A former journalist from Australia who graduated with majors in history and politics, I’m now a cross genre writer who is also a farmer, dog owner, gardener and embroiderer.

I didn’t plan to be a writer in those early days, I was far more a reader. But like most writers, I’ve always written – seeing the world through the medium of the word. It was inevitable that I become an independent writer simply because I love being at the cutting edge of something and together with many other ‘indies’, being at the forefront of the New Age of Writing and Publishing is like being a sea captain in the Age of Exploration. And I’ve been fortunate – winning gold medals, silver medals and honourable mentions for my work and to have them ranking unbroken in the UK for their entire published life!

I try to make time for other things in life. I love wine, chocolate and cooking delectable cakes and biscuits. I mess about in my gardens, dirt under the fingernails and a plant catalogue alongside a cup of tea. I stitch (I love needle and silks) – to wind down. I walk (a lot) with the Jack Russells but more than anything, I like being on beaches, boats or the water – being by the sea is implicit for my writing to sing.


Prue Batten


Please feel free to ‘like’ my Facebook page and my Pinterest page and to comment on my blog, and welcome to my books and my writing life…

From the Blog


Moving on…

Twenty two years ago, when we moved back to Tasmania from Melbourne, we built a house on the side of a hill. It was the only house on the hill at the time. And we grew a beautiful garden from nothing, surrounding the house with over 120 trees, including an avenue of silver birches…

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Last weekend, as the coast was battered by harsh southwesterly winds, we took the dogs far up the coast. Bending our minds to things other than packing cartons and sorting possessions.

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Who am I?

You know, sometimes I wonder how it is that I don’t have an identity crisis.

Mostly, I’m just Prue the Wife … or Prue the Dog Lady, Prue the Stitcher, even Prue the Gardener or Prue the Kayaker.

But then sometimes I’m Prue the Writer…

And when I’m Prue the Writer, I have many other identities because I have to BE my characters, you see.


I have to be a small man who is a medieval minstrel, I have to be an Arab sea-captain or a Saracen physician…

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All things white and beautiful…

I love a white garden and am gradually turning House’s garden over to white (with hints of black). I love the way the whites glow at night and the way they ‘pop’ with luminescence in the daytime…

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My weaponry?

I often hear about medieval fiction writers’ extensive collections; be it medieval Playmobil, Lego, Roman armour, weapons…

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*I wrote this post much earlier this year, not long after I had finished writing Book of Kings. Tobias was really just a seed of an idea. I wasn’t even sure there could be a book. I’m never a really solid sleeper and as I lay awake, I decided to write about the experience of a sleepless night. Here we go…*


Sometimes, not often, there are nights when you can’t sleep.

You have a nice long bubble bath at 11PM, with the warm water dribbling in – the most deliciously soporific sound.


You get out, pat yourself dry with a thick towel and rub some fragrant body lotion on –


some Crabtree and Evelyn, maybe some Chanel No.5 – whatever pleases you, aromas that draw you away to beautiful places.

You pull on the PJ’s – satin if that’s your fancy or crisply ironed cotton. Whatever, it is a clean cosseted feel over the skin. You climb into bed.


It’s been a long day and the body is tired and it’s impossible not to say ‘Aaaaah!’ as you lie back on smooth sheets, a perfect mattress and favourite pillows.

You read. For half an hour, maybe an hour, waiting for that moment when you know that your eyes are beginning to droop, the body is in neutral and the mind is nowhere.

But it’s midnight-ish and you’ve barely dozed. You turn out the bedside light and lie there, eyes closed, breathing, trying to draw you mind into a state of ease.

Looking at the clock is a wake-up signal. It reads 1.30 AM. You go to the loo in the dark, wander round the house, open the blinds and look out at the nightlights.


Make a hot milk drink in the dark in the belief that if you turn on the light, you really will wake up.

You carry it back to bed in the dark. Then realise you have to turn the bedside light on to find the bedside table in order to put the mug down.

You climb back into a bed that doesn’t feel as good as it did a couple of hours before. The sheets are rucked, the covers have slipped, the pillows are dented.

You read the latest Australian Country Style

Country style Jan 2010

 and get lost in gardens, houses, farming life and Jack Russell terriers.

It’s 2.20AM.


By the side of the bed is your book for these sorts of nights. Count Your Blessings – A Selection of Letters by Her Majesty the Queen Mother. You get lost in her calm, generous words and along with the night chorus from your belly, your eyes finally get heavy.

It’s 3 AM.

With luck, by 3.30AM, you might be asleep. To be woken at Dawn by birds who have no manners, no etiquette and the idea that world needs to share daylight with them. Two and a half hours sleep if you are lucky.

Could be worse…

You could get no sleep at all.


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