David W. Robinson's Blog: Always Writing, page 41

M is for Murder at the Murder Mystery Weekend

 

Of all the STAC Mysteries, Murder at the Murder Mystery Weekend gave me the biggest headaches. It’s complex and involves a play within the play. Half the time I didn’t know my arse from my elbow and I needed to constantly refresh my memory from the accompanying spreadsheet to ensure I didn’t get the ‘fictional’ characters mixed up with the ‘real’. Speaking with hindsight, it is probably my least favourite STAC title, and yet, it is one of the best sellers.

At its core, it’s a STAC outing for the New Year, which involves a murder mystery play. (What do you mean, you’d never have guessed?) Joe is looking forward to it, but it all starts to go wrong when the bodies begin to show up and they’re dying off in the same way as the characters in the murder mystery play.

Why Lincoln? Because my wife and I had been to Lincoln the previous year and I recall being overawed by the cathedral. Both inside and outside, it is a magnificent building and when we were the, I promised myself I would have to include this genuinely awesome place in one of my books.

In keeping with this A to Z series, here’s a non-spoiler clip, with Joe attending a fancy dress disco in the hotel, where characters from the play mingle with the guests.

***

Joe found the Scampton Room quite crowded. In the far corner, by the windows which looked out onto the floodlit front of the hotel, a DJ was busy setting up his equipment. Melanie and her team were dotted around the room, some talking amongst themselves, others harangued by patrons, and despite her request to give the actors some breathing space, Zara Lucescu was the centre of attention, with a dozen people, mainly men, crowding around her.

Melanie herself was seated by the windows with the young man who had played the part of McLintock, while Gerry Carlin was at the bar talking to Reggie Grimshaw and a dark-haired woman, one of Reggie’s party. Wendy Grimshaw sat nearer the far wall, close to the bar, talking to Robbie and Fliss, the young couple Joe had encountered earlier in the day.

There was an inevitable party atmosphere about the room, enhanced by the glittering Christmas decorations, the glimmer of the lights on the large Christmas tree and further augmented by the flickering lights of the DJ’s disco display.

There were several members of the Sanford 3rd Age Club seated around the room, which hardly surprised Joe. His members may have been aged between 50 and 85, but never let it be said that they didn’t know how to party.

He found George Robson and Owen Frickley at the bar and tucked himself in alongside them.

“You’re not doing the disco, Joe?” George asked.

Signalling for service, Joe shook his head. “They wouldn’t let me. Said they had a professional, stress, professional on for the weekend.” Gesturing at the DJ, he turned back to the barman. “A glass of lager, Campari and soda, gin and it, please.”

Turning back to his two members, he looked them up and down, both dressed in ridiculous, three-quarter length drapes, George with yellow lapels, Owen with mauve. Neither man had enough hair to comb properly, and neither had used any gel on what hair they had, but both had completed the ensemble with black shirts and Bolo, bootlace ties, George’s sporting a buffalo skull, Owen’s a Confederate flag.

“I must say, you look a complete pair of prats.”

“That’s what we love about you, Joe. Your tact,” Owen said. “And look who’s talking. You’re only short of a hecky-thump cap and you’d look like Marlon Brando in that fillum.”

“The Godfather?”

“Not that. The other one.”

“Superman?” Joe suggested and George laughed.

Joe’s drinks arrived. He paid for them and took the two to task again. “Not investigating the mysterious murder?”

“You know us, Joe. We’re only here for the beer and the totty. Who gives a toss over some stupid play?” George asked. He drank from a pint of bitter, casting his eyes to one side at the dark-haired woman with Grimshaw. “I fancy giving a toss over that, when the old git with her clears off.”

Joe followed his gaze. “You may have a long wait. I think she works for the old git.”

“On her back?”

“Maybe. I dunno, but I’d hope not. The old git’s wife is sat at the back of the room.”

