire"? Was it always your dream to be a writer?

I have no idea how I became a Teen Queen Extraordinaire! Just luck, I guess! Certainly when I was a teenager, apart from loving Just Seventeen magazine (which I went on to write for), I shunned teen culture. But as I got older, I found myself obsessed and excited with things like old skool Sassy magazine and the TV show, My So-Called Life. My theory is that I made such a hash of being a teenager first time around, that I'm trying over and over again to get it right. I still feel the same away as I did when I was 17 – still trying to figure out all the big, heavy stuff and maybe that's why it feels very natural to write from the point of view of a teenage girl.

And I've always wanted to be a writer. Ever since I learnt the alphabet and suddenly realised that you could make words out of the letters. Certainly there are people who knew me when I was eight who can remember me announcing that I was going to be a writer – though I had a brief flirtation with wanting to be in a band but as I have no musical talent whatsoever, it was a very brief flirtation!

4. What is your favourite book?

I refuse to pick just one! The books that I re-read over and over again are Girl by Blake Nelson, Fabulous Nobodies by Lee Tulloch, The Pursuit Of Love and Love In A Cold Climate by Nancy Mitford, all of the Jane Austens (apart from Mansfield Park because I think Fanny Price is a stuck-up little prig) and Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita. Though I do read other stuff – anything and everything from Edith Wharton to Mills & Boon to biographies on Madame de Pompadour!

5. Who are your heroes?

Diana Vreeland who was a marvellous, idiosyncratic, eccentric woman who was editor in chief of US Vogue. I love the way she wrote about fashion and the wilful way she lived her life.
Coco Chanel because she liberated women by raising hem lengths so they no longer needed help crossing the road.
Courtney Love because she inspired me so much when I was younger. No matter what crazy stuff she pulls, there's something about Courtney and what she used to be that means I'll always be a little bit in love with her.
And Joss Whedon because he gave me Buffy and I'm probably more inspired by good TV writing than books.
I wish I had a few people in here who'd helped find a cure for cancer or campaigned for world peace, but I'm a very shallow person.

6. Are your characters ever based on people you know?

Not really. Usually it's people that I don't really know but there's something intriguing about them or what they're doing and I file them in my head and drag them out at a later date for a vignette or an incidental character. It sounds vague but for instance, I was in New York last November at a really cool restaurant called Bette's waiting for the loo next to this louche girl with the most sooty eyelashes I've ever seen and she was so full of ennui because she was beautiful that I thought, "Oh, you are so going into a book of mine!"

7. How do you get your ideas? Are they ever based on real life experiences?

They just happen. Diary Of A Crush was inspired by the two years that I spent at college after my school asked me not to go back to do A-levels. It was a time when I was changing and blossoming and that was what Edie was going through too – though I never had a Dylan. Let's Get Lost was directly inspired by losing my mother and thinking to myself how much worse it would be to lose a parent when you were a teenager and in the middle of that process of pushing your parents away so you can learn to be your own person. But Fashionistas, my new series, is inspired by everything that's going on around me in the world; from America's Next Top Model to car-crash celebrities to New York to the size zero debate to reality TV stars to Project Runway to walking past shops selling Saris to internet It girls to Agyness Deyn to post-Communist Russia! Everything inspires me and causes my imagination to almost implode and I wouldn't have it any other way.

8. What is your favourite band? Does music ever inspire your writing?

The bands I never, ever get bored of are Belle And Sebastian, Saint Etienne, Velvet Underground, Hello Saferide (a new addition but she's a keeper) and my Growin' Up Too Fast 60's girl group collection. At the moment I'm listening to a lot of Swedish bands and old French pop – I'm very Continental!

Music is a huge part of my writing process. Sometimes one song becomes a theme for a book (like Broken Social Scene's Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old Girl was for Let's Get Lost) but I always make a playlist for my main character and listen to it while I'm writing. It's hard at the moment as I'm writing Irina, the third book in the Fashionistas, and she's a Russian girl who listens to rap music, which I don't know much about.

9. Do you have any regrets?

Yes, but it's for the things I didn't do, not the things I did. Which is just how it should be!