C.A. Larmer's Blog, page 6

High Tea, anyone?

So it was my birthday. The boys were all heading off, beanies on head, for the Collingwood versus Gold Coast Suns footy game (yawn) and my mother determined that WE were not to be outdone. So she invited one of my besties and we lippyed up and headed to the so-kitsch-it's-cool Verscace Hotel in Surfer's Paradise (think Florida on steroids, my American friends).
As I sat there supping darjeeling, quaffing Moet and scoffing myself with lashings and lashings of teeny tiny cakes, oversized scones and mushy cucumber sandwiches, I couldn't help wondering what my protagonist Roxy Parker (of the Ghostwriter Mystery series) would make of all this. (AD BREAK: You can grab your copies at Amazon and Smashwords, now!)
Not Roxy's cup of tea at all, I'd've thought (the bubbly and best friend would have been welcome, the mother bit not so much). We had fun, and there wasn't so much as a single patronising word or eyeroll from anyone.
I guess that answers the question I often get from readers about whether Roxy's mum Lorraine Jones is modelled on my own mother.
God no! Thank God, no! But gee she's a fun character to write. I'd love to hear about YOUR mums (moms) too, people. Are they meddling like Lorraine? Away with the fairies like Max's mum (we'll meet her in the next book), or generous and full of good ideas like mine?
Do tell, darlinks! (That's High Tea-speak for 'oi, let us know')
Oh and happy reading, everyone.xo Christina

Ghostwriter Sale Coming Up!

Hi guys,
A quick heads up for those who loved Killer Twist and are considering buying more great Ghostwriter mysteries. I will be putting Roxy Parker's second exciting adventure— A Plot to Die For — on sale on  Amazon  for just 99c for one full week, starting this Saturday, July 20.

But that's not all, lovely people. If you go to Goodreads , you can clinch one of 3 free paperback copies I'm putting up for grabs. You've got a month to enter, so hop to it: book giveaway.

If you're after the 4th Ghostwriter Mystery, Dying Words, that's hot off the press and now available as an ebook at:
Amazon and Smashwords.

I'd LOVE to hear your feedback so please don't hesitate to write a quick review and/or leave me a comment. And look out for other giveaways coming up.

Happy reading,
xo Christina
PS: Those who know me will also know that July 20 is my birthday, so this year, the treats are clearly on me!

My favourite 'Book of Death'

Anyone who has ever read my books—check them out on Amazon and Smashwords—knows that, like my protagonist Roxy Parker (who keeps a Book of Death or Crime Catalogue), I, too, have a fascination for crime. But not just any crime.

I was reading an article today about a particularly nasty Mexican Drug Lord (is there any other kind?) who got off on torturing his victims before killing them, things like burning them alive in drums full of oil. A lovely chap. I started reading the article—sadly, today's most popular read on that particular website—and got as far as paragraph two before I had to stop and see if my stomach was still in the right spot. Gross.

Now, even I have to admit, there's a certain voyeuristic curiosity to stories like that. I read them all the time. I have long been fascinated by true crime and what makes one soul capable of doing such horrendous things to another—but that's as far as it goes for me. It's not what I revel in, and it's not what I like to write. It's also why I'm a bigger fan of say, Agatha Christie (the queen of delicate stab wounds) than Patricia Cornwall (who likes to crack open a body and get on down).

I don't want the grit and grime. I don't want the bloody and bloated corpse. For me, the best deaths are not really the point. It's about the puzzle behind the death.

Why were they murdered? How did it happen? Who is to blame? And how could they possibly have pulled it off without anyone knowing? (How clever was that?!)

I don't want to be distracted by dripping limbs and serial killers and creepy goings on in the night. I find many modern writers rely on those things too much, often when they haven't got much of a storyline. Sure, those things might be there, but they're not the best part. They're not the reason to read, borrow or buy.

I want the riddle. I want the red herrings and sideways glances, the 'where was she at such-and-such a time?' I like to line up all my clues and suspects and work it out for myself. And as far as I'm concered, the blood and the guts can be present as long as they don't get in the way. Or, worse still, mask a total lack of plot.

In an ideal world, I want one murder, 10 people in a room, and a baffling whodunnit. Oh, and there has to be a bloody good twist at the end, or you're wasting my time. It's the reason I wrote my second Ghostwriter Mystery book, A Plot To Die For . I loosely modelled that on Agatha Christie's Evil Under the Sun (one can only aspire). In my case, there were a bunch of people stuck on a Pacific Island and a corpse they had to answer for. One of them had to have done it. But who? How? Why? (Sure, there was a little gore in that one, but not enough to lose your Gin & Tonic over, and it all worked to serve the plot.)