The STAC Mysteries are available as paperbacks and as e-book downloads in all formats, or direct from Crooked Cat Books in MOBI, EPUB and PDF formats

L is for Lakeland Summer Wedding Murder, The

 

Are you ready for this? A revelation. No one has seen this other than my editor, Maureen Vincent-Northam. This thing is so new, it’s not even complete yet. This is the next STAC Mystery, The Lakeland Summer Wedding Murder, to be released, er, in the summer.

Set in Windermere, I’m telling you nothing of the plot that you can’t guess from the title, but Joe is at his irascible finest when he meets the Receptionist from Hell as he tries to check into his hotel.

***

Her name badge identified her as Harriet Atkinson, Receptionist. Stocky and broad shouldered for a woman, her chubby face reminded Joe of a teacher from his years in primary school; one that would brook no argument or impertinence. Steely eyes impaled him from behind tiny glasses.

“And you are?”

Joe, who had long been used to dealing with irritable customers, was not fazed. “Yes. I am.”

Harriet, whom Joe guessed to be about his age, was momentarily perplexed. Recovering her severe composure, she demanded, “Who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m Joe Murray and if you’ve got a minute, I’d like to check in.”

The frown did not recede. “You’re a guest?”

“I have three rooms booked. A single for me, a twin for my two friends, Mrs Riley and Mrs Jump, and a double with child bed for my nephew, Lee Murray, his wife and son.”

Harriet looked him up and down. “The Lakeside Manor Hotel prefers its guests to be properly dressed at all times.”

“And the Lazy Luncheonette prefers its patrons to eat up and get out of the way sharpish, so that others can sit down, but it doesn’t always happen.”

Joe’s irascible announcement created more perplexity. “What?”

“Who’s paying the bloody bill? “ Joe snapped. “I am. And I’ll dress as I see fit. As long as I’m not mooning you, it’s no business of yours.”

Harriet pointed to a small brass plaque, which declared, The Lakeside Manor Hotel reserves the right to refuse admission. “I think you’ll find that it is our business, and if you read our brochure, you would see that we stipulate proper attire at all times. Not…” She trailed off and waved vaguely at his shabby clothing. “… shorts, trainers and a grubby shirt.”

“Are you booking me in or not, you snooty old bat?”

Obviously feeling she had the upper hand, Harriet waved at another sign, a printed notice this time, pinned to the rear wall. The Lakeside Manor Hotel will not tolerate aggression or abusive behaviour towards its staff.

“I don’t have to put up with that,” she told him.

Never one to back down easily, Joe retaliated, “And I don’t have to put up with this crap from you. Get the manager out here.”

“Mr Nelson doesn’t come on duty until one o’clock this afternoon. At this moment, I’m in charge.”

“So what will you do for an encore? Clap me in irons or make me walk the plank into the Lake Windermere? Now, are you gonna book me in or not?”

“Dressed like that, I should—”

“No problem,” Joe interrupted. “I’ll change… on your car park.”

Horror spread across Harriet’s face. “You can’t do that.”

“Watch me. And if it’s caught on your CCTV, maybe I’ll send it in to You’ve Been Framed. The two hundred and fifty quid would just about cover the cost of this weekend.” Joe turned to leave, and as he did so, Alec Staines appeared from one of the two lifts.

Dressed in a grey morning suit, white shirt and cravat, his thinning hair slicked down with gel, Joe did not register him until he spoke.

“Hey up, Joe. You made it then?”

It was with a feeling of relief that Joe turned to shake hands. “I almost made it, Alec.” He jerked a thumb at Harriet. “Unfortunately, Eva Braun here is insisting, I get changed, so I’m going to do a strip in the car park. Wanna come and watch?”

Will Joe carry out his threat? Well, you’ll have to wait until the summer and the release of STAC #8 to find out.

***

The STAC Mysteries are available as paperbacks and as e-book downloads in all formats, or direct from Crooked Cat Books in MOBI, EPUB and PDF formats

K is for Kitchen

 

What is it about the Lazy Luncheonette that keeps the draymen of Sanford Brewery turning up day after day? Handy location? Joe’s ill-tempered demeanour? Or is it the food.

