Richard Dee's Blog, page 70

Book Review. Race Against Time.

I’m fitting in an extra post today. I’ve been involved in
NaNoWriMo and posting about that on a Saturday. I’ve neglected my reviewing
duties, not that I haven’t been reading.

 I’ve just finished a great Sci-fi story, here’s a bit more about it.

Blurb

In 2012, many otherwise rational people had convinced themselves that because the Mayan calendar stopped at December 21st of that year, that we were about to enter the biblical end of days.

But it didn’t happen. Why are we still alive? Read the archaeological adventure Race Against Time for one possible explanation.

My thoughts.

I have to admit I’m a fan of Jacks writing. I love the way he weaves history, myth and legend from all over the world into an up-to-date adventure that drives along at pace. There’s never a wasted word, never a lull in the narrative. The mark of great fiction is never knowing for sure where the truth ends, this story is good because it just might be true.

I remember the book
Chariots of the Gods, by Erik Von Daniken, back in the 1960s. In it the theory
was expounded that aliens visited Earth in the dim past, helping our ancestor
to evolve before leaving, promising to return again. It was a fascinating idea,
and to my mind, explained a lot about the birth and growth of civilisation in
the years B.C. I think Jack was a fan too.

I digress a little. Race against Time is a very credible tale; partly built on the fact that the Mayan calendar stopped in 2012. Why? Nobody knows but Jack gives us a possible explanation. Combining historical facts with the fruits of his vivid imagination, we take a journey around the world, exposing all sorts of conspiracies and nefarious goings-on. As usual, there’s a fascinating cast, a hero in the Indiana Jones mould, villains at every turn, unexpected allies, love interest, femme’s Fatale, edge-of-the-seat adventures, even a cat joins in the fun.

The research is faultless, the scenes of the action in various locations around the world are expertly bought to life.

The conclusion will leave you wanting more, fortunately, there is a sequel, called The Forgotten Age

It’s going on my list, I need to know what will happen next.

In short, if you want a fast, easy to read adventure, that combines what you know with what might be, this is the book for you.

Four stars from me.

I’ll be back tomorrow with another BlogHop.

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The last Saturday of NaNoWriMo 2019

Welcome to the last of this year’s NaNoWriMo posts. As there are five Saturdays in November this year, it gives me the chance to tell you all about this year’s attempt. And I can reveal that I’ve passed the magic total with The Hitman and the Thief, a Sci-Fi adventure. As of this morning, I’ve written a little over 64000 words. The first draft is just about complete. There’s work to do on it but I’m going to leave it for a few week’s until I start that.

Let me tell you a little bit more about The Hitman and the Thief.

The idea for the novel came from my workshop, a course that I occasionally run at literary events. I called it World-Building 101, its function was to briefly give people my ideas on how to construct a believable universe to set speculative fiction in.

The workshop used to go down quite well, over time I expanded it, largely because I figured that it might help people avoid all the mistakes I had made. I had talked to people who had great ideas but were discouraged from writing by the thought of creating a world to base their stories in. I wanted them to see how easy it could be. My workshop has now become a textbook, which is something that I never thought I’d write.

As part of the workshop, I used this brief passage, written to illustrate a point about backstory. I wanted to show how you could fit it into action without slowing the pace of the narrative.

The shot rang out and concrete
was chipped by my head.

“Come on,” gasped Lydia,
grabbing my arm, “run!”

I was dragged down the street,
in and out of the shadows cast by the flickering lights, “keep your head down
Dan,” she said.

“It’s just like on Gallix,” I
managed to wheeze as, bent double; I followed her around a corner. Out of sight
for a second we dodged into a dark alleyway. There were no more shots, but we
could hear running feet and shouts.

“When we had to get away from
Kalindra and her boys,” she finished while I tried to fill my lungs. “I had to
save you then.”

“I thought that I saved you?” I
replied.

“In your dreams.” We stood in
the dark and tried to get our breath back, shrinking into the darkness as two
men, guns held in front of them, ran past us. The blatant show of weapons
reminded me that I was out of my depth here, far from my old stomping ground.
They probably had the local law in their pockets, we were the outsiders.

I was getting angrier and
angrier with Fliss Bauer, back on Gallix. ‘It’ll be easy,’ she had said, ‘just
get in and do this for me, it’ll wipe your slates clean’.

And we’d believed her.

I digress, although it was never intended to be much more
than a conversation piece in my workshop, ideas about what happened before (and
after) those brief paragraphs started making their way into my head.

I decided to tell the rest of the story.

It was a change to how I usually work. Instead of starting at the beginning, with no idea where I would go, I had a passage from somewhere in the middle of the story and had to lead up to it, as well as progress past it.

This was what I came up with.

Here’s an extract from near the start, I’ve gone over it for
errors, if you find any, please understand that this is only a draft, the bare
bones of the finished article. All the hard work is yet to come.

In it, Dan (the hitman) is about to assassinate a gangster called Kalindra. He’s waiting for her in a hotel room.

The room was in darkness, I turned the light on, pulled the package from my waistband. I unwrapped a short-barrelled revolver, it looked like something from a museum. Where was my Restra? My weapon of choice was a marksman’s pistol, nine shots in the magazine and one in the chamber, a hair-trigger and super accurate to about fifty yards. In my hands, I could choose which eye to put my shot through. This was a piece of junk, with a range measured in feet.

I’d have to get up close, I guess I knew that already but with only six shots it wouldn’t help me discourage pursuit. There was no spare ammunition, not that I could reload it easily under fire anyway. I was cursing my luck, wondering whether Hesta was right and I was being set up to fail; when I heard a noise from behind the couch.

I swung the pistol in an automatic gesture and turned the lights off. I had seen enough, been here enough, to find my way around. Keeping to the dark side, away from the thin curtains at the moonlit window I crept along the wall, past the closed door that I knew led to the bedroom; until I was level with the couch. I picked a book from the shelf in front of me and threw it across the room.

A shadow detached itself from the dark area behind the
couch and moved towards the door. I pounced on the shadow and we wrestled for a
while in silence. There was something strangely erotic about the feeling of my
opponent as I tried to subdue the twisting body. I grabbed at the head and felt
thick wavy hair spill from some sort of clip. My hand was over the mouth, the
lips felt full and soft, no trace of stubble on the top lip. What was a woman
doing here?

“Stop it,” I whispered, we had made enough noise to bring
unwanted attention. In response, she struggled some more.  

I placed the pistol at the side of her head, pulled the
hammer back with a loud click. That stopped her thrashing. “No noise, nod if
you understand,” I whispered, willing her to comply before things went even
more wrong. The head gave a small jerk. I released my grip.

“Who the hells are you?” I asked. There was silence, just
her heavy breathing. “Answer me, are you one of Kalindra’s mob?”

“Who’s Kalindra?” It sounded genuine to me, there was no
pleading, no hesitation. If she had been, surely she would be shouting for
reinforcements at this point?

“Are you hotel security?” she asked, “I’ve paid off
Thorsen, check with him.”

“I’m not security, let me guess, you’re a thief?”

“Yes,” she said, “and you’re on my turf. Get lost.”

Oh, this was great, I’d found a burglar, just when I was
about to assassinate someone. She would have to go as well. It was a shame but
this was no time for sentiment.

“Sorry,” I said, “but you’re in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

My plan is to rewrite the current draft in January, sending it over to my editor for a look in February or March, depending on when she has space. Then I will do her corrections and pass it on to my beta readers. If they like it, I’ll incorporate any suggestions they might make, after another edit, it will be ready for publication.

If all goes well, it will be on sale by the time next year’s NaNo comes around. By which time, I should have another project well underway.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this tour through my NaNo projects
past and present. If you’ve attempted the challenge this year, I hope you achieved
your target.

I’ll be back tomorrow with a book review (I’ve been neglecting them a bit). On Monday, there will be another Blog Hop.

Have a great weekend.

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A Winter’s Tale, festive Flash Fiction.

I wondered about writing a Flash Fiction for Christmas, that got me thinking about how you might celebrate it if you were living on a different planet. Or even if you would. The date is really just an artificial construct that has grown up due to the physical characteristics of the planet, and events have been fitted into this pattern over millennia. But if you were somewhere else, say you were on a planet with a solar year of 480 days, set light-years away and remote, you would have to start again. And that threw up all sorts of questions.

That all seemed a little complicated for what was meant to be a bit of lighthearted storytelling. I only wanted to write a Flash so I set it a little closer to home and made it a bit more familiar.

Maybe you were right

The crew had drawn straws and Martine had lost. I hadn’t bothered, I was happy to stay and let someone else go.

It wasn’t as if I had anyone special to go home for and I honestly couldn’t be bothered with Christmas, all the commercialism and repeat movies, it was for families and kids. The rest of the crew were on their way back to Earth for the holidays, I was the one who was stopping in orbit to watch the shop with the reluctant loser.

I hadn’t been lucky with that, or so I thought. It was typical; Martine was the one person that I had hoped was going home; she was the one who was stopping. I reckoned that the psychological profilers had slipped up with her when they had selected the crew. If I could have chosen someone else to share the fortnight with before the new crew arrived, it wouldn’t have been her. She was the awkward one.

Still, we had to make the best of it.

“Why did you offer to stay?” she asked me, as we watched the shuttle depart, “Don’t you have any family on Earth?”

A lot of us were unattached, the agency preferred it that way, there was less potential for problems as far as they were concerned.

“No,” I said, “and before you ask, I’m not bothered with all the festive stuff. But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to enjoy being up here.”

“With me?” she finished. “I know we don’t really get on but I don’t want to have a lousy fortnight with you and a load of Bah Humbug bitching.”

She smiled, she had a nice smile, it was a pity that it hadn’t been on show more often.

“Truce?” I said. She smiled again, “I hope so. Let’s have a Happy Christmas.”