Plot! How many times can I say it? There has to be a decent plot. That's why I read what I read, and why I write what I write. I may not win any awards for my prose, but I like to think I'm providing a kick-ass plot and a twist that most of you won't see coming (I've learned that some of you smart chookies may never be surprised!).

If you like that kind of writing, too, please pick up one of my books, write a review and let me know how I'm faring—am I getting it just right? My latest venture is  Dying Words , and I think even the smarties will be left baffled by this one.

And if you don't like that writing style, I'd love to know what kind of "Book of Death" you like. Drop me an email or post a comment any time.

I'd love to hear from you.

   

Happy reading,
xo Christina

Roxy back on murder track

At last, life was looking pretty good for ghostwriter Roxy Parker. She had the man of her dreams, a new book in the wings, and was so content, she'd barely found time for a speedwalk, let alone her good friend Gilda Maltin. Everything was rosey until ...

... In the dead of night, an elderly man has been bulldozed over in a brutal hit and run. Clutching to life, he summons his sobbing family to his bedside and utters one simple sentence—"Roxy Parker ... she has it!" —before taking his final, gasping breath.

So begins the next exciting adventure for my crime loving amateur sleuth.

Keen to know more? Want to clinch your own ecopy?
Dying Words is the fourth book in the Ghostwriter Mystery series and is now available at Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Dying-Words-Gho...

It was a fun story to write because, as I said in an earlier blog, it was based on a real life incident that happened to me. An elderly man I had met and interviewed just once also called out my name on his deathbed and, while I'm pretty sure his passing was innocent enough, it set my imagination into overload.

Why did he call out my name of all names? What had he given me that was so precious to him? And what if there was a riveting mystery behind it all and he was sending me a message from the grave?

Dying Words is the result of my imagination gone wild. I loved writing it and I'm sure you're going to love reading it, too. And if you did, please don't hesitate to jot down a quick review and/or get in touch.

I love hearing from my readers, it's part of the reason I do what I do. (The other part is simply because it's such good fun.)

Happy reading!

xo Christina

Sneak peek - 4th Ghostwriter cover

Hi readers,
As promised, here's a sneaky peek at the latest cover for the fourth Ghostwriter Mystery novel, Dying Words which will be up on Amazon in early July. Designed by Mullumbimby artist/designer Stuart Eadie, it's a bold new look, and I'm very excited about it.



I'd love to hear your comments and will be back in touch when the book is published.

Cheers,
Christina Larmer

Roxy's next breathtaking adventure!

Fans of Roxy Parker and my Ghostwriter Mystery series will be happy to hear I have now completed the fourth book in the series and it is with my US editor as we speak. I've had many wonderful emails from fans begging for another Roxy Parker adventure, so I hope this one delivers on every scale. It's now called Dying Words and actually derives from a real-life incident that happened to me about two years ago.

A man I had met and interviewed once very briefly called out my name on his death bed. He was begging for a photo to be returned. It was a photo he had given me for a relatively dull book on Surveying that I had just completed. I had to Express Post the photo back to him before he died and it got me wondering: why did he NEED that picture back, so desperately? Was there something hidden in the picture? Some clue to a secret treasure or a cause for his death?

And so Roxy Parker gets the same desperate plea in my next book, Dying Words. In her case the man was definitely murdered and she must try to work out why he called out her name before he slipped off this mortal coil. Thus begins a very baffling adventure for the adventure-prone ghostwriter who goes on a frantic chase to locate an old missing photograph before a mysterious burglar beats her to it. This seemingly benign, black and white portrait of six people in 1975 holds the key, not only to the man's senseless murder, but to another very brutal crime that happened 37 years ago.

Along the way, we also reunite with Roxy's motley collection of mates including gutsy copper Gilda and Roxy's now-boyfriend Max (who has a secret bombshell he's about to drop!)

It's an intriguing tale and I hope you enjoy it. I certainly enjoyed writing it and it's also been great fun creating the cover with my talented Aussie designer Stu Eadie. This cover will be a little different to the last three and I'll give you all a sneak peek once I have it in my hot little hands (or should that be hot little hardrive?).

Once again, thanks to everyone for your patience and support, and I'll let you know once it's available online. In the meantime, you can catch Roxy's other adventures (or try one of my other books, The Agatha Christie Book Club or An Island Lost ) at Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_nos...

All feedback most welcome.

Happy reading,
Christina

Business as usual

Well that was a long festive season!