Any café/diner/restaurant is only as good as its kitchen and in Lee Murray the Lazy Luncheonette has the best.

Lee is not yet thirty years old. Heir apparent to the Murray empire, he is Joe’s nephew, taken off to Australia when he was a baby, when Joe’s brother Arthur and his wife split up, Rachael returned to Sanford and brought the young Lee with her, and Joe promised to keep an eye on the boy.

He was working in the Lazy Luncheonette before he left school, then employed full time as a trainee cook. Joe paid for him to attend college, and he is a much better, more highly qualified chef than a truckstop like the Lazy Luncheonette ever needed. He had a useful career as a prop-forward with the Sanford Bulls Rugby League team, too, before an injury to his knee ended his chances.

A big lad, and strong, he has a youthful exuberance about him, greeting every day with an enthusiastic smile. He dotes on his attractive wife, Cheryl, and his young son, Danny, he thinks this Uncle Joe is the best employer in the world, and he suffers Joe’s irritability without a back word.

He’s often clumsy, he can be slow-witted, and he doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body, but beware. If you threaten his Uncle Joe, you’ll have to get through Lee first. And one other thing.

He doesn’t swear. That’s left to Joe when Lee drops a stack of plates or cups.

***

The STAC Mysteries are available as paperbacks and as e-book downloads in all formats, or direct from Crooked Cat Books in MOBI, EPUB and PDF formats

J is for Joe, Sheila and Brenda

At the heart of every STAC Mystery is this triumvirate of friends, determined to unravel the mystery and ensure the perpetrator(s) get their come-uppance.

Joe and the two widows have been friends since schooldays, and such longevity of friendship brings with it loyalty. They squabble frequently, they disagree on everything from politics to prison reform, television to taxation, and yet they remain the closest of friends, and nothing, no one can come between them.

Joe is the sleuth. Nothing gets past that keen eye of his… well almost nothing. And the little things that do escape his attention are usually caught by the intelligent Sheila, the widow of a police inspector, or the fun-loving Brenda, the woman who can see in other men and women what most people would miss.

I’m often asked are they based on real people. Of course not. They’re based on amalgams of people I have met and known in my life. If Joe reminds you of the proprietor of a truckers’ café anywhere in England, it’s because most owners of truckers’ cafes are like Joe (only not quite so rude with their customers). If Sheila reminds you of a every school secretary you ever met, it’s because Sheila was a school secretary before the vagaries of life took her husband too early, and if Brenda comes across as a merry widow, not quite a tart, but someone who likes a lot of fun in life, then good, because that is exactly what she is supposed to be.

From running the Lazy Luncheonette to smoothing the waters and calming tempers during meetings of the Sanford 3rd Age Club, from organising outings and discos, to rallying in support of their members, they have no equal.

And when it comes to murder, they are unbeatable.

***

The STAC Mysteries are available as paperbacks and as e-book downloads in all formats, or direct from Crooked Cat Books in MOBI, EPUB and PDF formats

I is for I-Spy Murders, The

 

Released midsummer last year, The I-Spy Murders was the second STAC Mystery, and to date, remains my personal favourite. The tale is set within a reality TV series similar to Big Brother.

I’ve never made any secret of my antipathy to modern television. If, in the past, it was 90% dross, it’s now 99% dross, with only the occasional oasis of worthwhile new drama or documentary showing up. In my opinion, shows like Big Brother, I’m a Celebrity, and so on , are the epitome of everything that is wrong with TV, and the reason I leave it switched off most of the time. I’m certain there is room for such programmes, but do they have to be rammed down our throats day in, day out, ad nauseam?

I’ve only ever watched about five minutes of Big Brother, and that was because I was holidaying in a caravan, out of bed in the early hours of the morning, enjoying a cup of tea and a smoke, and the distractions I enjoy at home were not available to me. And what was happening in the Big Brother House? Nothing. Everyone was asleep.

Where is the drama? Where is the interest? What is the bloody point?

Rant over.

As a writer of detective stories, what occurred to me right away was how it would be impossible to commit a murder in the house. Or would it?

