Miranda Kate's Blog, page 54
July 11, 2018
Review - Love Life, Rob Lowe
Love Life by Rob LoweMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
I have always been an unabashed fan of Rob Lowe, since my teenage years when I would gorge myself on his movies and everything 'brat pack', and I also enjoyed his first autobiography 'Stories I Only Tell My Friends', which went into detail about the Outsiders and all the actors involved in the it.
Love Life is a more emotional read, mostly due to it being written when Rob Lowe's son was about to go off to college. He shares his feelings with the reader about fatherhood and how much it has means to him, and the love he has for his children. Such openness prompted me to shed a tear or two. But it also contains humour too: I found myself laughing out loud at the thought of the headline 'Rob Lowe shot dead in forest, mistaken for Big Foot' or 'Rob Lowe's secret fetish: dressing up as Big Foot and roaming forest making wild mating calls'. Hilarious tale.
Rob Lowe writes fluidly, easily engaging the readers with lots of little anecdotes and a ton of name dropping. And he hooks the read in within the first few pages with a story about a vibrator. He clearly knows what he is doing as a writer as well as an actor.
In Love Life he speaks a great deal about his acting career and goes in to detail about acting itself. As a Drama Student back in my college years, I found this interesting and it gave me further insight into what life as an actor is truly like.
The book finishes off on another emotional note, when he talks about his marriage and his wife, and gives some profound observations on life and relationships. Rob shares deep feelings and thoughts with the reader, bringing them that little bit closer. I found his open, vulnerability endearing and special.
I would definitely recommend this book.
View all my reviews
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 63
This week's picture prompt is another where I can't track down the artist/photographer. I have however found the location - Lake Pehoe, Chile. Everyone shares this picture online but no one has accredited it anywhere. I can even buy it on canvas, particularly on French sites. Such a shame.
I only had an opening line for this tale and it ended up somewhere completely different, in a style and about a type of character I had never written before. I am not sure about it, but I like it enough to post.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
Choices
He screamed at the sky in frustration, ‘Noooo!’
It couldn’t end here, he had come too far. He looked along the shoreline in both directions but this had been the only place to cross, the remains of the partially submerged bridge visible.
He paced back and forth for a while, channeling the great bear energy, then let it go. It was useless to him now in this moment. He needed to rest and think.
Wahkan squatted down and folded his arms over his knees. He needed to get across the great lake to those mountains and he needed to do it before the sun had left the sky. He had been sent by the-one-that-knew, and he had to replace the slayer that had gone before him, who had been slain himself. It was up to Wahkan to right the balance. It was the only way that peace would return to his tribe.
He personally hated the eye-for-an-eye ideology, but the white man had brought it with him over the plains, and it had swept like wildfire among the tribesmen. They considered it the only way forward. But it was the way forward to madness and mayhem and the end of their people.
Despite knowing this, Wahkan had to follow the instructions of the chief – or did he?
He stood up stretching his legs. What would happen if he didn’t complete this journey? In some ways the journey had already been completed when the slayer had been reported dead. It meant his tribe had not won this part of the battle. But they weren’t satisfied with that, they wished a repeat.
Wahkan had no idea what or who he would face. He could easily be slain. At this moment he still had a choice.
Was this destroyed bridge a message from spirit? Was he not meant to reach the goal? Was he meant to stop and contemplate whether to go on? Was this a sign that he must turn around?
He was not a great reader of signs from spirit; they had to be blatant to get through, and there wasn’t much more blatant than this. He thanked spirit, and felt the knot that had been in his stomach for the last few days loosen.
But if he turned around where would he go? He couldn’t return to his tribe. He would be punished or worse.
Yet another choice to make; spirit clearly wanted him to show strength of mind instead of body in this matter. He had heard of other tribes far down south who held fast to tradition and refused to be drawn into the fight. He would head that way.
The new decision and intention sparked his enthusiasm. He felt relief and a sense of excitement. With a journey of discovery ahead rather than death, his energy was renewed. But despite his busy mind making plans, he took a moment to pause and admire the nature around him, thanking spirit for the moment of clarity and humility.
