I was sitting here a moment ago kind of gazing at the all the little ornaments that are scattered between my keyboard and monitor and then it hit me. I was staring at an angel of Harmony my mother-in-law got me years ago. Behind that are a pair of white china cherubs my m-i-l gave me after we visited her back in the UK five years ago, and in front of them is a little angel of peace my eldest daughter gave me a few years ago. Over the other side of the monitor is an unnamed angel in amber in a be-ribboned box.
Now, if that wasn't enough! Behind me on my knick-knack shelves are four glass angels (from younger daughter three years ago) and a box of three blessing angels (eldest daughter, three years ago)
The very first book I wrote after moving to Australia, aimed at Harlequin Mills and Boon, was all about an amnesiac who thought she was an angel (but in fact was being guided by her guardian angel) (and yes, it was totally rejected by M&B as being unsuitable for any of their lines!!!)
So really, why did it take me so long to get back to writing about angels when they are everywhere I look?!