So I created the I-Spy TV show, a version of Big Brother which runs for just one week, the winner chosen by public telephone poll. I made Brenda a contestant on the show, and gave her an equal chance of winning before…

One of the housies is found dead. Not only dead, but as Joe insists, murdered.

The following extract, like others in this series of posts, gives away nothing of the plot but demonstrates Joe’s unique and grumpy humour as he tries to park his car in a field near the I-Spy house so Brenda can take her place on the show.

With the clock reading five minutes to eleven and Brenda in a state of near panic, a police officer waved them into a field on the right, where thousands of other vehicles were already parked, and hundreds more coming from east and west, waited to get in.

Indicating Brenda in the rear seat, Joe protested, “She’s a contestant.”

“Tell it to the parking stewards, mate,” the officer policeman replied and pointing again, urged Joe to get moving.

With an audible, “Tsk,” Joe turned into the field and stopped again as a steward approached him.

Wearing a fluorescent, yellow vest, a cloth cap keeping the sun off his head, he held out his hand. “Fiver.”

Joe frowned. “What?”

“You heard, mate. Five quid.”

“A fiver? What for?”

“Parking charge.”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Joe said. “She’s one of the contestants.” Again he jerked a thumb at Brenda in the rear seat.

The steward was unmoved. “I don’t care if she owns the TV company. If you’re parking in this field, it’s a fiver.”

Joe scowled. “Didn’t I see you in Parliament last week explaining why you’re hiking the taxes on small businessmen?”

“Now listen, pal…”

Joe cut him off. “No, you listen, you dipstick. She, Mrs Brenda Jump, is one of the contestants in this farce.”

“Then you should have gone to the contestants’ entrance on Gibraltar Hall Lane. Now either pay up or clear off.”

Joe slotted the car into gear. “Where is this Gibraltar Hall Lane?”

“Joe, for god’s sake, just pay him the fiver,” Brenda urged from the back seat. “I’m going to be late.”

“Yes, but…”

“PAY HIM!” Brenda yelled.

Joe dug into his pocket and fished out five pounds. “I won’t forget your face,” he warned as he handed it over.

The steward took his money and pointed towards the far corner of the field. “If you drive over there, one of the lads will tell you where to park.”

Joe looked over. It was at least five hundred yards away, and there was a queue of vehicles waiting to park. Bringing his gaze closer to them, Joe spotted gaps in the nearest lines of vehicles. “Why can’t I park there?”

“Reserved,” the steward said.

“You’re expecting the Queen?”

“For crying out loud, Joe…”

“Disabled,” said the steward.

“I’m disabled,” Sheila said from the passenger seat.

The steward looked doubtful. “Well…”

“Honestly, she is,” Joe promised.

“You have your parking badge with you?”

“Oh, yes,” Joe lied.

“Well all right. Put it in one of those gaps, but don’t forget to display your badge.” Joe drove along, leaving the steward to negotiate with the next driver. Nosing the car into a gap between a people carrier and a 4×4, he killed the engine, and while his friends climbed out to retrieve Brenda’s suitcase from the boot, he took a sheet of paper from his notebook, and began to draw on it.

“What the hell are you doing, Joe?” Brenda demanded.

“Showing my disabled badge,” he said, and put the piece of notepaper on the windscreen.

Sheila studied it. He had drawn something that might have been a wheelchair as depicted by a 5-year-old child, and underneath it, he had written, ‘disbled’.

“I wouldn’t care but you’ve spelled disabled wrong,” Sheila complained.

***

The STAC Mysteries are available as paperbacks and as e-book downloads in all formats, or direct from Crooked Cat Books in MOBI, EPUB and PDF formats

H is for Halloween Homicide, A

 

A Halloween Homicide was the third STAC Mystery. Originally self-published in 2011, the rights transferred to Crooked Cat Books in September 2012, a move which has seen a steady improvement in it performance and popularity.