We were in low orbit and passed the whole northern hemisphere twice a day. As there were only two of us we had plenty of work to keep us busy. And as the time had passed we started to get on much better. She opened up, she was very upset to be here, and not because of me. She told me that she loved Christmas and all the festive activities with her family. Her enthusiasm got through to me and I even started to see why people celebrated. I dropped my Scrooge persona for her sake; it was bad enough that she was here without me making it worse.

We had agreed to stop work on Christmas Eve and relax for forty-eight hours, apart from the essential safety stuff. The agency had supplied us with vacuum-packed festive treats, but to be honest liquidised mince pies weren’t exactly enticing. But as we couldn’t have crumbs floating around in the cabin everything was made to be eaten through a straw.

As the day drew to a close we chilled and watched the night creep across Europe, we could see the snow-clad peaks of the Alps, the sky was cloudless and the twinkling lights of the cities made a living map.

“We’re in a perfect position to watch,” Martine said as we sipped our non-alcoholic festive drinks, at least that was what it said on the pouch. It tasted like spiced apple juice to me. We were strapped in to stop us bumping around; even lifting the drink to our lips was enough to change our centre of gravity and move us around the cabin.

“To watch what?” over the last few days I had got to know her better, she wasn’t really awkward, just quiet and intense and I had to admit the profilers had got it right after all, it was me that had been out of step. I had learned to get on with her and was glad that she had stayed. Her reply still surprised me though.

“To see Santa on his sleigh, we have a perfect view.”

I thought that she was joking, “We could film it; record it,” she carried on; “prove it once and for all.” Surely she was a bit old for all that?

“It would all be a bit of a blur,” I said, joining into her train of thought, “he would have to move really fast; all those houses in one night.”

“My nieces would love it though,” her eyes shone, “they still believe. I think I still want to, because of them.”

“I think we all want to believe,” I said, “it’s better than the real world with all its cynicism.” Had I really just said that? It showed how much being with her had changed me.

There was a rattle from the hull, we had grown used to the occasional piece of dust or whatever bouncing off us, relative motion meant that it was unlikely to do us any serious harm but this sounded like a lot more than usual.

Martine looked at me and raised an eyebrow, “a few bigger pieces, perhaps we should swing the cameras around and have a look.”

“Perhaps its reindeer,” I said, she leant across and punched me on the arm.

“Don’t mock,” she advised; a flash of the old Martine. “Just when I thought you were going all mellow.”

The station suddenly rocked violently from side to side, Martine screamed, or perhaps it was me. All the loose objects bobbed around, creating a blizzard of motion, it was like being in a snow globe that had been rapidly shaken.

“What was that?” I shouted over the wailing alarms.

“There,” she pointed through the port, heading away from us towards the centre of a sleeping Europe was a dark shape. It must have been moving fast, it was already glowing in multiple colours from the heat of re-entry, green and red and gold as it hit the top of the atmosphere.

We both unstrapped and floated around the cabin, cancelling alarms, catching and stowing all the floating objects. As we competed to grab things in the confined space we kept bumping into each other. It turned into a game and we couldn’t stop laughing.

The last alarm to cancel was by the airlock, as I pushed the button, silence fell on us, broken only by Martine’s breathless giggles. I happened to glance through the inspection window.

“Did you put them in there?” I said.

Martine floated across to me; she looked through the clear panel at the collection of coloured boxes sitting on the deck.

“Maybe you were right about the Reindeer?”

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The Indie Showcase presents, Lorraine Mace,

Please welcome crime writer Lorraine Mace to the Showcase.

Love me, Love my Killer.

When my partner finished reading the final draft of Retriever of Souls, the first in the
D.I. Sterling series, and told me he was appalled – couldn’t believe what I’d
written – I knew I was on to a winner. What he disliked (too mild a word, but
it will have to do) was the fact that I had identified so completely with my
serial killer. He (the partner, not the killer) was profoundly disturbed by the
sections written from the killer’s point of view and couldn’t quite come to terms
with the thought of this monster being created by someone he shared a home
with.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I hadn’t created the
character, he’d been in my subconscious, hiding behind other characters, and
simply pushed his way to the forefront of my mind when I needed him.

Murderers, rapists, torturers and others, even more
unpleasant, are all there, waiting their turn to come to life on the page. And
this is where the non-writer doesn’t understand the workings of a writer’s
mind. We have people living in our heads, all clamouring to be heard. It’s a
kind of madness, I suppose. A creative multiple personality disorder. If our
characters are going to work on the page they have to be real – to us and to
our readers.

When writing Retriever of Souls I had to get under the skin of my killer and allow him to get under mine. I had to let him come to life with a past, present and future. I didn’t want him to be one-dimensional.

I couldn’t write what I thought
the killer would think and feel. I knew I had to become him. I had to put
myself so firmly inside his head that what he said and did came from him and
not from me.

My aim was to have the readers feel ‘there but for the grace
of God go I’. It wasn’t easy, but I was determined to make my audience feel at
least a tiny bit sorry for him. And it’s because I succeeded that my partner
was disturbed. He didn’t like the way he was made to feel while reading. He
wanted to put the killer into the ‘bad man’ box and shut the lid, but he
couldn’t, because my character deserved pity as well as condemnation.

I think most of us have a dark side to our nature, but we
suppress this so that we can function in society. Generally, I’m described as a
kind-hearted person, always ready to lend a helping hand, so to become one with
someone who is not only on the borders of insanity, but is the complete
opposite of my own character wasn’t easy. When writing my crime series, I have
to allow my mind to let that dark side out – and it isn’t always a pleasant
experience.

In fact, writing the six books of the D.I. Sterling series
has been one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever done as a writer – or as a
human being. My partner knows not to interrupt me when I am in killer mode
because I snarl even when asked something as innocuous as would I like a cup of
coffee.

Anyway, I think I know why my partner is so horrified by my D.I. Sterling series. He once commented that he feared I was planning his murder and using my research to work on the perfect crime. I reassured him that as long as I was writing he had nothing to worry about. Just because part of my mind is focussed on evil deeds doesn’t mean I actually want to carry them out – well, I don’t as long as he doesn’t upset me too much.

Bio:

Born and raised in South East London, Lorraine lived and worked in South Africa, on the Island of Gozo and in France before settling on the Costa del Sol in Spain. She lives with her partner in a traditional Spanish village inland from the coast and enjoys sampling the regional dishes and ever-changing tapas in the local bars. Her knowledge of Spanish is expanding. To stop her waistline from doing the same, she runs five times a week.

Find Lorraine at:

Website: www.lorrainemace.com

Blog: http://thewritersabcchecklist.blogspot.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/lomace

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lorraine.mace.52

Book links

Retriever of Souls: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Retriever-Souls-Sterling-Lorraine-Mace-ebook/dp/B07ZR9QR7Q

Children in Chains: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Children-Chains-Sterling-Lorraine-Mace-ebook/dp/B07ZR7X6PP

Injections of Insanity: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07ZR9HFTX

Rage and Retribution: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07ZK9B1PW/

My thanks to this weeks guest for a great post. I hope you all enjoyed it.

While you’re here, why not have a look around the site? There are FREE things and a whole lot more, just follow the links at the top of the page.

You might also like to join my team. I’ll send you a bi-monthly newsletter, filled with news, updates and extra content, as well as more about me and my worlds. You’ll also get a free short story and offers on my novels. Subscribe by clicking HERE

If you want to be
featured in a future Showcase, where you can write about whatever
(within reason) you want, then please let me know. Use the comment box below
and I’ll get back to you.

You can catch up on
previous Showcase posts by clicking HERE

Don’t miss the Saturday Rewind, next Thursdays Showcase post, and my musings every Monday.

Have a good week,

Richard.

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Blog Hopping. To Market, to Market…

Welcome back to another BlogHop, with#OpenBook. Read on for this week’s prompt.

We’ve touched on this in the past, but it bears
repeating. What’s the best way to market your books?

This is an interesting subject. In the nearly seven years that I’ve been self-published, I’ve tried all sorts of ways to market my books. I’m still searching for the magic formula that works.

The problem is, I actually hate marketing. I started writing
as a hobby. I only really do any marketing because I’ve seen others doing it
and think that perhaps I ought to make an effort every now and then.

I’d much rather write and publish, have nothing to do with selling. I guess it’s a result of my life, I never had to do any marketing while I was at work, and to be honest, I hate being ‘sold’ something. So I shy away from shouting ‘buy my book’ at every opportunity. Now I’ve retired there are so many other calls on my time, things I couldn’t do when I was working. Spending hours marketing is not high on my list.

You might wonder at this point, why do I write if I don’t want to tell everyone about it? My response is, do you tell everyone about all of YOUR hobbies? Why do you do anything you enjoy? So you can talk about it endlessly?

It’s my way of passing the time, being creative, keeping my brain active. The end result gives me pleasure. People who find my work might enjoy it, they might buy more of my titles, tell their friends. Or they might not. It’s not my life, just a part of it. There’s no pressure on me to sell.

Which is not to say that I don’t have an online presence (Obviously, as you’re reading this). Before I retired, I created this website. I still blog frequently, not just about writing. I talk about cooking, my life and what interests me. I promote others. I tell my Facebook and Twitter audience about my books and share any good reviews I’ve been lucky enough to receive (but not too often, I’d hate to be a nuisance).

I’ve tried paid advertising, on Amazon, Facebook, Google and
Twitter. With little success.

I’ve joined a writers group; been to events, libraries and festivals. Given talks and workshops.

I have a small group of beta and advance review readers, who tell me their honest opinions of any new work before it sees the light of day. I also have an editor who works tirelessly to ensure the quality of the finished article.

And yet, I still don’t sell as many books as I’m told I
should do (at least when you compare my sales to those of others).