Hope you all had a great one and apologies for not being in touch. Writing books can really turn you into a hermit (I'm knee deep in Roxy Parker's fourth adventure and it's proving to be a killer... if you'll excuse the pun), but it's time to do a little business, so to speak.

I did discount the third Ghostwriter Mystery, Last Writes , over Christmas and the New Year, but I wanted to let you know that it will soon go back to the normal price of $2.99. If you want to get it at the super-cheap price of $1.99, be sure to download it ASAP, or you'll miss out.

Death Sentence (the fourth Ghostwriter) will be published mid-2013, and I promise some further discounts then. In the meantime, THANK YOU so much for all your tremendous support, your beautiful emails and words of encouragement. I don't write for profit, quite the opposite in fact, but I love creating stories and taking Roxy —and my many other characters — on wondrous adventures.

Happy reading.

xo Christina

Festive Season Sale!

Hi guys,
To celebrate the publication of my third Ghostwriter Mystery,  Last Writes , I'm offering the ebook at the discounted price of just $1.99 over the festive season—but you need to get in quick. This offer is only available to Amazon readers and will return to full price early in the new year.

Last Writes  sees the return of sassy ghostwriter Roxy Parker and her motley friends and family. This time, someone is killing best-selling authors—a science-fiction writer has been found violently slashed with an ‘X’, a gardening guru bludgeoned with his own shears, and an erotic novelist poisoned by a juicy apple. All the evidence points firmly at Roxy's beloved agent, Oliver, but she's not convinced. With the help of seductive newcomer, crime reporter David Lone, Roxy must hunt down the killer before another author meets their final sentence... Little does Roxy know, a ghostwriter is next on the hit list! Will this be Roxy Parker's last writes? 

Happy reading! (And please do get in touch with all your great feedback and comments.)

xo Christina

Greek Expectations (excerpts from my next novel)

Hi guys. I have started work on a new novel of a very different kind. While this one is a riddle wrapped in a riveting mystery, it's not about murder or mayhem, at least not in a physical sense. Instead it is about a woman's journey to a small Greek Island where she is in search of a missing diary.

Why? What is in this elusive diary? And why has she deserted her post as Editor of a glossy Sydney women's magazine to travel halfway across the world to find it?

I hope you enjoy this first, tantalising taste... Don't forget to post any comments and look for my other writing at: http://freequickreads.blogspot.com.au...
Or: www.amazon.com
www.smashwords.com

