B.A. Spicer's Blog, page 3

My Grandfather's Eyes - Chilling Psychological drama

I have never been beautiful.  And, of course, my appearance has deteriorated over time.  It is something I have become used to.  When I look in the mirror these days, and that is not very often, I am not surprised by what I see.  Neither am I disappointed, as I have given up hope of catching myself in a good light.  Let me tell you what I see.  First, the shape of my head is noticeably irregular, with a medium-sized bump just in front of the crown.  Next, my forehead is lined.  It always has been, ever since I can remember. People used to say I must be a deep thinker.  Only some of them were being kind.   Now the lines are deeper, but the traces they follow date back to my school days, when they did not go unnoticed by bullies.  My eyes are large and green; some might say they are intelligent eyes, that they are insightful or sincere.  I have learned not to set much store by what other people say.  I have meagre lashes, but it is usually boys who have the lavish kind.  My nose is straight and my mouth is full.  My hair is mousy, fine and thin.   When I was young, I wanted thick, straight blond hair, like my friend Lizzy’s.  We all want what we cannot have. There is perhaps nothing so far to complain about very much, you might say.  And so I come to my moles: the crawling growths that spread themselves over the side of my face and the underside of my jaw.  If you could see me now, you would probably recoil. I have noticed that even the most educated, the most sympathetic person has difficulty in hiding the innate disgust my moles excite in them.  Ah, yes.  Disgust is not too harsh a word, I can assure you.  And the others? Those who make no attempt to hide their feelings towards me?  They cannot help themselves, but stare in horror at what they see, as they sit on the bus clutching their shiny, plastic bags full of new things or as they push their wholesome choices around the supermarket.   Young children are the worst.  I do not admire their honesty, as their obsequious parents do.  My moles. My nevi.  How can I describe them?  I should say they are more or less dark brown in colour, although there are two above my left eye that are noticeably lighter.  My husband called them Castor and Pollux.  All have a rubbery, soft texture and, apart from one large mole near my ear, are hairless.  The one near my ear has short, thick hairs that bristle untidily.  My husband had a name for this one too.  He loved me too much.  He couldn’t help it.  None of us can choose whom we love.What more can I tell you?   That I am ambivalent to my nevi? That Castor and Pollux are my favourites?  That I like them for being different?  You may think this kind of reasoning strange and I would not blame you.  I can only explain it as a truth, a principle that has grown inside me as my moles have swelled and spread; have become part of my life.   Now, I am not sure I could be separated from them. 
There was a time when I believed my mother loved me. A time when she called me beautiful and, because I was not yet self-aware, I let myself be preened and cosseted in exchange for the comfort I felt from the warm glow of her approval.  I did not notice how she suffered. I did not recognise the mortification that lay beneath her smile. But wait a moment, a story must start somewhere nearer its beginning, and so I will go back and show myself more clearly to you, before I reveal what I have done.  I expect that you will judge me.
But I do not care.

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We all want the same things, don't we?

Once we are fed and watered, once the bills are paid, once we feel stable and secure, we look for something more.  A challenge of some sort, perhaps.

And as we become more sure of ourselves, more accomplished, we gravitate towards others to share something greater.

We can call it Love, but Love has many forms.  And many obstacles stand in its way.

Set in France, and with a definite French flavour, A Life Lived Twice follows a group of surprisingly disparate characters whose lives are linked in unexpected ways.  They are intelligent people, capable of making intelligent choices.  But choices bring unforeseen consequences, don't they?

A Life Lived Twice is FREE for one day only (9th November).
Click here to view on Amazon

Free on 30th October - One Day Promotion

What would you do if you woke up in a dark cellar, tied and silenced, with no memory of how you got there and no clue why?

...and, after your mind had calmed, you became aware that, on the other side of the door, someone was watching you?

What readers say:
"LOCKED AWAY provides an engrossing reading experience." 

"Absolute must read.  Loved how the chapters were short and full of twists and turns."

"For anyone wanting a quick, tense read about abduction and mind games, then I strongly recommend Locked Away."


Click here to view on Amazon

(Also available in paperback.)

I Get It

Reading through some of the one-star reviews of this book I was interested to note that a lot of people, twelve percent in fact, left comments like: 'ramblings of a teenage drunk', 'pile of rubbish', and my personal favourite: ' a blasphemy to the beauty of the English language'.  It was variously described as dull, tedious, repetitive, and lacking any kind of plot.  But the most frequent complaint was that it was disappointing.

When a book is described as a classic it's difficult not to expect something great.  Something that will perhaps change your perspective on the world.  If you read it, looking for this something and fail to find it, then, yes, it will surely disappoint.

It's happened to me and it's happened to you (I'm assuming).  We've all been disappointed by classic reads at some time or other.

The Catcher in the Rye is just one of those books.  You love it or hate it.  You find treasure or you don't.  You get it, or you don't get it.

This one, I got.

Now I have to say what it is that I 'got'.  To the best of my ability.  Which, I can tell you, is a daunting prospect.  It really is.

If you've read J D's classic, you'll notice the style of the last paragraph - a poor mimic, I'll admit.  But the style of writing is what first strikes the reader.  Here we have a seventeen-year-old boy telling us in 1950s teenage language, about his situation - he's at a prestigious boarding school, about to be kicked out after 'flunking' his exams.  And he's talking directly to us, first person, up close and personal.

I could describe the plot, but if you want an excellent summary you can visit Wikipedia.  I'd recommend it, especially after you've read the book, for all the snippets of peripheral information about the author.

What I want to say, to try to say, is why this book is one of my all-time best reads.