Despite the fact that I’m quite a shy person, I feel most comfortable when I’m talking to someone about what I do, I definitely sell more books face to face at events than I do online or via social media. Personally, I find social media hard work. It can be very time consuming; taking up time when I could be writing or doing something else, unconnected with writing.

Sadly, I’ve also been on the receiving end of the less pleasant side of things on various platforms, which has put me off trying to be more visible.

At the end of the day, you have to manage your expectations. When I started, I imagined instant fame and fortune, these days I’m much more realistic. As I’ve said many times before, a single sale is good, what makes me happier is a review or a message from someone who enjoyed reading one of my books.

What do you think? If you’re a writer, how do you market your work? If you’re a reader, what sort of marketing gets your attention? Please leave a comment below and then go and visit all the other great blogs on the hop.

I’ll be back on Thursday, with another Indie Showcase. Saturday will feature my thoughts on this years NaNoWriMo challenge.

Whatever you’re doing, have a great week.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!
Click here to enter

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The fourth Saturday of NaNoWriMo 2019

To continue my series of posts about NaNoWriMo, this week I’m telling you about last year’s efforts.

I had an idea for a Steampunk novel, in the style of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. It would be set in the same country as my others but at a different time, some years after the events in those books, when their heroes were historical figures.

My Steampunk journey so far, just click the picture for more information.

It began as a tale about Jackson, an orphan who discovered a secret. By the end of the story, he’s fallen in love and helped save the world from a megalomaniac! The story has all sorts of strange but ever-so-slightly logical Steampunk science, a sprinkling of fantastic machines, action and adventure. Mostly they are things that you might be familiar with, just different enough to show that you’re not in Kansas anymore.

I finished the story early in 2019, had it edited and sent it out to my beta readers. This is what one thought,

T he Sensaurum and the Lexis, it starts off slow with a lot of building both of world and character, but once it lets loose it takes off like a shot! I loved how it branched off from A New Life In Ventis, but was still completely its own being. It’s a fantastical world filled with gears, pneumatics, airships, and intrigue aplenty that kept everyone on their toes. It has that rare ability to pull you deep into the story even when things are building and moving slowly, you sit down to read for a few minutes and all of a sudden; its hours later! In the beginning, the characters portray as pretty flat, one-dimensional beings but as you read they come alive and by the end, it’s as if they are living and breathing people. All in all; it’s another spectacular read that very clearly shows the hard work and love that has been poured into it! I always try to balance a positive with a criticism, but honestly, I wouldn’t change a single thing about it! I loved it and thank you for the opportunity to review this jewel!

Here’s the Blurb

Jackson has lived in the Makewright Orphanage since his parents were killed in an accident. Now, he is selected to join a band of agents under the control of Sir Mortimer Langdon, investigating the murkier side of life in Norlandia.

In this tale, Jackson is thrust into action against a man who would use perverted science to take over the world. Using the latest fantastic creations of Steampunk technology Jackson and his friends must thwart The Master of Automata. 

Here’s a little sample from the story. Jackson had discovered that he is to be trained to spy for his new master, the enigmatic Mortimer Langdon. He is given an example of the technology of the times, a slightly different take on what we do here, yet within the realm of possibility.

“We’re all prepared outside. Sir Mortimer, ma’am,” Fairview spoke in the accent of a man from the wild, forbidding northern parts of the country.

“Good. Come on then Jackson, you’re about to find out what your new boots can do. Did you feel the lump in the sole? It has a purpose.”

Intrigued and excited, Jackson fell in with the rest as they moved outside. He prodded at the lump with his toe, but nothing happened.

They went through the door in the panelling of the basement room and arrived in a small courtyard, between the back of the house and the tall wall that encircled the orphanage. It was hidden by the shape of the building and Jackson had never guessed at its existence before now. The wall was at least fifteen feet high, of red brick with a small door set in it. Gas lamps threw dark shadows.

Jackson gazed about. He thought that he saw movement; a figure came from the shadows and moved towards them. He saw that it was a girl; in fact, it was one that he recognised. Appearing to be about his age, she was tall and pleasantly rounded, with long dark hair piled on her head. It was secured with an ornate metal pin, shaped like two entwined swans. Jackson had often wondered how she had retained it from the light-fingered among the females, now he was starting to understand a lot more of the hierarchy of the orphanage, he was seeing all things differently.

“Jessamine Batterlee,” he said, “What are you doing here?”

She smiled, “I’m to be your accomplice Jackson, I see you have the boots, like mine.”

Jackson looked down at her feet. Peeping out from beneath her skirts were the toes of boots, highly polished like his. He had never noticed her wearing them before, and he had stolen more than a glance at her when he thought he was unnoticed.

Now, she tugged at her waist and the skirts fell away. Underneath, she was clad in trousers not unlike his, except they were tighter. Jack felt embarrassment, he had never seen a woman dressed so, never guessed at the shape that was revealed. The narrowness of her waist was emphasised by the wide black belt she wore, the hips and legs were long, full and shapely.

Jessamine was obviously unconcerned with her new appearance. “Follow me, Jackson,” she called, running toward the wall. Jackson was about to shout at her to be careful, it seemed that she could not stop before she dashed herself against the brick. She jumped at the vertical face, swinging her feet up to kick at the wall. Jackson fancied that he heard a click as she stuck fast, her feet three feet from the ground. Then she started to climb, moving up the wall as a babe crawls over the floor. It was as if the wall were horizontal. She swiftly reached the top and sat astride the bricks, her leg swinging. She waved down at him.

“Well Jackson?” said Mrs Grimble, “your turn. What are you waiting for?”

Jackson looked at her, aghast. “How can I do that?” he asked.

“You climb with the boots on the brick, and you wear these on your hands.” Mrs Grimble passed Jackson a pair of fingerless gloves, “press the fingers and palms onto the brick,” she said, “and kick the toe of your boots against the wall, you will stick.”

Jackson reached up and placed the palm of the right glove against the wall. He tried to pull it away, it was firm. He lifted his left boot and kicked at the wall with the toe. There was a click and when he tried to pull it away, he found that it too, was stuck fast.

“How?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” came the swift reply from the new Mrs Grimble. “Just climb.”

“No,” Jackson shook his head, he was becoming uncomfortable, attached to the wall as he was, by one hand and one foot, but he wanted answers.

“Tell me how to move,” he demanded, “my hand and foot are stuck.”

“This one will be trouble,” Mrs Grimble said to no one in particular. “It will all be explained, Jackson, but now is not the time. You merely have to adjust your position so that you remove the weight, do that and your hands and feet will release.”

Jackson tried it and found it to be true. He put his left hand on the wall, slightly higher and transferred all his weight on it. He lifted his right. It came away easily and he moved it higher and placed it against the wall again. Swinging, his hand held him tight. He tried the same with his feet. Now he had the method, he began to climb easily.

He reached the top, feeling unfit and out of breath. Muscles unused to such exercise ached as he straddled the bricks, sitting facing Jessamine. She was grinning, her teeth white and even.

I’ve fallen in love with the world I’ve created and had so much fun exploring some of its possibilities. Once it’s been edited again, I plan to publish it in March or April 2020.

If anyone is interested in a beta read of the story, please leave a comment below and I’ll be in touch.

I already have an idea for a sequel, featuring another threat to the peace of Norlandia. This time it will be an adventure on the high seas, a threat from outside the country.

At the moment, it’s called The Safety of the Realm.

I hope that you’ve enjoyed this journey through my NaNo history. Please leave a comment below. Next week, I’ll bring you right up to date with news of this year’s project. If you’ve been writing and you’ve managed to get over the NaNo finish line, well done. If you haven’t got to your target, don’t be disheartened. Credit is due for trying; it’s not the end of the world, nothing you write is ever wasted. I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself and got the basis for something amazing.

Here are links to the whole series of NaNoWriMo posts,

NaNoWriMo 2014

NaNoWriMo 2016

NaNoWriMo 2017

Monday will feature another BlogHop, the Showcase will return on Thursday. Have a great weekend.

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The post The fourth Saturday of NaNoWriMo 2019 appeared first on Welcome to my Worlds..

The Indie Showcase presents, Jae Malone

Please welcome this weeks guest,

Thank
you Richard, for giving me this opportunity to publicise my books and my love
of an area I go back to whenever the opportunity allows; the West Country, mainly
Somerset and Dorset. Having grown up in Sherborne in Dorset and later, living
near Glastonbury reignited my fascination with the Mendip Hills. The network of
limestone caves is a perfect setting for some powerful fantasy scenes.

Having
read showcases by friends, Helen Hollick and Angela Rigley, I agree marketing
is the main problem. However, as I understand it, and here perhaps I should say
– allegedly – mainstream publishing rarely puts as much effort into marketing
new authors as in previous times, preferring to concentrate on better known
authors who have an established fan base.

Following
our escape from an abusive marriage, my children and I spent time in women’s
refuges while trying to establish a new life. Later, having successfully moved
on and studying for an HND in Business Administration, a lecturer suggested I
write my story as something positive for others in similar situations and
thought it might be cathartic.  I tried, and
it wasn’t. It felt as though my emotional scars were being torn open. However,
although I was never able to write the full story, I have written three short
stories relating to episodes during that time: ‘Sanctuary’ and two one-hour
real-time incidents.

Encouragement
to write from my lecturer and my second husband, David, gave me the confidence
to try and surprisingly, after years of office work and raising a family, I
found my imagination still worked. I wrote, ‘Silver Linings’ a Christmas fantasy
adventure of a world populated by human and fantasy characters that sparked
into flame and continued in a series of four now published books, with a
prequel explaining how various events in these books occurred, and a spin-off led
by two of the newer characters currently in the pipe-line. 

With publishing, I chose to take the independent route rather than approach mainstream as I wanted my book, my way. I have control over what I want to write. It’s important to me that my characters are allowed to play the part they were meant to in the plot I have devised.