I only had an opening line for this tale and it ended up somewhere completely different, in a style and about a type of character I had never written before. I am not sure about it, but I like it enough to post.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
Choices
He screamed at the sky in frustration, ‘Noooo!’
It couldn’t end here, he had come too far. He looked along the shoreline in both directions but this had been the only place to cross, the remains of the partially submerged bridge visible.
He paced back and forth for a while, channeling the great bear energy, then let it go. It was useless to him now in this moment. He needed to rest and think.
Wahkan squatted down and folded his arms over his knees. He needed to get across the great lake to those mountains and he needed to do it before the sun had left the sky. He had been sent by the-one-that-knew, and he had to replace the slayer that had gone before him, who had been slain himself. It was up to Wahkan to right the balance. It was the only way that peace would return to his tribe.
He personally hated the eye-for-an-eye ideology, but the white man had brought it with him over the plains, and it had swept like wildfire among the tribesmen. They considered it the only way forward. But it was the way forward to madness and mayhem and the end of their people.
Despite knowing this, Wahkan had to follow the instructions of the chief – or did he?
He stood up stretching his legs. What would happen if he didn’t complete this journey? In some ways the journey had already been completed when the slayer had been reported dead. It meant his tribe had not won this part of the battle. But they weren’t satisfied with that, they wished a repeat.
Wahkan had no idea what or who he would face. He could easily be slain. At this moment he still had a choice.
Was this destroyed bridge a message from spirit? Was he not meant to reach the goal? Was he meant to stop and contemplate whether to go on? Was this a sign that he must turn around?
He was not a great reader of signs from spirit; they had to be blatant to get through, and there wasn’t much more blatant than this. He thanked spirit, and felt the knot that had been in his stomach for the last few days loosen.
But if he turned around where would he go? He couldn’t return to his tribe. He would be punished or worse.
Yet another choice to make; spirit clearly wanted him to show strength of mind instead of body in this matter. He had heard of other tribes far down south who held fast to tradition and refused to be drawn into the fight. He would head that way.
The new decision and intention sparked his enthusiasm. He felt relief and a sense of excitement. With a journey of discovery ahead rather than death, his energy was renewed. But despite his busy mind making plans, he took a moment to pause and admire the nature around him, thanking spirit for the moment of clarity and humility.
July 6, 2018
In Need of a Hug, Lisa Shambrook
A friend of mine, Lisa Shambrook, recently wrote a wonderful post called: In Need of a Hug. I loved it so much I wanted to share it on my blog too.
Here are some highlights, but to read the full post (with some great video links too) go over to Lisa's blog, HERE.
****
I read this week that the more you hug your children the faster their brains develop. New-born babies shown more affection had stronger brain responses. This shouldn’t be a surprise. Touch and hugs show affection, love, protection, and compassion, everything a child needs. It’s one of the reasons babies are born and placed on their mother’s chest or at their breast – skin-on-skin touch helps bonding and gives comfort.
I also watched a report of a man, Antar Davidson , working with children recently separated from their mother in a migrant detention home in Tucson , who was asked to intervene and explain to three siblings aged 16, 10, and 8 that it was against shelter policy to hug . He was told to tell them to stop hugging. Antar refused and quit his job. These children only had each other left in a terrifying and alien situation and they were asked to relinquish touch between each other. It seems an atrocious and altogether backward move to make.
Removing touch from a relationship can be dangerous. The ability to convey love and emotion within a relationship is paramount to keeping a bond and an emotional connection. One of our basic needs is to feel closeness, to touch each other, and to feel security within love. Animals know this . My dog welcomes us home with physical touch, and my cats rub against us and crave being stroked.
Shared with permission.
Here are some highlights, but to read the full post (with some great video links too) go over to Lisa's blog, HERE.
****
I read this week that the more you hug your children the faster their brains develop. New-born babies shown more affection had stronger brain responses. This shouldn’t be a surprise. Touch and hugs show affection, love, protection, and compassion, everything a child needs. It’s one of the reasons babies are born and placed on their mother’s chest or at their breast – skin-on-skin touch helps bonding and gives comfort.