The setting and locations are the usual mix of real and fictitious, this time in the fine old city of York. Many of the places Joe, Sheila and Brenda visit are real, the Palmer Hotel, where most of the action takes place, does not exist, although The Feathers at Pocklington, does, and so, too, does its (alleged) ghost.

Ghostly goings on are where I came into the writing game. The subject has fascinated me for many years. I don’t mean the blood, guts and gore zombie movies, but the real paranormal shockers such as The Woman in Black. Writing such a scenario into a whodunit was an enjoyable challenge.

As usual, the story contains its share of humour. In the clip which follows, a tired an irritable Joe has got back to the bus after a days’ shopping in York. He’s tried, customarily irritable and wet through. For those readers who may not know, Dorothy Perkins and Bon Marche are well known ladies fashion stores on the UK High Streets.

Keith grinned and eyed the carrier bags as Joe pressed them into the racks. “You’ve been shopping in Dorothy Perkins and Bon Marche?” he asked. “Is there summat we don’t know about you, Joe?”

“They’re not mine, you idiot. They belong to Brenda and Sheila. You know what these trips are like. They shop and I’m the bloody pack mule.” Joe stripped off his coat and took a seat. “Here,” he said, handing the coat to Keith. “Do me a favour and put that over your heaters.”

Keith took the garment and spread it across the front of the dashboard, above the heater vents. Robbed of the warm air, the windscreen above began to mist over.

“So what’s your master plan?” Joe asked settling into his seat and digging into the pockets of his cardigan for tobacco and cigarette papers.

Keith checked the time on the overhead clock at 3:55. “Assuming your lot get back on time – and if they do, it’ll be a first – I drop you lot at The Palmer, take the others to The Feathers in Pocklington, and with a bit of luck, I’ll be home for half past seven. I’ll be back at The Feathers for ten tomorrow morning, and I should be picking you lot up at eleven. You’ll be back at The Miner’s in Sanford for half past twelve.” He looked up into the turbulent skies. “This is also assuming nowt goes wrong. In weather like this, you never know. One high-sided lorry blown over on the motorway and your schedules are shot.” He stared at Joe’s cigarette. “But what I do know is you can’t smoke that on my bus.”

“I’m not going to,” Joe retorted. “It’s for when we get off.”

A wave of tiredness washed over Joe. He sat back and closed his eyes for a moment. It had been a long and trying day. The weather aside, Sheila and Brenda tackled York with the same gusto they deployed on all Joe’s destinations, determined to cram in as much as possible in the few hours available to them.

A lightning tour of the Minster, a wander along Shambles, where they delighted in the higgledy-piggledy arrangement of Tudor buildings, some of which were almost touching on the upper floors, and then some ‘serious retail therapy’ as Brenda described it, hitting every department store in town, large and small, buying skirts and tops just for the hell of it, so it seemed to Joe.

At 1:30 they had made for Betty’s Tea Rooms, joining a queue which stretched out the door, along the few yards that remained of Davygate and turned the corner into Lendal. Near the front of the queue, within a yard or two of the door, Sheila and Brenda had retained fearsome grips on their umbrellas to prevent the strong winds from tearing them away, while Joe, his cap pulled low over his head and collar turned up against the October onslaught, kept up a string of complaints.

“What the hell is Betty serving with her tea and scones?” he grumbled. “LSD? Ecstasy? It must be something special to cause a queue like this.”

***

The STAC Mysteries are available as paperbacks and as e-book downloads in all formats, or direct from Crooked Cat Books in MOBI, EPUB and PDF formats.

G is for Genre Chart

 

Regular readers will have seen this chart mentioned quite often, and right now, all seven STAC Mysteries are currently in their Kindle genre chart: Books/Crime, thrillers & Mystery/British Detectives. As I write, The Filey Connection is placed at number 10, and The Chocolate Egg Murders at number 13. The remaining five are spread around the middle of the top 100, and the lowest ranked is My Deadly Valentine at number 83.

What makes this chart so important?