Me, me with Chris Rankin – Percy Weasley from the Harry Potter films and me with David Bradley, character actor from Game of Thrones, Harry Potter films and many, many more television, theatre and film roles.

So, let me introduce you to my books,
beginning with the volumes of ‘The Winterne Series’.

I began writing ‘Silver Linings’ the first volume of ‘The Winterne Series’ in 2005 and published it in 2006. It received very favourable reviews in the local press and on retail sites e.g. Amazon. The Winterne Series tells the story of Sam, uprooted from home and left with relatives he barely knows.  One turns out to be a character from childhood legend and Sam has to deal with bullying, criminals and finds himself in a world he would never have believed existed.

Extract: Silver Linings

Sam knew time was running out. Jonah
appeared to be closing on him and he had to think quickly. There would be a
confrontation, there was no way to avoid that, but he needed an advantage. On
and on he went along the seemingly endless tunnel that turned and twisted,
climbed and descended, slipping a couple of times where the ground was wet. 

Eventually, after
what seemed like hours, the tunnel descended again and widened.  Sam listened for sounds behind him. Jonah was
still there, breathing hard and grumbling, the sound of his voice carried along
the tunnel. That’ll teach him to get out of PE so often! 

Wondering how
much further he would have to go, Sam moved on and followed the tunnel as it
wound round to the left, in the distance an eerie green light glowed. At first
he thought he had come across another of the elves’ caves but soon he found
himself gazing around a vast cavern with a huge crystal-clear lake. The green
tinged glow seemed to radiate from algae that fringed the rocks circling the
water.

Sam also recalled
Charlie explaining that a number of the caverns had their own natural light
that radiated from an algae existing in the water and on nearby rocks. It was
not bright enough to read by, but it would certainly allow a person to find
their way about. 

 He was on a ledge approximately a metre above
the water and about three metres wide that seemed to border the entire lake.
The base of the ledge was crowded with stalagmites that rose up in columns of
various sizes to meet the stalactites above them. Some met in the middle as the
limestone enriched water trickled down from the ceiling. Many of these columns
were as much as a metre wide; massive limestone pillars with fluid ribbons of brown,
yellow, cream and white. 

At the far end of the cavern, more tunnels honeycombed out in different directions and he wondered which way he should go. Which of those would be a way out? Placing his feet carefully along the slippery ledge, he edged his way toward the tunnels but a gasp behind him made him turn. Jonah had arrived.

Reviews for Silver Linings:

‘An intriguing read.  This book
would work well on the big screen.’   Alan
Clifford – BBC Radio

‘An imaginative adventure with a dark streak.’    Jeremy
Lewis, Nottingham Post 

‘Trilogy’s stirring start. A cleverly written fantasy yarn.’   Dawn Bond, Newark Advertiser            

The book unfolds beautifully, with well-rounded characters and kept my daughter and I enchanted throughout.  I’m just looking forward to the sequels!!!  Amazon Reader

I bought this book as an impulse buy. I had no idea what it was about. Upon starting the book, I realised it was a young adult book – but enjoyed it immensely. Not quite in the Philip Pullman league – YET! But as a first book by Jae Malone, it offers amazing potential. The book unfolds beautifully, with well-rounded characters and kept my daughter and I enchanted throughout. It’s difficult to say anymore without giving too much away. I’m just looking forward to the sequels!!!    Amazon Reader

I bought this book a while back for my daughter but ended up reading it myself and bought the next three books in the series. It’s a lovely book to read and I can’t wait to read it again, this time with my daughter.    Amazon Reader

In 2006, ‘Queen
of Diamonds’ continued the story. This was a lovely book to write and my
characters almost seem to write the story themselves. I was quite sorry to get
to the end.

Extract:
Queen of Diamonds

“Jake, it’s good of you to call,” Harriet began.

“Well, I never ‘ad much choice did I?”

Harriet ignored that.

“Jake, I need to pick your brains.  You knew Jerry a long time didn’t you?”

“Yeah, all in
all abaht firty years.  What’s all this
abaht Mrs Atkins.  The Guv’nor said yer
lookin’ fer a lost relative or somefink.”

“Um, well I’m afraid I didn’t quite tell the truth
there, Jake.  You see, I’ve had a couple
of visits from someone who says he’s an old colleague of Jerry’s.  His name’s Maurice Fisher.  Have you ever heard of him?”

“You bin lyin’
to the Guv’nor?  You’ll get me shot if ‘e
finds out this ain’t on the level.”  Harriet
heard a loud gratingnoise in the
background, and, for a moment, Jakestopped
talking.  The noise stopped and he
continued with what he was saying. “I’ll
have me privileges took away.”

“I’ll take full responsibility.  I don’t want to get you into trouble, Jake,
but I really need your help.  I think
Fisher’s up to something, but not knowing much about Jerry’s past, you’re my
only hope.  I’ll sort things out with
Chris…I mean the Governor, if there’s any trouble.”

“You’d better be
as good as your word, lady.”

“Don’t worry, Jake. 
I just need some information from you.”

“Maurice Fisher
you say.  Sorry, but that name don’t mean
much to me.  I knew most of the types Mr
Atkins mixed with, right back to the Ginger Osgood days, but the name Fisher
don’t ring no bells. What’s ’e look like?”

“Well…he’s quite tall with greying dark hair.  He’s been here a couple of times…wears pin
striped suits and very cheap aftershave, I might add.”

“Well, that’s
not really enough to go on.  Anythin’
else?”

“He drives a BMW, if that’s any help…and he has a very
smooth…easy to listen to voice.”

“Yeah, well,
don’t make things easy will yer, Mrs Atkins?”

“I’m sorry Jake. 
I don’t…Oh yes, he mentioned something about investments he’d made with
Jerry.  All sorts of investments…and
diamonds, South African diamonds.”

“Diamonds!  Well why didn’t you say so.  There was only one bloke around like that
when Mr Atkins started lookin into buyin’ diamonds, but ‘is name weren’t
Maurice Fisher.  It was…wait a minute.  It’ll come ter me.  Just can’t think of it.”

“So you think you know him?  You remember him?”

“Gimme a
minute.  It’s on the tip of me
tongue.”  Harriet heard a deep voice
mumbling quite close to the telephone.   
“No!  Yer can flamin’ well wait till I’m done.” Jake
yelled to someone unseen. “Take yer turn
like everyone else.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“No, not you
Mrs Atkins.  Just telling’ this lot ‘ere.
There’s a queue fer the phone, but I ‘ad ter wait, so they can too.”

“Do you want time to think about it and call me back
later Jake?”

“No, no
it’s…Farrow, that’s right.  Now what was
‘is first name?  I think that began with
an M an’ all.   Farrow…Farrow.  Got it! 
Malcolm Farrow.  Nasty piece of
work ‘e was.  Bit of a bully-boy too, ‘e
was as I remember.  It was ‘im used ter
fake surveys on the ‘ouses what Mr Atkins wanted ter sell.  But ‘e got greedy an’ Mr Atkins didn’t want
’im aroun’ no more, so ’e closed up the business, gave Farrow ‘alf of it and
they parted company.”

“A nasty piece of work Jake?”

“Yeah.  Farrow’d sell ‘is own granny for a fiver in
them days an’ I can’t imagine ‘e’s improved any since.  If you’ve got dealin’s wiv ‘im, then watch
out fer yerself Mrs Atkins.  Get shot of
‘im, sharpish.”

“How much longer have you got to serve Jake?”

“Um…yeah,
well…wiv good behaviour, I could be aht in abaht eighteen monfs.  Why?”

“Well, behave yourself and come and see me when you
get out.  You never know, I might be able
to help you out with a job or something. 
I owe you a favour.  Write to me
when your release is near.”

“Well, fanks Mrs Atkins, I’ll do that.  I don’t never intend to find meself back in this sorta gaff again.  I’ve ‘ad enough; I’m gettin’ too old.”

Reviews:
Queen of Diamonds

Jae gets better with every book she writes and could easily give J K Rowling a good run for her money.’   Newark Advertiser

‘A loving and wholesome read.’  Jeremy Lewis, Nottingham Post

‘Jae Malone’s imagination is on the same wavelength as legendary J R R Tolkien. She writes with vividness, intensity and sophistication.’ Amazon Reader

Aimed at young adults, sadly I am no longer in this age category, however I love these books. This is the third book in the Winterne series following Sam and friends. If you like fantasy with a heart-warming storyline get into these books. I cannot recommend highly enough!   Amazon Reader

This set of books is amazing!  Jae Malone you have done a fantastic job at creating a book for adults and children alike, I won’t give any spoilers but these books are a must read and I would like to see this in the cinemas so I can finally do what these characters finally look like! Amazon Reader

‘Fool’s
Gold’ arrived the following year.











Extract:
Fool’s Gold

Away from the shelter of the alley
walls, the storm unleashed its rage as the rain hit her full on.  Sheet lightning followed forked lightning
with little let up in the crashing thunder aftermath.  Night-time on the streets of Alvarez City
could be dangerous but a storm of this force would keep most people at
home.  In this vicinity only the rats and
the criminal fraternity ventured out at night; the good and godly preferred to
ignore its existence.  Lightning split
the sky again followed by another roll of thunder. 

She opened her mouth to drink in the
rain as a car passed by sending a crescent of muddy water across the crumbling
pavement.  The driver had not noticed her
as he drove by and the tail-lights faded as the car quickly disappeared into
the distance.  Under a weak street-lamp
she tried to check her watch, but another lightning bolt gave her all the light
she needed.  She held her hand over the
watch to keep off the rain.  Her
destination was still fifteen minutes away on foot.  Lightning flashed and she laughed.  Even the rats hid on nights such as
this.   The wind blew her hood back but
instead of gripping it tighter to her head, she cackled again as her dark
shoulder-length hair clung to her head in sopping clumps, but she was
unconcerned by the downpour.  Being alone
at night in one of the worst storms she had ever experienced should have been
terrifying, but all she felt was exhilaration. 
With her head held high against the teeming rain and torrents gushing
from the roofs and gutters above, she strode through the puddles without a
care.  None of this was important; soaked
clothes and wet hair were of little consequence. 