I also watched a report of a man, Antar Davidson , working with children recently separated from their mother in a migrant detention home in Tucson , who was asked to intervene and explain to three siblings aged 16, 10, and 8 that it was against shelter policy to hug . He was told to tell them to stop hugging. Antar refused and quit his job. These children only had each other left in a terrifying and alien situation and they were asked to relinquish touch between each other. It seems an atrocious and altogether backward move to make.
Removing touch from a relationship can be dangerous. The ability to convey love and emotion within a relationship is paramount to keeping a bond and an emotional connection. One of our basic needs is to feel closeness, to touch each other, and to feel security within love. Animals know this . My dog welcomes us home with physical touch, and my cats rub against us and crave being stroked.
Shared with permission.
July 4, 2018
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 62
This week's picture prompt is rather marvelous and I had thought it would be easy to find the artist/photographer - but sadly to no avail!
July 2, 2018
Cover Release! - Slipping Through
I'm working on the final edits and formatting for my new book, due out on July14th. But I have finalised the cover, front and back. Take a look:
The ebook/Kindle versions are currently available for pre-order on Amazon and Smashwords.
I will be bringing out a print version that will be available on Amazon too.
Although there might be a handful of dark scenes in this book, it is a collection of science-fiction stories not horror, and stretches into surreal, with all stories containing some kind of time travel.
If this is something you might like don't hesitate to pre-order - and spread the word!
Giveaway
And don't forget, my giveaway for a chance to win a free pocket edition of Mostly Dark is still running!
The finally day will be release day for Slipping Through - 14th of July. Sign up if you haven't already! You have until Midnight Central European Time on the 14th to enter.
The ebook/Kindle versions are currently available for pre-order on Amazon and Smashwords.
I will be bringing out a print version that will be available on Amazon too.
Although there might be a handful of dark scenes in this book, it is a collection of science-fiction stories not horror, and stretches into surreal, with all stories containing some kind of time travel.
If this is something you might like don't hesitate to pre-order - and spread the word!
Giveaway
And don't forget, my giveaway for a chance to win a free pocket edition of Mostly Dark is still running!
The finally day will be release day for Slipping Through - 14th of July. Sign up if you haven't already! You have until Midnight Central European Time on the 14th to enter.
June 29, 2018
Review - Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
Brave New World by Aldous HuxleyMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
I wonder what Aldous Huxley would think of his books being read on a hand-held electronic device? At the time he wrote this he could not conceive of the technology that would arrive in less than a 100 years after he had written it. And although his descriptions of advancement in technology are out-dated and clearly based off what was available or popular in the early 1930s (like helicopters), the concepts he talks about are not. There are so many layers in this book.
I wonder why this book is not studied in schools rather than the likes of Lord of the Flies and The Handmaids Tale, which are not as well written or as philosophical about civilisation in their storylines - although Aldous Huxley's constant use of the word 'Pneumatic' might have something to do with it. A word that he seems to think covers a wide range of things, but is not really a word used in this day and age. This is one of the few down falls of this novel, along with its steampunk and old fashioned feel, which is common in Science-fiction from the turn of the century - it's dated. The same thing will happen in a 100 years with modern day sci-fi. The pictures authors paint of a modern future are tainted by the current state of technology and fashion.
It could also be the underline message in this novel that is so disturbing. The idea that to keep a world of genetically engineered people believing they are happy, they have to be conditioned through subliminal audio dictations while sleeping as children, and once they reach adulthood to give them access to a drug that they can take when they need to obliterate any emotion other than the pretense of being happy. They are conditioned that it is not normal to spend time alone and to always go out and socialise. And that everyone has sex with everyone else whenever they like - it's impolite not to. There is no risk of pregnancy or disease or aging. Their salary is the drug, to keep them under control and civilised, and at no time feeling anything negative. It's the ultimate horror novel - and why I enjoyed reading it so much. The ending is the other extreme of what happens when someone not raised in such conditioning tries to live and function there, and to some extent the outcome of such false living. I could say suppression but really, are they, with access to anything their hearts desire? Although that debate is in itself what makes this novel so intriguing.
I remember the film which doesn't really put across the depth of the novel, as movies of books often don't, and I think of movies like The Island which are influenced by this novel in the concepts of genetic engineering and cloning.
