I am not Catherine Cookson

No, I am not Catherine Cookson, despite someone at a writers’ group thinking that’s who I was, last night – but he had, apparently, already drunk five mojitos.


Coxon’s the name. Caroline Coxon.

Not Catherine Cookson.

Am I flattered?

Not in every way.

Here’s why.

  1. I was not born in 1906, despite appearances
  2. I am very much alive and well, despite appearances
  3. I don’t write historical fiction (despite appearances?)

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But goodness me, Catherine Cookson is an inspiration, if only for the sheer volume of her output.

Between 1950 and when she died in 1998, just 16 days before her ninety-second birthday, she published NINETY-SEVEN novels, still in print today, which have already sold in excess of 123 million copies and have been translated into twenty languages. She was the most borrowed author from UK libraries for seventeen years.

She wrote three or four novels every year.


There’s prolific for you.

And here’s me, with ONE novel under my belt, kind of resting on my laurels (only without the laurels) and thinking…I really must get Of Night and Light properly marketed and promoted and RECOGNISED by a wider audience before I tackle anything else.

Oh, and by the way, Catherine Cookson was a multi-millionaire. Do I look in any way like a multi-millionaire? I don’t think so. Except maybe after you’ve drunk five mojitos.

What am I waiting for?


Let’s work out the maths. Ninety-seven novels before the age of ninety-two.

Yep, that’d be three a year.

Watch me go!


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