A narrow alleyway opened up on her
left.  She entered the dark, deserted
high walled corridor between tenement buildings without hesitation and soon her
eyes became accustomed to the inky blackness. 
In this narrow place, there were no street-lights at all, only the
reflected light from a few of the apartments above.  She stayed close to the wall avoiding the
rush of displaced water overflowing from the swamped drains that could no
longer cope with the deluge that raced down the central gully and striding
through the torrent, she kept up a steady pace, excited and eager to get her
business over and done with. 

Sheet lightning tore the sky, the first
flash followed by another and another, the tall white buildings revealed in
stark ghostly contrast to the red-black sky. 
Thunder roared, rolling on and on answering the lightning.  The storm was magnificent, charged with
electricity; she thrilled at its glorious force. 

The narrow alleyway snaked between
ramshackle tenements where few lights burned. 
Within, grown men were hiding under beds praying to whichever deity they
worshipped, for the storm to pass them by. 
Contemptuous of their superstitions she chuckled at the absurd
image.  The storm was her ally. 

The maze of interconnecting alleyways
criss-crossed the district of El Lugar de Tres Perros (The Place of Three Dogs)
and, in this sector of the city a person walked with danger after dark.  Her coat felt heavy, but it was not the rain
that weighed it down, the full bottle of Tequila in her right inside pocket and
a bulky envelope in the left, dragged it down at the front.  They felt heavy against her ribs but were
less obvious inside her coat, a bag would have invited trouble and she had no
time for unnecessary interruptions. 
Nothing would be permitted to interfere and, although she was scared of
no-one, it would be stupid to attract attention. 

She quickened her pace, sloshing
through the swollen puddles.   A cat, far
too wet for its colour to be determined, glared miserably at her from its
hiding place under a communal rubbish bin. 
It skulked away from her, ears flattened and spat at her before slipping
out of sight under the bin.  Animals
always behaved that way when she wore the amulet, but their reactions were not
her concern.  

The rain ricocheted off the ground and
ran into her boots as she hurried along the narrow alley; she could hear little
over its constant drumming.  She glanced
again at the luminescent face of her watch. 
She would be late, but he
would not complain; he had too much to gain. 
Or so he thought. 

The rain eased a little and she brushed the wet hair from her forehead.  Lightning flashed again provoking an even louder crescendo of thunder and a scream from one of the shabby two-room apartments nearby.  She gave a snort of derisive laughter, cut short as a dog appeared from nowhere, its wet coat clinging to its skeletal frame.  It sidled up to her apparently seeking comfort from the storm; its eyes wide with terror, but it only took a second to realise he had found the wrong person to go to for reassurance.  Their eyes locked, his hackles stood on end and more terrified of her than the storm he slunk away, low to the ground desperately seeking a place to hide.  Further up the lane he squeezed underneath a burnt out car, where he shivered and whined until she passed by before sloping away, still whimpering, into the darkness.

Reviews:
Fool’s Gold

Jae has a fluid, easily accessible writing style, while the stories feature richly layered plots where high fantasy, school-year tribulations and dark nefarious deeds interweave.

Steve Bowkett.  Writer,
storyteller, educational consultant, Member of Society of Authors
and National Association of Writers in Education (NAWE).

Children of all ages will enjoy this book and particularly those in early to mid-teens should identify with these volumes. They will recognise and like Malone’s younger central characters; and anyone who likes a little underground elf activity will not be disappointed.  The author is a fine storyteller who seems effortlessly to combine the natural and the supernatural worlds. Editor: Nottinghamshire Today

Wow. I can’t wait to read this new book. I have so enjoyed reading the three previous books.    Facebook Reader Review

Then,
after ten years running New Writers UK whilst working full-time and organising
events, I reduced the administrative tasks to return to my first love, writing.
This year has seen the launch of book four in ‘The Winterne Series’, ‘Avaroc
Returns’ which begins in the
Midlands but moves to the Mendips.

Extract: Avaroc Returns

All five students nodded gravely and
made an oath on the Lords of Alfheim to obey. But no-one saw Piras and Ciran as
they crossed their fingers behind their backs and winked at each other. Sadly,
on this occasion, Piggybait’s instinct for knowing when trouble was coming, let
him down.

             It
was the best kind of night for foraging. Countless stars shimmered in the dark
velvet blue sky, the ground was frozen, the air crisp and clean and, apart from
an occasional barking grunt of a stag, the yipping high-pitched bark of a fox
somewhere in the distance, and the odd hungry owl that flitted by, all was
quiet. With daybreak on its way, the bats had returned to their roosts and most
of the woodland wildlife was still snuggled up in dens, setts, dreys and nests
to keep warm by sleeping through the cold days, hibernating until Spring.

   In fact, the venture had begun so well,
everyone obedient and attentive – even the twins –  Piggybait had started to think it was going
to be an enjoyable night after all,  but
things began to go wrong when they found themselves close to Bragg’s Farm.
After his warning, he was confident the elflings – again, even the twins had
listened, but they hung back and when Piggybait and their companions walked
ahead, they slipped away through the trees unnoticed, eager to prove how daring
they wereand that would show the
others they were smarter than their tutor.

             They
scrambled across a fallen tree trunk spanning a narrow part of the river, and
snuck away into Bragg’s barn, completely forgetting to check where the dogs
were and, as luck would have it, on this night they were not chained up.

Having
reached the cider barn and busy with self-congratulation, Ciran made a whooping
noise, startled some sleeping hens and their noise awoke the dogs. What
followed was a confusion of barking dogs, lights, shouts, cries, clucking hens
and feathers.

             Piggybait,
on hearing the disturbance, left the other three elflings with strict orders to
stay where they were until he returned, dashed to the farm, leapt over the
fence and darted in front of the two loose, slavering Mastiffs to act as a
decoy to allow the twins time to get away. He was surprisingly agile for one of
his age – even an elf. Distracting the dogs from the now terrified twins,
Piggybait sprinted into the surrounding trees with the snarling dogs following
him. He did not see the back door open, light flood out into the backyard or
see the pellets being loaded into the shotgun. A gunshot rang out! Bragg! 

             Convinced
Bragg could see him easily on such a crystal-clear winter night when the moon
was full and the sky teeming with silver, glittering stars, Piggybait fled from
the swiftly pursuing dogs with their bared teeth and slavering drool. He could
hear the unfit and overweight Bragg swearing and gasping for breath as he
struggled to follow the dogs and their target. But Piggybait still had a slight
lead on the dogs and ran on to where he knew there was a small gap in the
fence. This should give the twins time to get away; he hoped they had had the
sense to join the others hiding amongst the trees.

             Wriggling
through the fence, expecting to be safe on the other side, he stopped to draw
breath but the dogs, around one hundred kilos of vicious, solid muscle, barged
through as though the fence were made of matchsticks. Shattering panels into
splinters, they charged but Piggybait was already speeding away towards the one
place he knew would stop them. The river! Too wide for the dogs to jump, and
too fast for them to swim, Piggybait knew he could lose them there. 

             While
he raced along the riverbank searching for the right tree, they almost caught
him. They were so close he could smell their hot, foul-smelling breath.
Reaching the tree he had used earlier, he sprang up the thick, gnarled trunk to
the higher branches wishing it was summer and there were more leaves to hide
in. But no matter, he was safe enough, dogs could not climb trees and Bragg was
too fat.

             He rested, watching the frustrated beasts below desperately trying to leap  high enough to snatch their quarry from his refuge. He was beyond their capture, but he had no doubt what they would do if they caught him. 

Review: Avaroc Returns

With Avaroc Returns being fairly new, working on the
children’s competition for months and editing a friend’s memoirs, I haven’t
actually asked for reviews yet, but this one was sent directly to me via
Facebook. I was thrilled to receive it.

‘I read all 4 books of the series once more
after reading book 4, ‘Avaroc Return’s. Wow! What an amazing series. I was
totally enthralled with all of the books. Your writing just flows so
wonderfully, and it’s so exciting as the amazing stories developed. The final
book in the series was so sad at the beginning, and I was so overcome with the
evil of Avaroc. You kept me guessing and wondering just how the story was going
to end. I tortured myself by only reading so much each night to make it last
longer. The story had so many rich and appealing characters, and I wondered
what on earth they could possibly do to fight of the evil of Avaroc. 

I loved the new characters who were brought in, and their relationship to the ones which I loved and had lost. Your story unfolded to such an exciting finale I almost felt like cheering. My daughter is going to read them next and I will ask her to let you know how much she enjoys them. I was planning a film for the series. I was so sad the series had ended but I’m looking forward to lots more stories in the future. Thank you so much. SR xxx

New
Writers UK

Having
met other independently published authors, I began New Writers UK as a not-for-profit
support organisation for traditionally or independently published, who had no financial
or marketing support. Associate members e.g. proof-readers, copy-editors,
illustrators, graphic designers, website creators and others who had the skills
to assist the writers joined. In addition, I organised Meet the Author
sessions, talks, book festivals – primarily in Nottinghamshire but were also
held in other East Midlands venues – designed to bring new writers to the
attention of the reading public.

These
book festivals led to six-day borough wide arts festivals. New Writers UK continued
to grow well beyond the UK, and we had members in various parts of Europe. All
these issues took over and, again, my writing took second place until I reduced
my workload.

Recently I launched two books for younger children, ‘Lorna and the Loch Ness Monster’ which has the approval of Historic Environment Scotland, administrators of Scotland’s historical sites, and ‘The Raven and the Thief’ which is set at the Tower of London.