I understand why others might not enjoy this novel, with its outdated language and style, but I thoroughly enjoyed it and would recommend it to any science-fiction lovers.
View all my reviews
June 27, 2018
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 61
This week's prompt is a picture of a sculpture by Ivan Puig, a Mexico based artist. He calls this Drowning Art and has other objects in similar scenario. You can see more on his website (click on his name) or this article.
I tried not to go with obvious and ended up with something much darker than intended. I liked how it ties in. It worked, although I am hoping no one will be triggered by it. Read at your own risk.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
The Chairs
Damon viewed the display and began to feel sick; something was wrong. It was the chairs. It took him a few minutes to make the connection but once he did, he couldn’t disconnect from it.
They had that rough texture he knew so well, where the paint had come off and you could get splinters, especially if you were forced to sit on them naked. And the colour added to the memory: it was the same green his mother had chosen when she decorated their kitchen - these could be the same chairs.
He laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought, and then remembered he was in public and glanced round to see if others had noticed. They hadn’t; they were working their way through the displays, many with headphones on, oblivious to him.
This was a sculpture; they couldn’t be the chairs from his childhood. He looked at the information board for this exhibit. The artist had called this style ‘Drowning Art’, because it looked like they had been sucked into the ground. He read about the chairs, how they had been discarded in a skip. The artist came from his hometown. Something niggled at the back of his mind. No, they couldn’t be.
The display was open so you could walk through the chairs. He walked up to a couple of them and looked closely at the top on the backs. He could see identical marks on either side. He knew those marks. A shot of adrenaline ran through him, and his stomach began to churn. He had spent years in therapy trying to work through the trauma he’d suffered in these chairs. His palms became sweaty and tears pricked his eyes.
He remembered the straps and how they would cut into his wrists, and how he would wriggle, trying to get free before his dad came home. That’s where the splinters in his bottom had come from. How he would start pleading the second the front door opened, his mother cold and harsh as she reminded him of the small infraction that she felt deserved this torture – anything from forgetting to flush the toilet to turning over the channel on the telly without permission. It had all depended on her mood; you could never predict what would trigger her. And his dad would just play along. Sometimes Damon thought he even relished it.
Damon’s legs felt weak as his mind was flooded with the sights and sounds of the recollection and the incredulous situation of finding the chairs here, on display, hundreds of miles from where the horrors had taken place. Here it was all laid out in front of him like this. He wished the chairs would drown and be buried forever, like his childhood.
I tried not to go with obvious and ended up with something much darker than intended. I liked how it ties in. It worked, although I am hoping no one will be triggered by it. Read at your own risk.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
The Chairs
Damon viewed the display and began to feel sick; something was wrong. It was the chairs. It took him a few minutes to make the connection but once he did, he couldn’t disconnect from it.
They had that rough texture he knew so well, where the paint had come off and you could get splinters, especially if you were forced to sit on them naked. And the colour added to the memory: it was the same green his mother had chosen when she decorated their kitchen - these could be the same chairs.
He laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought, and then remembered he was in public and glanced round to see if others had noticed. They hadn’t; they were working their way through the displays, many with headphones on, oblivious to him.
This was a sculpture; they couldn’t be the chairs from his childhood. He looked at the information board for this exhibit. The artist had called this style ‘Drowning Art’, because it looked like they had been sucked into the ground. He read about the chairs, how they had been discarded in a skip. The artist came from his hometown. Something niggled at the back of his mind. No, they couldn’t be.
The display was open so you could walk through the chairs. He walked up to a couple of them and looked closely at the top on the backs. He could see identical marks on either side. He knew those marks. A shot of adrenaline ran through him, and his stomach began to churn. He had spent years in therapy trying to work through the trauma he’d suffered in these chairs. His palms became sweaty and tears pricked his eyes.
He remembered the straps and how they would cut into his wrists, and how he would wriggle, trying to get free before his dad came home. That’s where the splinters in his bottom had come from. How he would start pleading the second the front door opened, his mother cold and harsh as she reminded him of the small infraction that she felt deserved this torture – anything from forgetting to flush the toilet to turning over the channel on the telly without permission. It had all depended on her mood; you could never predict what would trigger her. And his dad would just play along. Sometimes Damon thought he even relished it.
