Cleo Browne hails from Aotearoa New Zealand, where she grew up swooning over the rugged men in her Gran’s knitting catalogues and plotting world domination through daydreams and true crime documentaries.

When she finally had a bit of time on her hands and realised there were no books with heroines who reminded her of herself (minus the body count), she wrote her own. Tuesday Tombs was the first to march onto the page. Then the rest of her “mind people” kicked the door in and demanded their turn. None of them were patient. None of them queued. Now Cleo spends her days arguing with fictional troublemakers who refuse to follow basic instructions.
As a kid, she ended every story with “and then they died.”

Now she gets to write legitimately and for a reason. (And she's have gotten better about not killing everyone off. Mostly.)