Other
projects and events:

My
most satisfying undertaking was, in 2009, to create a free-to-enter annual
writing competition for Nottinghamshire children. Children from School Year 4
to 18 year can enter. Annually, finalists receive awards and presented with a
published collection of their entries at a civic ceremony; this year we had 39 finalists.

Since
founding New Writers UK I have organised projects working with diverse groups
of people. One, a history project, ‘Myths and Legends of Mansfield
Woodhouse’ helped local children discover their area’s heritage and write
stories giving their theories of how bygone incidents had taken place.

In
2012, I set up a short story competition for over 55’s – ‘Silver Scribes’. Twenty
of were selected for an anthology and the authors were presented with copies of
the book. Some were so encouraged by seeing their stories in print, they went
on to write their own novels. Three ladies were published separately in ‘Granny’s Tales’, seven lovely stories for
reading to children and grandchildren. 

When
I retired from Nottingham County Council, the Chief Executive suggested I visit
day centres for people with special needs. At a centre for older people I read
short stories aimed at helping dementia sufferers recall precious memories.

Then
came two day centres with groups of people with learning difficulties and
physical disabilities and assisted them in writing their own children’s
stories. ‘The Magical Wizard and the
Easter Egg Hunt’, ‘A Frog Called
Rod’, ‘A Chicken Called Doris’
and ‘An Elephant Called André’ resulted
from these visits and went on for two years.

Currently, in addition to the two ‘Winterne Series books mentioned previously, I am continuing my books for younger children with a series on the care of our wildlife animals  intended to gently encourage awareness of conservation. The first two ‘Blue Teaches a Lesson’ when a mother badger has to teach her cubs that there’s more to survival than play, and ‘Mrs Pringles Needs a Nurse’, are now with the illustrator, Jess Hawksworth.  Both books should be available by Spring 2020.

Jae Malone

Author of ‘The Winterne Series’

Website: www.jaemalone.co.uk

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Jae-Malone-1390870774527409/

Member of The Society of Authors (SoA)

Member of The National Association of Writers in Education (NAWE)

My thanks to this weeks guest for a great post. I hope you all enjoyed it.

While you’re here, why not have a look around the site? There are FREE things and a whole lot more, just follow the links at the top of the page.

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If you want to be
featured in a future Showcase, where you can write about whatever
(within reason) you want, then please let me know. Use the comment box below
and I’ll get back to you.

You can catch up on
previous Showcase posts by clicking HERE

Don’t miss the Saturday Rewind, next Thursdays Showcase post, and my musings every Monday.

Have a good week,

Richard.

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Blog Hopping. How long…, has this been going on?

With apologies to Paul Carrack. Welcome to another BlogHop, with #OpenBook. Here’s this week’s prompt.

How many hours a day do you write? How long on average does it take you to write a book?

Before we begin, I had a request after last weeks BlogHop post to put my avatar pictures on my blog.

So here they are.

Back to the prompt.

I wrote the first paragraphs of what was to become Freefall way back in 1979. I initially thought it would be a short story. I got to where I thought would be a good ending and left it, meaning to return one day. Life got in the way and I never did go back.

In 2011 I started it again, I actually had an idea for a second short story, which I realised could be joined to the first and would turn it into a novel.

Freefall was published in April 2013. Which is 34 years! Far too long a time to base a writing career on.

I wrote my second novel, Ribbonworld as a NaNoWriMo project in 2014, with time on my hands when I was off work with a shoulder injury. I’d had an experience that seemed like a good starting point for a mystery. It took me a month to write the bulk of it and a few months to edit and polish, it was published in 2015, a year after I started it.

My idea then was to produce one novel a year. But I found that I was getting quicker, ideas flowed and I had a job keeping up.

I now write about 1500 to 2000 words on most days. I don’t keep score anymore. I did in 2017, just to see how many words I would actually write over the twelve-month period.

I wrote 514,000 words in the year and published four novels and a book of short stories. I was really surprised to find out the total. I never felt under any pressure to write that much; I never do. When the ideas come into my head, I just put them down.

Now, I often construct a novel ready for a beta read in two months or less, ready for publication in six months. As I often find myself switching between projects, the six-month periods overlap, enabling more than two books a year. Sequels tend to be quicker as I already have the world, it just needs a plot. New work takes a while longer as I have to start from scratch and create the setting as well as tell the story. A lot of that time is actually spent waiting for my editor or beta readers to work their magic, I’d hate to rush them; of course, I can carry on writing the next book while I wait.

This year, I’m attempting NaNoWriMo for the fifth time. I have had three successful novels from the challenge, with my 2018 project ready for publication in March 2020. A bit later than I would have liked but it’s the first of a new series and I had other things to publish first. Readers ask me for sequels and I hate to disappoint. So far, I’m keeping up with the NaNo challenge and if it all goes well, I’ll have a first draft for my editor by Christmas. The edited novel will then go to my beta readers, if they like it, I will publish it later in2020.

I tend to write for an hour or so early in the morning (before anyone else is around) and again late at night, especially in summer, when there is so much else that I want to do in the day. In winter, or when it’s raining, I may do a bit in the day if I’m not going out. I don’t set a formal daily target of time or words. It’s always apparent when to stop as the inspiration will dry up, whether it’s after an hour or some other amount of time.

What about you? please let me know your thoughts, your writing routines and how long it takes you to complete a novel. Leave a comment below.

I’ll be back on Thursday with another Showcase post, featuring an Indie Author with something to say. Please click the links to see the other great blogs on this hop.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!
Click here to enter

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The Third Saturday of NaNoWriMo 2019

Welcome to the third of my retrospective NaNoWriMo posts, we’re now up to 2017.

Once again, the novel that my project became is on sale at a special price. If you like the sound of it, just click the cover picture.

Unlike 2016, this year there was no short story to base my attempt on. I was starting from scratch. As well as Andorra Pett and the Oort Cloud Café, I had published three sequels in 2017, Myra (the sequel to Freefall), A New Life in Ventis (the sequel to The Rocks of Aserol) and Jungle Green (the sequel to Ribbonworld).

To be honest, I was growing weary of writing sequels and wanted a change. I had an idea, based on a dream that I had had years before, where I lived in a town that was vaguely like my home, but with a few differences in the layout. Nothing special happened in my dreams; but for a few nights, I lived an alternative life in this ‘almost home.’ It felt realistic whilst I was asleep and I don’t recall thinking it was a dream while I was in it.

In summer 2017, I was enjoying a free trial issue of a science magazine. There were some fascinating articles about dreams and the brain, this actually got me thinking about where my alternative town had come from and how dreams and reality could be linked. I figured I could write a story incorporating the facts from the magazine and my own experiences.

Life and Other Dreams was the result. In it, one man repeatedly dreams of a life on another planet. He thinks it’s a result of his job, advertising foreign holidays he will never take. But, when his dreams and his reality start to overlap, we (as readers), are left wondering which of his lives is real and which is a dream.

Or could they both be real?

Here’s the blurb,

Rick lives here on Earth, now, with Cath. His life is boring, writing adverts for cat food and exotic holidays. When he’s asleep, he dreams vividly.

In his dreams, he lives as Dan, spending his time with his wife Vanessa. They live six-hundred years in the future, half a galaxy away. They’re explorers, searching for valuable minerals on Ecias, an alien paradise.

When the two worlds start to overlap, Rick starts to question what is real. Events in his waking and sleeping lives are mirrored, similar people inhabit both and coincidences mount up. Then disaster strikes in each world at the same time. In his dreams, Dan is accused of a crime he didn’t commit. Meanwhile, after one coincidence too many, Cath thinks that Rick’s dreams are hiding an affair and leaves him.

Is Rick going crazy, or can he be living in two places, two times, at once? If not, then which one of them is the reality? Will one life carry on when the other is on hold?

It’s difficult to give you a flavour of the whole dual-life concept in a short post, so I’ll just give you a part of one of them. In this extract, I describe Rick’s visit to a psychiatrist, where he explains what he thinks are his dreams. He describes his life as Dan, on the planet Ecias, six hundred years from now.

“You’ve told me a lot about your dreams,” Doctor Borth said. “Can you tell me how real your life is when you’re in one of them? Do you feel surprised when you wake and find that you’re not there?” I wondered where this was going.

“It’s very real,” I said. “In my dreams, I have a full life. I’ve spent months on Ecias, done so much work. I’m a geological surveyor there, I checked out some of the technical terms I remember using, they all match. I’m not a scientist so I don’t know where they come from. When I’m there, I don’t think of here in the same way.”

He took more interest at that point, leaning forward. “So, when you’re on… Ecias, you use a technical vocabulary that you don’t in this life?”

“That’s right. It’s the same with the Latin names for plants and trees. And there’s more. I know things that can’t be true.”

“Wait,” he held up his hand. “What do you mean, things that can’t be true?”

“I can describe how a spaceship engine works, how we can travel faster than light. It all makes perfect sense to me. If I had the equipment, I could have a good try at making one for you. And I can use a multi-sensor mapping drone, use machinery that doesn’t exist.” I realised that my voice was getting louder; I was getting excited as I told him, remembering more and more as I went on.

“I’ve looked, none of it’s been invented but I use it all the time, I’m familiar with it, how it works and how it’s made. Hell, I can even tell you which planet the things are made on, who invented them. I don’t just use the stuff, if it breaks down in the forest, I can strip and repair it too.”

If that surprised him, he never showed it. His face was blank; the eyes behind the thick lenses gave nothing away. Maybe it was the sort of thing he heard all the time, perhaps his working life was filled with tales of galactic explorers.

“Interesting,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Do you live a day at a time in your dream?”

“If you mean, do I sleep there and wake there in the mornings, yes I do. In some dreams, I live on Ecias for a month or more. Before you ask, when I’m there, I don’t dream of here. Or if I do; I don’t recall it in the same way. When Cath left, I tried to remember and write everything down; I found that the act brought up more and more detail.”