Damon’s legs felt weak as his mind was flooded with the sights and sounds of the recollection and the incredulous situation of finding the chairs here, on display, hundreds of miles from where the horrors had taken place. Here it was all laid out in front of him like this. He wished the chairs would drown and be buried forever, like his childhood.
June 21, 2018
Review - To Be A Cat, by Matt Haig
To Be A Cat by Matt HaigMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
I thoroughly enjoyed reading this to my 9yo, who also enjoyed it too. It led to debates about whether some people are cats or not - and for a while there we believed they might be!
A fast paced, well-written, suspense-filled story about a boy Barney whose wish to become a cat comes true, and he realises that it's not always a good thing to get what you wish for. The underline message in this book is an important one: it is about accepting yourself and enjoy being who you are, because you are unique. In today's world children really struggle to remain true to who they are, wanting to fit in and make friends, especially with technology making it more difficult to connect and socialise in person.
This book also tells the story of the bully - the truth about who they are and why they behave as they do. I really liked the characters, they were easy to engage with and to have an strong emotions about: the horrible Miss Whipmire, and Barney's lovely best friend Rissa. It was full of twists in the plot too, and the mystery of the identity of the Terrorcat. There was so much to enjoy.
I would highly recommend this book. And I am rapidly becoming a Matt Haig fan.
View all my reviews
June 20, 2018
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 60
This week's photo was taken by one of my great writer friends, Michael Wombat, when he was in Blackpool, November 2017. This is a sculpture of a giant sea shell by Stephen Broadbent called The Golden Shell (or Mary's Shell) and it was installed on Cleveleys Beach in October 2013. It is inspired by The Sea Swallow children's book and you can read more about it here.
I love the possibilities this object inspires. I seem to be in a bit of a sci-fi/alien phase at the moment and this picture just fed into that.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
Alien Objection
The report had said it was a piece from a satellite in orbit and it was nothing to worry about, although its lack of impact on the ground confused people. No one thought anything of it; it became a landmark, a natural sculpture of sorts, and being out in the tide line of the beach it didn’t bother anyone or get in the way. It was referred to as ‘The Shell’ and it drew visitors and helped the economy of the area.
Then the dead animals started to be discovered, all within a hundred metre radius. From small creatures like rabbits, hares, mice, to larger animals like badgers, foxes and even a deer. There was speculation that it was ritualistic: someone practicing the occult, but there was no defined lay out of the animals and no blood. The autopsies revealed they had all suffered some kind of brain bleed, along with ruptured ear drums.
People became a little scared. And then it happened: The first human body was found.
It was my neighbour’s son, little Jake. He was only 8 years old. He loved shells and stones, and could be found most evenings after school down by the edge of the sea, poking around in rock pools left behind by the high tide. His mum had made sure he had all his swimming certificates before he was allowed to go there alone, even so people still said he had drowned. But he hadn’t. He’d also had a brain bleed brought on by burst ear drums. And his body hadn’t been anywhere near the water when he was found.
It was enough to unnerve a few people and houses started going up for sale as families began to move away. And people stopped going to the beach. No one wanted to be near it. Except me.
I wanted to know more. I wanted to see it up close and touch it and try and understand if this thing really did have anything to do with it. Was I worried? A little, but I was born without ear drums so I didn’t consider myself at risk.
I went right up to it; I touched its smooth black surface. I tapped it and felt it vibrate under my fingers. The vibration went on a long time. I could feel it through my body and the ground.
I wondered fleetingly if it was a bomb – but if it was, surely it would have gone off by now? I walked all round it. I even climbed inside.
It was open, with coils that ran round like a spring. I could see everything outside: the sky, the sea. But it looked different: the colours were too vivid and it was out of focus, like I was looking at something projected. Then that vibration came again, and I felt the structure move beneath me. Then the view outside changed; I was no longer looking up at the sky, I was looking down at it, and around me was the blackness of space and the stars.