To answer that, you need only look at the overall rankings of the STAC Mysteries. Filey is number 1032, Chocolate Egg at 1107 and My Deadly Valentine is number 6994. What chance do the top two, never mind the rest, have of coming to the readers’ notice? None.

The average surfer will probably look at the first three or four pages, up to, perhaps number 100, then call it a day. The categories help narrow down the search, and the genre chart lets the reader see what is most popular in the individual categories. It helps raise the books’ visibility.

Some charts are easier to break into than others. My idiot alter-ego, Flatcap, is placed quite highly in Humour/Parenting & Families, yet its overall ranking is about 50,000. In order to break into the British Detectives chart, an overall ranking of about 8,000 is needed.

Naturally, all of this is beyond the control of the author. All any writer can do at the outset is ensure readers know the book is out there. After that, it is the readers who decide.

And I’m grateful that so many readers take to my cosy mysteries.

***

The STAC Mysteries are available as paperbacks and as e-book downloads in all formats, or direct from Crooked Cat Books in MOBI, EPUB and PDF formats

Rest Day, Charts and Other News

Rest Day, Charts and Other News

Today is a rest day in the A-Z blogging challenge, so let’s catch up on a few other matters.

You may have noticed that the blog appearance has changed. I’ve used the Chip Life theme for well over a year now, but they altered it a few days ago, and the new version no longer supports the sidebar where my book covers and other links appear.

Five’ll get you ten, someone will tell me I’m wrong about this, but if its there, I couldn’t find it, so I’ve switched to this Rusty Grunge appearance, at least for the time being.

In yesterday’s A-Z post, I spoke about The Filey Connection, and how its popularity has seen a boost just recently. For a brief time yesterday afternoon, it swapped places with The Chocolate Egg Murders, climbing into the top 10 while the Chocolate Egg dropped out. Well this morning, they’re both in there. At six o’clock, when I checked their positions, Filey stood at number 8 in the genre chart and number 808 in the overall rankings, and Chocolate Egg was at number 9 in genre and 868 in the overall rankings.

Third most popular title right now is a surprise. It’s The I-Spy Murders.

I have to confess that this is my favourite STAC Mystery, but it’s never performed as well as it might. For most of this year, it’s languished in the lower reaches of the British Detectives top 100, and actually dropped out altogether on odd occasions. It received a boost during the Crooked Cat Sale from 25th to 28th March, as did the whole series, dropped slightly when the sale ended, but it’s now picking up again, and this morning sits at number 26, after peaking at 22 last night.

As usual, I have you, the readers, to thank for the success of I-Spy and the series as a whole.

We’re back on the horse again tomorrow, with the A-Z theme, and when I’ll be talking about G for Genre Chart in more detail. For now, have a great weekend.

F is for Filey Connection, The

The Filey Connection was the very first STAC Mystery, released just over a year ago, on March 2nd, 2012. It’s been a consistent seller, without smashing any records, but in a curious coincidence, this last week has seen its popularity soar to the point where, at six o’clock last night (April 5th) it was knocking on the door of the UK Kindle British Detectives top 10, and it sat just outside the top 1,000 overall. Both are vital to raising the visibility of any book. For brief time later in the evening, it did enter the top 10 and the top 1,000 overall.

I’ve gone into the history of the book many times in the past, so I won’t go through it all again. It’s enough to say that I chose Filey because it’s a pretty, little seaside town on the Yorkshire coast, and a place my wife and I love. We met there over three decades ago, and we still visit at lest once a year.

So let’s have a short excerpt from The Filey Connection.

Joe Sheila and Brenda, still puzzled by the death of one member, have now been told of another, and Joe is convinced it was suicide. Here they are taking tea and teacakes at a café in nearby Scarborough.

Brenda finished her teacake, licked her fingers, wiped her mouth with a serviette and looking from one to the other of her two companions, asked, “Why does a toasted teacake always taste better when someone else has prepared it?”

On Brenda’s rhetorical question, Joe’s creased features darkened. “Here we are discussing murder and suicide and she’s on about toasted teacakes.”