“You mean like writing in a diary would here?” he suggested.

“I’ve never kept a diary but I guess so. What I mean is that the act of remembering things prompted me to remember more things.” I showed him the thick sheaf of papers, the notes I had started on the day after Cath had left. There were more now, I’d added quite a lot to them, details about my findings online and the things that had happened with Anna had brought them up to date.

“Are they your notes? Can I see them?”

I passed them over, he flipped through the pages. “May I make copies?” he asked. “I can assure you that nobody but me will see them. I haven’t the time in this consultation to read them all.”

“Of course you can,”

“Thank you.” He stood and crossed to his desk. There was a small multi-function printer on it, next to a computer screen. He laid the papers on the tray and clicked a few buttons. There was the noise of the machine warming up. Soon, copies started to appear in the output tray. He had to reload the paper during the operation, I hadn’t realised how my rambling about life on Ecias had grown.

The machine finished. He returned my sheets to me and sat again. “Thank you, I will read them with interest. Now, tell me one specific thing,” he said. “Take a day in your life on Ecias and tell me about it. It doesn’t have to be a special day, any day you like.”

I thought for a moment, then I recounted the last day on Ecias that I had really been happy. I told him about the journey from our place into town, the time when Vanessa and I had ended up having sex by the side of the road. Telling him that, and he never flinched at some of the details, reminded me of the first time we had driven up to the place we would call home, our prefabricated cabin in the clearing. So I started talking about that.

I told him how the cabin had been dropped in by lifter, just as soon as we had cleared the undergrowth. From that, I remembered from the fun that Vanessa and I had doing it. I told him about the animals that we saw from our window, once they had got used to our being there. How we fed the local Sawgrass family muesli from our hands, how their tongues felt against our palms.

“Hold on,” he said. “Do you realise you’ve been talking for more than twenty minutes, you’ve told me more about the day you moved into the cabin, all the things you did, than I can remember about when I moved to my new house. And that was only a month ago. Not only that, it’s all consistent, there’s nothing that you’ve said that doesn’t follow logic, or change with repetition. It leads you to other memories as well, which indicates a consistent timeline.”

Here was the big question. “So, do you believe me?”

Life and Other Dreams was published in March 2019. An early reviewer said:-

“It’s a book you think about long after it’s finished and one that truly belongs in the upper echelon of sci-fi, surpassing much of what has come before. It creates its own identity which is an amazing thing. It’s rare for a book to feel as fresh and new as this. I wondered partway through if it would be similar to ‘We Can Remember It For You Wholesale’ by Philip K Dick (which was later turned into the film Total Recall) but no. It went its own path and one that I’d say works better than that of Dick’s story. I like the fact that no proper comparison can be drawn, as nowadays there seem to be so many similar books with the same themes and plot devices. It is really nice to have an author write what they want and not just pander to what performs the best in the charts.”

Here’s another, more recent review,

You can get Life and Other Dreams at the special price of £1.99 ($2.99) until the end of November. Just follow THIS LINK.

Next week, I’ll be talking about last year’s NaNo project.

If you’ve missed the previous posts in this series, you can catch up here,

NaNoWriMo 2014

NaNoWriMo 2016

I’d love to get your comments, please leave them below. While you’re here, why not take a look around? There are some freebies and lots more content, about me, my writing and everything else that I do. You can join my newsletter for a free short story and more news by clicking this link.

I’ll be back on Monday with another BlogHop. The Showcase will return on Thursday. If you’ve been attempting NaNo this year, hang in there, you’re nearly done.

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The Indie Showcase presents, Valeriya Salt

Please welcome this week’s guest to the Showcase.

Hi, everybody. First of all, I want to say thank you
to Richard who’s hosting me here today.

My real name is Valeriya, but I prefer to be known
under my pen name L. Salt.

I’m a multi-genre author from the United Kingdom,
currently publishing exclusively with Crazy Ink Publishing.

My route to publication was long and complicated.

I was born in Belarus and have lived for many
years in Ukraine
and Russia,
then finally settled down in the North of England.

I studied History of World Culture and did my Master’s
Degree in Art Expertise at the St. Petersburg University of Culture and Arts.
My interest in writing dates back to my teenage years.

I started to write at school, at the age of 12-13. I wrote a sci-fi series about time travel and other dimensions. I always liked to tell stories, creating new, fancy worlds.

I haven’t written anything for more than ten years, but then, I started to write again, and this time in English. I think my relocation to the U.K. combined with the boredom of living in a small, industrial English city has trigged my interest in creative writing.

Relocation from St. Petersburg, the second-largest city in Russia, wasn’t easy to me, so creative writing became my option to escape from reality to a better, fancier worlds.

There were lots of rises and falls on my way to be a
published author. God knows, how many times I was ready to quit, but some
unknown force kept pushing me to write and submit to agents, magazines, and
publishers again and again.

The first tiny success which inspired me to carry on happened in 2016, when one of my short stories The Iced Asylum was shortlisted for the Eyelands’ International Short Story contest in Greece. The story was also published in their anthology Stories in Colour. This very first victory played an enormous role in my future as an author. Till then, I’ve already written my first full-length novel The Ways We Follow (Book 1 of The Ways duology) and was looking for a good home for it. I found it, but a year later, in 2018.  

Till that time, I’ve almost finished Book 2 of the duology Angels of Zion

Both books are set in the near future in St. Petersburg, Russia.

I didn’t waste the whole year, I was writing, editing,
submitting, getting rejections, and…resubmitting.

As a result of all this hard work, my second short story The Imp’s Chronicles was published in Full Metal Horror anthology by a small Australian publisher. It was also re-released as a re-print in an on-line magazine Strange Zine. 

You may ask me why I’ve decided to spend all this
time, chasing publishers instead of self-publish? Well…there’re a few reasons
for that. Fist of all, I wanted to challenge myself (and my writing),
persuading editors that my writing was worth investing their time and efforts.
As an emerging, inexperience author, I really wanted this recognition from
professionals.

Secondly, I really wanted my books being edited, formatted, and marketed after all by professionals. I do believe that traditional/semi-traditional publishing is a good start for first-time authors who haven’t created their massive audience of readers yet. Besides, editing, proofreading, covers, formatting…of course, an author can do it himself/herself, if they have all these skills or they can employ a freelance editor, graphic designer, etc. All of that requires an enormous amount of time and cost authors decent money as well, so as I’ve already mentioned, a traditional route of publishing became a win-win situation for me.

In April 2018, my debut thriller/action novella His Personal Reich was released by Crazy Ink Publishing, and I’ve been writing exclusively for this publisher ever since.

I wanted to share my experience here because I know how daunting and exhausting life of an aspiring writer can be. I hope my example will become an inspiration to all of them.

Now, I want to share an excerpt of my new and upcoming release, a thriller/suspense novella The Seeds of Stars with the plot set in Scotland, Berlin, and the Adriatic coast of Montenegro.

You can find this book together with my other works on Amazon and all major platforms both in ebook and in print.

The Seeds of Stars

Ebook: http://mybook.to/SeedsofStarsCI

Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1697566561/

UBL: https://books2read.com/u/3npM5K

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/48360283-the-seeds-of-stars

 Blurb

The life doesn’t promise to be joyful for a “Chernobyl child” born straight after the nuclear disaster. True…but not for such an adventurer, adrenaline junkie, and popular extreme sports’ blogger like Yuliy Kobrin, aka Kobra. Adopted by a British couple, Kobra spends his life in urban exploring and travels.
 Skiing in the Scottish Highlands, Kobra meets a young German couple, Edel Baum and Kira Schneider. The new friends invite him to their luxurious house, where Kobra’s attention is drawn to Edel’s collection of World War II antiques and a mysterious Yugoslavian file which the couple asks to translate for them.
The file reveals classified underwater facilities from the Cold War times, hidden deep in the Kotor Bay of Montenegro. Yuliy can’t miss an opportunity for such a discovery.
Six months earlier, a prominent scientist died in his apartment in central Berlin. The authorities believe it was a heart attack, but a police officer, Trina Stahl, thinks this case is far more dangerous and complicated.
All hell breaks loose for Kobra when he comes under attack in the Kotor Bay when he realises his new German friends are not who they say they are, and his life now is of interest for many parties. From Montenegro to Scotland, from Berlin to the Isle of Skye—Kobra is on the hunt for a mysterious alien object, the Seeds of Stars, but also for the truth about his own past.

An Extract

Chapter One

Aviemore , Scotland

   The snow, the
sun, and the speed…crazy, dangerously crazy speed—that what he enjoyed the most
here. His snowboard wagged and jumped over snowdrifts, gliding through the
endless slope of Cairngorm
Mountain. The other
skiers flew by like tiny colourful birds with their arms opened like wings to
keep their balance.

A jump over a drop, another one…years of snowboarding,
skiing, and many other extreme sports had made his body strong and agile. A
minute later, he left all the other skiers far behind, gliding through a small
pine wood. A quick, confident smirk ran across his lips, but his triumph was
premature, as a slim figure in a bright red-and-black suit had appeared from
nowhere, looming behind the pines just a couple of yards in front of him.

  He frowned,
couldn’t believe some newbie had shown him up. He twisted his torso, leaning
slightly forward in order to increase his speed. The silhouette continued to
lurk behind rows of trees’ trunks, and he had almost caught up with it, but the
next second it jumped over the hump, leaving him even farther behind.

  He clinched
his fists instinctively. He wasn’t ready to lose. 

  His rival had
suddenly lost balance; the snowboard went out of control, and the figure rolled
head over heels to meet the tree.

  He had slowed
down and finally stopped next to the stranger.

  ‘Are you all
right?’ He hurried up to the growling snowboarder, pulling his helmet off.
‘Please, don’t move. It could be a serious injury.’