Happy reading!
xo Christina


Greek Expectationsby Christina Larmer© Larmer Media
CHAPTER 1 “I wish I could take my heart and plaster up the edges where cracks are starting to form, to smother it in putty and place it back again.” SOLINA
Fog gathered like cotton wool, loosened into stringy wisps on the shores of Sarisi Bay and the fishermen ignored it like they might their wives at home, and simply went about their business, checking sails, freeing ropes, rolling one for the road. A whistle, a coo-ee and in waves they set off, first one boat, then another, then two more, each slicing through the silence until the fog rejoined to gobble them whole with only the faint scent of their cheap tobacco left to remind us they were even there.
From the esplanade, Solina watched them without really taking them in, as though a passing image in the movie of someone else’s life. Even as the tobacco dissipated, she watched, her hands thrust determinedly into her too-thin coat, its pockets so high up she had to bend her elbows to keep them from the cold. This coat had caused a stir in the office when first she’d worn it. A black, wool coat with shearling trim. So luxurious, so now. And now so inappropriate. What she needed was a thick parka, with lambswool lining, perhaps. And a hood. Instead, she had a flimsy cotton beanie offering little comfort to ice-cold hair that had become limp with dew.
Still, the chill was not entirely unwelcome. It numbed her a little, matching her mood.  Beneath the coat the edge of her black pleated skirt caught in her flat-heeled boots and she noticed for the first time in hours that her feet had ceased to ache. They were numb, too (at least she’d thought to leave the stilettos behind). She made no effort to move, though, just stared out to sea surprised by its oily darkness and the smoke that her breath was now making, clouding up her view. Something else replaced it. A memory from a long time ago: a blonde and a brunette, giggling as they gulp in the crisp air between two long fingers pushed against red lips. Their fingers move away swiftly as they exhale, their lips upturned Hollywood-style into the sky and they watch as the condensation conjures up imaginary cigarette smoke before their eyes.
A dog’s howl snapped her lips shut and she glanced around. Releasing one hand from its warm cubby hole, she scooped up her Louis Vuitton bag and returned to the road, hesitating only briefly before turning away from town and towards Coso Point. Her feet felt warmer now and were beginning to throb again, yet she walked on regardless. It was a good half-hour’s walk to the top, but she had prepared herself for the climb and stopped every 10 minutes or so, resting on her bag and staring at the road ahead before switching it to the other hand and continuing on.
Questions began to creep up on her as she walked. What was she doing here? What if it’s not there? But this is Greece, she told herself. Things don’t get pulled down when their use-by date is up. She jiggled her head a little as though shaking some thought away and pressed on. And then it came into view, a thick black blot upon the horizon, and she almost managed a smile. By the time Solina reached the castle her head was throbbing harder than her feet, her nose dribbling freely, her coat off and strewn across one shoulder. She was sweating and panting and weary to the core, and whatever joy she may have had in reaching it was swiftly destroyed by the darkness. Where was the welcoming light? Through dark slats in the locked gate she could see the front door was closed, a thickly scribbled sign plastered to one side, illegible to her eyes. She searched for a buzzer, a door bell, anything. Then slid down the rock wall to join her bag on the cold cobbled road.
EVEThe young woman scowled at the phone. It hadn’t stopped ringing all morning. She answered it with a curt, “Eve magazine, Solina Malone’s phone.” She knew it wasn’t how her boss liked her to answer it, but then Solina hadn’t been spotted for two days and reprimanding her for her phone manner seemed a non-issue in the light of things.   “It’s bloody deadline week for Christ’s sake,” howled the publisher at the other end. “Don’t tell me she still isn’t in?”   “Sorry, Cray, not a peep.”   “Where the hell is she?”   “I’m not—”  “Did you call her at home?”  “Yes, sir, not answering.”   “Well, did you think to go over there? Make sure she hasn’t gassed herself or something?”Kiara thought about this for a moment. It hadn’t occurred to her, and she cheered a little at the thought.  “No, sir but that’s a great idea, I’m onto it.”  “Good,” the older man growled. “And, er, what’s your name again?  “Kiara, sir,”  “Good, Kiara, well let me know how you go. This is absurd.. Completely un-fucking-professional.”   “Oh I agree, sir, we’re all—”   “Solina and I are due at a Revlon lunch at one,” he interrupted, “and if she’s not found by then we can kiss the account goodbye.” And with that he was gone.
Kiara smiled. It was the longest conversation she’d ever had with the Eve publisher, the formidable Cray Jackson and, despite the tone, she had thoroughly enjoyed it. He was a large man with a bald head, a peppery moustache and a red mottled nose that suggested one too many boozy corporate lunches in his time. But the power he wielded — he published 16 titles in all — somehow endowed him with a certain rugged handsomeness that Kiara knew earned him a constant stream of flirtatious females, from the editors down. He was even rumoured to have slept with a few, despite a young blonde trophy at home, but Kiara doubted Solina had ever come close to bedding this man. He was out of her league.
Kiara stood up. She needed to get to Solina’s house, Cray was relying on her. The very thought made her heart swell, as though he had personally invited her to come on up to the seventh floor to swap a little tete-a-tete with the big boys. Perhaps he’ll remember my name now, she thought grabbing her handbag.
Glancing around, Kiara realised that the entire office was staring at her and she thought that she would burst. It was amazing the power that had suddenly shifted to her shoulders in a matter of one day. It was as though she, the measly editorial assistant, held the key to the case of the missing editor.
That’s when Alex Jones decided to pounce. The deputy editor leapt from her desk and dashed towards her.  “Cray hassling you?” she said. Kiara nodded. Alex drew her into Solina’s office and closed the door. “What are we going to do?”  “Looks like I’d better take a trip to Solina’s place,” she said.   “Exactly what I was going to suggest,” Alex said. “Just switch your phone to er,” she glanced around the office outside, “to Melissa’s. She can cover your calls.” She flung the door open and called out. “Mel, you’re on phone duty. But if Cray calls - or Solina for that matter - put them straight through to me, you hear? No-one else.”  A young redhead waved from the other end of the office. “What about any calls that come in for Solina? Do you want to take them?”  “Bugger that!” Alex replied. “Just take a message. It’s pretty basic stuff, Melissa, I’m sure you can handle it.” She turned back to Kiara. “OK, get going, but don’t take too long. And If you find her call me, OK? Not Cray. Me first. I’m in charge now.”Kiara smiled stiffly and leant across her to Solina’s phone. She punched in a few numbers, diverting the line to the feature writer’s, and then picked up her bag again. Typical, she thought. It hadn’t taken long for her power to be usurped.
Solina’s house was actually a hundred-year-old semi-detached in the upmarket suburb of Balmain. It had been freshly renovated with an ornate garden planted at the front, but none of that changed the fact that it was a pokey, drafty place. Not even its million-dollar price tag could change that. Kiara had been there several times before, usually on weekends or very late at night, to deliver film for proofing or the latest Eve cover for approval. But she had never been here during the cold hard light of a working day. It had never been necessary. Until yesterday, Solina hadn’t taken so much as a sick day. In three long years.
Kiara hammered at the door, rang the doorbell long and hard, then smudged her nose up to the windows. But no movement could be detected inside. Yesterday’s mail was still in the box, soggy from the overnight rain, and she didn’t bother retrieving it and slipping it under the door. She just turned on her heel and left, barely concealing a smile.