“I’m changing the subject, Joe,” Brenda argued. “All this talk of death. It’s depressing.”

“All right. Are you saying there’s something wrong with my toasted teacakes?” he demanded.

“No. It’s just that they’re tastier when someone serves them to you.”

“I suppose,” said Sheila from behind her teacup, “it’s the general indolence of holidays. We all like to be waited on, and that adds to the ambience of a toasted teacake. And, of course, because we spend so much of our time actually making these things, we have an insight into the preparation that allows us to enjoy them on more levels than your average customer. Rather like one artist can appreciate the work of another on more levels than the casual viewer.”

Joe snorted. “I don’t see many of my toasted teacakes hanging on the walls of Sanford Art gallery.” Pushing aside his teacup, he rolled a cigarette, jammed it between his lips and lit it. “You know what I don’t understand?”

Across the table, Sheila tidied the cups, saucers and detritus of their afternoon snack. “I should think there are a lot of things you don’t understand, Joe. The principles of artistic perspective, for example, Schröedinger’s cat…”

“I’ve never seen art made of Perspex,” Joe interrupted.

Alongside him, Brenda was equally puzzled. “And what’s to understand about whoisit’s cat?”

“Schröedinger’s cat was a theoretical exercise in quantum physics designed to demonstrate the uncertainty principle,” Sheila explained.

Their blank stares clearly told her that Joe and Brenda were completely at sea.

With a world-weary sigh, Sheila explained, “Basically, you seal a cat in a box and attached to the box is a canister of poisonous gas and another piece of equipment that emits an atomic nucleus that may or may not decay in one hour. If the nucleus decays, it will emit a particle that triggers the gas, if it doesn’t the gas will not be triggered. The experiment is set up so that chances of decay or not decay are exactly fifty-fifty. When you open the box you will see either a dead cat or a living cat. It…”

“Isn’t this a bit cruel to the cat?”

Sheila took in Brenda’s concerned stare, and hastened to explain. “There isn’t really a cat, Brenda, it’s a hypothetical exercise only.”

“How does the cat breathe if the box is sealed?” demanded Joe. “I mean, the chances are it would run out of air if the box wasn’t large enough.”

“And did they put milk in for it?” Brenda wanted to know. “If the RSPCA found out there’d be hell to pay. Sealing cats in boxes with poisonous gas. It’s not right.”

***

The Filey Connection is available for download in all formats, and all The STAC Mysteries are available as paperbacks and as e-book downloads in all formats, or direct from Crooked Cat Books in MOBI, EPUB and PDF formats.

E is For E-book

 

Or ebook if you prefer. Either way my spellchecker underlines it as an error.

Like my fictitious hero, Joe Murray, I’m old fashioned. When I read I prefer a paperback. It’s easier on my eyes.

E-books, however, are here to stay, and they are the way forward. Anyone trying to shoo them as a passing fad is not living in the real world.

And e-books have had some remarkable effects, not least of which is the ability to turn round project with what amounts to lightning speed. I was first published in paperback, and the process took something like nine months from submission to print run. That with a POD (Print On Demand) publisher in the USA. If it had been with a standard publisher, I could have added another year waiting for print runs and distribution to outlets.

With e-books, you can literally finish the job off and have it up for sale within 24 hours. A good thing? I think so. I get enough requests from readers asking, “When’s the next STAC Mystery due?”

The e-book and various publishing platforms have also given rise to the self-publishing phenomenon. It is so easy to put out an e-book that half the world is doing it. Again, is this a good thing?  I think it is. All right, so it’s opened the door for every piece of crap that never even made the slush pile, but it’s also levelled the playing field, taken away the absolute control of publishers and agents.

I’m enjoying moderate success with the STAC Mysteries. All seven are still in the UK Kindle British Detectives top 100. If e-books didn’t exist, would I be enjoying that same success?

Unlikely. Under the old system, they would never have seen the light of day.

***

The STAC Mysteries are available as paperbacks and as e-book downloads in all formats, or direct from Crooked Cat Books in MOBI, EPUB and PDF formats