 The figure had
pulled their helmet off, revealing a heavy mass of long copper-red hair. ‘Ah,
I’m fine,’ the lady replied, her voice with a slight accent that sounded
pleasant, without a hint of anger.

  He stretched
his hand and helped her to get up.

‘You were quick,’ he admitted his defeat. ‘Where did
you learn snowboarding? Definitely not in Scotland.’

   ‘In Germany.’ The
woman smiled. ‘I’m Kira, by the way,’ she introduced herself. ‘Your face looks
familiar. I’ve seen you somewhere,’ she continued. ‘Are you…?’

  ‘Yuliy. Yuliy
Kobrin.’ He nodded. ‘But you can call me Kobra.’

  ‘Ah, of
course. I’ve watched a few of your videos about skiing and snowboarding on
YouTube. Your nickname suits you perfectly.’ She beamed, no anger or annoyance
in her voice. ‘Fast and sudden like a cobra.’

  ‘Do you want
to go back to the station, sit down, and have a drink? Can you walk to the
lift?’ Despite his defeat, a tiny needle of guilt kept on piercing his
conscience. ‘Drinks are on me in return to your honest feedback about my
channel.’ He didn’t want to miss a chance to talk to his new fan. 

  ‘Honestly, I’m
fine,’ Kira waved her hand. ‘But I’d gladly…’

   She didn’t
have time to finish as a male figure in a bright blue suit had approached them.
The man rushed to them, waddling
awkwardly on his skis and shouting something in German.

   ‘Edel, I’m
totally fine.’ Kira turned to the newcomer, when he approached them and pulled
his helmet off, observing Yuliy. ‘This is my fiancé, Edel,’ she continued,
introducing the clumsy skier. ‘He’s just starting to learn skiing.’

    ‘Pleased to
meet you, Mr…ehm…’ Edel stretched his hand for a handshake. His eyes, grey and
cold, kept on staring at Kobra.

A cold chill ran down Yuliy’s spine, and he realised
even his dark sunglasses couldn’t protect him from this challenging gaze.

   ‘Yuliy, aka
Kobra.’ Kobra shook the man’s hand, smiling.

‘Remember we’ve
watched his snowboarding tutorial on YouTube recently?’ Kira reminded her
companion.

   ‘I lost you,
I thought you might’ve fallen down and…’ Edel had started in a worried tone
again without paying attention to her last remark, but his fiancée calmed him
down.

‘I did fall down, but it was my own fault. I behaved
as if the whole slope belonged only to me, and Kobra has taught me a good lesson.’

    Edel
frowned, but Kira continued with a wide smile, ‘Mr. Kobra has offered to go
back to the top and have a drink in the café.’

   ‘I agree,’
Edel nodded, probably fed up of skiing.

    The trio had
left the woods and took a ski lift to the top, where the ski station was
swarming with guests this time of the year. 

    ‘So, how
long are you going to ski here? Where do you stay?’ Kobra had started as soon
as they chose a table and ordered drinks. ‘Aviemore? Kingussie? Somewhere farther?’

   ‘What do you mean how long?’ Kira asked.

   ‘Well…you’ve said you learned skiing in
Germany, you speak German, so I thought you’re just ones of these German
tourists who are coming to the Highlands for skiing, hiking, and Scottish
whisky from numerous local distilleries.’

   ‘Ah, that’s what confused you?’ Edel
chuckled.

   ‘We’re from Berlin,’ Kira continued. ‘About a year ago,
Edel bought a house
here, near Loch Oich. We
both always loved Scotland
for its scenery and opportunities for outdoor activities, so…when we got a
chance, we used it.’

   ‘I still need to travel to Germany for my
work ever so often, but we enjoy our life here, exploring, hiking, skiing,
swimming in the loch, trying to socialise and make friends,’ her fiancée
supported her.

   ‘Sounds like fun,’ Kobra nodded.

   ‘And you? What about you? You don’t sound
like a local.’ Kira squinted. ‘There’s not much information about your
background online either.’

  ‘I am a tourist here,’ Kobra smiled. ‘I’ve
spent almost ten years trying to settle down around London and down the south,
but in the end, I just came back home to Derbyshire. There’re no opportunities
for skiing there, so Scotland
is the nearest ski resort for such an adrenaline junkie like me.’

 ‘But your name…it doesn’t sound English…’ Kira
stammered, realising her questions became more and more personal, but Kobra
wasn’t easily offended.

 ‘My English adoptive parents decided to leave
me with my given name. I was born in Ukraine, in a tiny village near Kiev, where my mum was
evacuated after the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant’s explosion,’ Kobra explained
with a deep sigh. ‘As a “Chernobyl’s
child” I was lucky to be adopted and brought to England.’ With that said, he pulled
off his sunglasses slowly and glancing at them with a challenge, but also
hope…hope that his new acquaintances wouldn’t be scared of his look.

 ‘Ehm…’ Kira stammered for a second, captivated
by this pair of deep amber eyes with thin vertical lines instead of pupils.

  Edel just swallowed his beer, trying to avoid
a direct eye contact.

 ‘And your eyes…I mean I don’t want to…’ Kira
had started unsurely.

  Yuliy nodded. ‘Ukrainian doctors prophesied
me to live in a complete darkness, but thanks to the local surgeons and my
parents who fought for me and my eyesight. I wore contact lenses at school and
college, not due to medical reasons, just to avoid bullying. It felt
uncomfortable, so now…I don’t do it anymore.’

‘You shouldn’t
care about other people’s opinions,’ Kira said, sincerity and warmth in her
voice.

Kobra kept silent
for a couple of minutes, feeling a bit overwhelmed by his own brave revelation
in front of two strangers whom he knew a bit longer than an hour.

‘So, any plans
for this weekend apart from snowboarding?’ Kira had broken the inconvenient
pause first.

 ‘Not really. What about you? Will you come
here tomorrow? I can show Edel a few tricks which may help him on the slope,’
he suggested.

‘Oh, thanks.’ His
new friend sighed heavily. Clearly, the idea of another day full of falls,
bruises, and scratches didn’t excite him at all. ‘We’d rather stay at home.
Maybe I’ll try to fix this damn boat, and we’ll have a trip around the loch.’

 ‘A boat? You have a boat?’

‘Ah, it’s just a
chunk of corroded scrap metal which Edel proudly calls “a boat”.’ Kira just
waved her hand in disapproval. ‘He’s bought her super cheap from Montenegro. A
former coastguard boat from the Cold War times with all these fancy relics and
insignia of the Soviet Yugoslavian Army…ah, I thought it was something worthy,
when he showed me her on a site of a surplus company, but when she arrived…’

‘Oh, I love such
things.’ Kobra clapped his hands.

   ‘If you’re such a military history
enthusiast like Edel, you’re very welcome to come and help him to fix this
piece of crap, but I don’t think she worth all these efforts.’ Kira shrugged.
‘I’ve told you…’ She turned to her fiancé. ‘Sell her to a scrap yard to get at
least some of your money back.’

  ‘I can come and have a look, if you’re
inviting,’ Kobra nodded.

  ‘I’d be grateful for any help.’ Edel smiled.
‘Where do you stay? Did you drive here or…?’

  ‘Yes. I’m staying in one of the guest houses
here, in Aviemore.’

  ‘Ah, it’s less than an hour drive from where
we live,’ Kira replied. ‘We live just some five miles from Invergarry village.’
She pulled a tiny block note out of her rucksack and wrote down the address. ‘Eleven o’clock tomorrow? Sound okay?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’ Kobra took a note from her.

Bio.

L. Salt is a multi-genre author from the United Kingdom. She studied History
of World Culture and earned her Master’s Degree in Art Expertise at the St.
Petersburg University of Culture and Arts. Born in Belarus, she lived for many years
in Ukraine
and Russia
and, eventually, settled in the North of England, where she currently lives
with her husband. Salt’s interest in writing dates back to her teenage years.
Apart from creative writing, she has a passion for traveling, arts, history,
and foreign languages.

Her debut novella, His Personal Reich was released in April 2018 by Crazy Ink Publishing. It will also be featured in the boxed set Chills and Thrills in May 2019. Her second novella, a thriller/mystery story Legacy of the Iron Eagle, released in February 2019. She is the author of the Off the Ways Series including The Ways We Follow (Book One) and Angels of Zion (Book Two). Her short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies, including the Crazy Ink Publishing anthologies Royal Scoundrels and Beyond Wonderland, as well as magazines, both online, and in print. Another of her suspenseful stories, The Seeds of Stars, will release in December.

Books by L.Salt

His Personal Reich
a thriller/action novella

Amazon: http://mybook.to/HPReich

UBL: https://www.books2read.com/u/3GY0jp

Legacy of the Iron Eagle
A thriller/mystery novella

Amazon: http://mybook.to/LegacyIronEagle 

UBL: https://books2read.com/u/meAP0z

The Ways We Follow

(Book One of The Ways Duology )

A romantic suspense/drama

Amazon: http://mybook.to/TheWaysFollowCI

UBL: https://books2read.com/u/bxYlEl

Angels of Zion
(Book Two Of The Ways Duology)

A thriller/suspense

UBL: https://books2read.com/u/mqG5oO

Amazon: http://mybook.to/AngelsZionCI

The Seeds of Stars

A thriller/suspense novella  (on pre-order now)

Ebook: http://mybook.to/SeedsofStarsCI

Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1697566561/

UBL: https://books2read.com/u/3npM5K

Follow L. Salt:

Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/saltandnovels

Facebook Group: www.facebook.com/groups/608692496170838/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/LSalt1
Blog: www.saltandnovels.wordpress.com
Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/saltandnovels
E-mail: saltandnovels@gmail.com
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/17915818.L_Salt
Pinterest: www.pinterest.co.uk/saltandnovels
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Have a good week,

Richard.

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