But before I had a chance to react, I was back on the ground, although a ground that I don’t recognize. The sand has a strange purple hue and what looks like sea is a thick black syrupy liquid. The sky is blue and I don’t have problems breathing, but I haven’t yet dared to venture off the beach. I’m frightened what I’ll find there. Plus I keep hanging out inside the shell in the hope that it will take me back. But since my arrival it seems to be dormant, more like the sculpture it had became viewed as originally. No amount of tapping elicits a vibration. I don’t know what to do. I just want to go home.
I love the possibilities this object inspires. I seem to be in a bit of a sci-fi/alien phase at the moment and this picture just fed into that.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
Alien Objection
The report had said it was a piece from a satellite in orbit and it was nothing to worry about, although its lack of impact on the ground confused people. No one thought anything of it; it became a landmark, a natural sculpture of sorts, and being out in the tide line of the beach it didn’t bother anyone or get in the way. It was referred to as ‘The Shell’ and it drew visitors and helped the economy of the area.
Then the dead animals started to be discovered, all within a hundred metre radius. From small creatures like rabbits, hares, mice, to larger animals like badgers, foxes and even a deer. There was speculation that it was ritualistic: someone practicing the occult, but there was no defined lay out of the animals and no blood. The autopsies revealed they had all suffered some kind of brain bleed, along with ruptured ear drums.
People became a little scared. And then it happened: The first human body was found.
It was my neighbour’s son, little Jake. He was only 8 years old. He loved shells and stones, and could be found most evenings after school down by the edge of the sea, poking around in rock pools left behind by the high tide. His mum had made sure he had all his swimming certificates before he was allowed to go there alone, even so people still said he had drowned. But he hadn’t. He’d also had a brain bleed brought on by burst ear drums. And his body hadn’t been anywhere near the water when he was found.
It was enough to unnerve a few people and houses started going up for sale as families began to move away. And people stopped going to the beach. No one wanted to be near it. Except me.
I wanted to know more. I wanted to see it up close and touch it and try and understand if this thing really did have anything to do with it. Was I worried? A little, but I was born without ear drums so I didn’t consider myself at risk.
I went right up to it; I touched its smooth black surface. I tapped it and felt it vibrate under my fingers. The vibration went on a long time. I could feel it through my body and the ground.
I wondered fleetingly if it was a bomb – but if it was, surely it would have gone off by now? I walked all round it. I even climbed inside.
It was open, with coils that ran round like a spring. I could see everything outside: the sky, the sea. But it looked different: the colours were too vivid and it was out of focus, like I was looking at something projected. Then that vibration came again, and I felt the structure move beneath me. Then the view outside changed; I was no longer looking up at the sky, I was looking down at it, and around me was the blackness of space and the stars.
But before I had a chance to react, I was back on the ground, although a ground that I don’t recognize. The sand has a strange purple hue and what looks like sea is a thick black syrupy liquid. The sky is blue and I don’t have problems breathing, but I haven’t yet dared to venture off the beach. I’m frightened what I’ll find there. Plus I keep hanging out inside the shell in the hope that it will take me back. But since my arrival it seems to be dormant, more like the sculpture it had became viewed as originally. No amount of tapping elicits a vibration. I don’t know what to do. I just want to go home.
June 15, 2018
5 signed copies of Mostly Dark in aid of National Flash Fiction Day #NFFD #BookGiveaway
To coincide with, and celebrate National Flash Fiction Dayon the 16th of June, I am running a Giveaway for my book Mostly Dark. I'll be giving away 5 signed copies of the Pocket Edition.
It is a collection of 30 flash tales, the majority of which fall into the Horror genre. They are collected in such a way that they are divided by the phases of the moon: Full dark, Waxing, Full Moon, Waning, back to Full Dark again.
The back page blurb is:
“Like the phases of the moon, Mostly Dark waxes and wanes with thirty tales of darkness and light. An intriguing maelstrom of broken minds and broken hearts, from revenge to desire, from new found love to soulmates, herein lies a tale for everyone. Prepare your senses for an emotional and sometimes terrifying ride.”
I will be running the Giveaway for 4 weeks – from Saturday 16th of June to Saturday 14th of July. All entrants need to do is sign up to my newsletter, and on 15th of July I will randomly select five names.
There is no restriction on countries. It is a global giveaway.
The Kindle Edition is only 99p at the moment on Amazon too!