ARTEMISArtemis Xydis was in a good mood. It was his favourite hour, 5 am, and even the early risers of Sarisi were only just beginning to twist and turn in their beds, one last dream before reality rushes in. He has been up since 4.30 am, watching the fishermen depart, dragging on his own rollie, a cup of thick black coffee sparking up the brain cells. He would be joining them soon, but he was in no hurry. His livelihood does not depend on it.
In the bedroom beyond, the sheets were rumpled, the mattress dipping and diving where fervent limbs had beaten it out of shape. Rosa had dropped by again. His mood darkened. He liked her well enough, but he was glad she was somebody else’s wife. He slurped another long sip of coffee, revelling in the aroma, the warmth of it in his belly, the comfort of a good cup. He considered sparking the Atomic up again as he stumped out his smoke and stood up. That’s when he saw her, a slight silhouette against the silvery sea.
He stepped back quickly into the shadows of the balcony even though she had not looked round, could not possibly have seen him. But there was something about her stance that warned him off. It was a private moment. He felt like an intruder. Yet he continued to watch, curiousity getting the better of him. And he squinted his eyes, as though that would somehow sharpen his focus.
He could tell she was not a local, not even Greek. The coat, the stance, the way her shoulders were hunched like a fortress around her neck, all told him she was a stranger here, and an uncomfortable one at that. He stepped forward slightly to get a better view. It was early for tourist season. Had she steered off track? Then suddenly she turned directly towards him and for a second he thought he had been spotted, but she looked away easily, her face caught momentarily in the amber street light. Her lips were shut, her jaw clenched tight, her large eyes darting quickly along the street. He watched as she bent down to collect her bag, her auburn locks dropping down across her face and then flying back up with an experienced flick of her head as she stood and turned without hesitation away from town.
Artemis’s first reaction was to call out to her, to tell her she was going the wrong way, but something about her stride stopped him. She seemed hurried, determined. Without doubt. It was clear she was headed towards Coso Point and, he assumed, the castle. He had better alert his mate. The tourists were coming early this year.
As he returned inside to change, Artemis had the feeling the strange woman wasn’t a tourist at all. There was something about those eyes, that jaw, those lush locks that told him she was no stranger at all. He had seen them all before.###
Want to see more? leave a comment below or email me at:christina.larmer@gmail.com

Roxy Parker is back, better than ever!

Fans of my Ghostwriter Mystery series will be pleased to see the third book has finally been edited and is now available on Smashwords. It will soon be up on Amazon, too, so look out for it there if you own a Kindle.

So what's this one about?

Called Last Writes , this story tells of Roxy's quest to save her beloved agent, Oliver Horowitz, from being arrested for the murder of three famous genre writers. Someone has been killing off Australia's best-selling authors—a science-fiction writer is found slashed across the wrist with an ‘X’, a gardening writer bludgeoned with his own shears, and an erotic novelist poisoned by a juicy red apple. The police believe Oliver is guilty but Roxy's not convinced. Despite the overwhelming evidence—a serious lack of alibis certainly don't help—Roxy thinks Oliver's being stitched up, and she's determined to find out why.

Who is killing the great writers of Australia?

With the help of seductive newcomer, crime reporter David Lone, Roxy tries to hunt down the killer before she becomes the hunted. Little does she know, a ghostwriter is next on the hit list! Will Roxy soon be read her own last rites?

The third book in the Ghostwriter Mystery series sees the return of Roxy’s quirky friends and family including hunky Max Farrell (how will he handle Roxy’s new love interest?), meddling mother, Lorraine, Scottish softie Lockie, and supercop Gilda Maltin.

Full of mystery, suspense and a little romance for the soft-hearted, I think this is my best book yet.
I  hope you enjoy the read.

Best wishes,
Christina