It's true that Holden Cauldfield (I love the strangeness of his name) is lazy, reactive, immature...but he is also hanging on to what he sees as 'real', what is not 'phony'.  His thoughts and interactions with other people are often superficial, his conversations repetitive, but mixed in amongst the simmering chaos of his life there are moments of astounding beauty.  It's like walking through a field of mud and finding something precious.  I don't mean something like a diamond or a wallet.  Rather consider coming across a baby bird, injured and near death.  Holden would pick it up, carry it away, make it well, if he could. 

Now, I've made the book sound soppy, but it's not.  True, it's nostalgic.  It takes you back.  Makes you remember feelings you had as a child growing up.  Holden Cauldfield reminds you that in a world of  fixed pathways through education, to a career and happiness, there are stop-offs along the way that blow any plan out of the water.  For him, it's where the duck go when the pond freezes over, the essay he wrote about his dead brother's baseball glove, the record he bought (and accidentally broke) for his sister Phoebe, or the trips to the Museum of Natural History when he was younger (he notices small changes and wishes things had stayed exactly the same).  These moments stand out amongst the mud and daily grind to nowhere like a beating heart.

As he gravitates towards home and his beloved younger sister, Phoebe, he follows a young boy walking carelessly in the gutter along a busy street.  He feels the boy's parents are unaware of the danger he is in.  Then, the boy begins to sing:

"If a body catch a body coming through the rye,"

which strikes Holden with its simple joy.  It also leads him to formulate a plan - a plan based on his understanding of the above line, which is a misquote from Burn's poem.  Holden sees himself standing at the edge of a field of rye where children are playing and shouting near a cliff edge.  As they run and play, unaware of the danger, Holden will stand guard and catch them when they fall.

I must admit, as I came to the final pages I wondered how on earth there could be a satisfying ending to a book that covers a three-day period in the life of a moody teenager.  The final paragraph, for me, is genius.  See what you think.

Whether or not you get the punch to the stomach and the shock to brain from these moments of insight, of clarity and simplicity, is probably down to how you are wired.  I don't want to sound smug or superior - there's plenty I don't get about a whole plethora of things.  I just can't help being amazed by this particular book and grateful to J D for writing it.

Here's the link if you want to give it a try:  Catcher in the Rye

New crime/mystery by B A Spicer

Alice isn't a conventional woman.  And she isn't a conventional detective.

Tall, slim, and some would say elegant in an old fashioned way, she has never married.  Her vocation as a policewoman is all consuming.

Long ago and far away, there was a man she cared for and who cared for her.  She sometimes remembers him, especially when she is in the company of her daughter, Jude.  It occasionally occurs to Alice that Harald will appear out of the blue, and she wonders what would happen if he did.  But for the most part her work absorbs her, sometimes too much.

Climbing the ranks to Detective Chief Inspector was not easy.  However, it was an undeniable fact that Alice Candy had a talent that could not be ignored, and finally she settled in a medium-sized town called Allarton, in the East of England, close to her daughter and her new husband.

Teamed with Detective Sergeant Will Brady, a bright, meticulous and loyal officer, they make a formidable duo.

Now in her early forties, Alice feels a calm brought on by personal and financial security.  She observes the world and the people she knows with a rye understanding, free of cynicism or judgement.  She is content.

Excitement comes when a case arrives on her desk that ignites her senses to a certain anomaly or incongruity in an otherwise obvious crime.  Then, with Will at her side, she dives into a world of subterfuge and lies, sniffing out clues that will lead her to success.

In her latest challenge, a simple hit and run turns out to be anything but...

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Available in paperback or as an ebook.

Review: The Legacy of Beauregarde by Rosa Fedele

Five stars from me!


If you like authors such as Daphne du Maurier...you'll love The Legend of Beauregarde
I read The Red Door before being gifted an ARC copy of Rosa Fedele’s new novel, which, I must say, is well worth a read if you enjoy strong characters and an intriguing plot.  The style is on the literary side – which I love.  Skilled and imaginative use of language add an extra layer of delight in my opinion.  The Legacy of Beauregarde is moody and, at times, sinister.  There are touches of the paranormal and shades of horror.  As you read, you feel as though you are sinking into the history of the place, its houses, and its characters (some of whom are not at all what they seem at first), wrap themselves around you. It’s true that there is a lot to take in, and that you need a sharp mind to keep up, but some of my favourite books make me work hard in order to repay my efforts tenfold.  And why not?  That's the way a good book draws you in.I must say also that the artwork scattered throughout the book, even in the ebook version, is captivating, and certainly helps to enhance the reader’s experience.Would I read it again?  This is one of my personal yardsticks in judging the quality of a novel.  And the answer is yes!  In fact, I’m looking forward to it.

SUMMER MADNESS24-hour offer - 2nd July onlyGet all three ...

SUMMER MADNESS

24-hour offer - 2nd July onlyGet all three of the Bev and Carol adventures for £1.99 (usual price £6.47)!
Click here to view book on Amazon

Read an excerpt from Book one: One Summer in France (two girls in a tent):

Polka-dot Pants and Gallic Gall
It was late afternoon when we arrived in France.  There was a train to Paris that we could catch if we hurried and, this time, there was nothing to stop us.  The carriage we chose was almost empty so we settled down and snoozed our way through the French countryside.We changed at Paris and boarded another train bound for a place called Narbonne.  I can’t remember why we took this route, but it was probably because the train to Perpignan was not due at a convenient time.  We had plenty of scope for detours, anyway.  And we didn’t realise how big France actually was.For a while, it was fun to gaze out at passing vineyards, miraculous fields of sunflowers and impressive chateaux.  This was definitely a foreign land.  But there were reminders of England – wooded hillsides and open meadows, a solitary oak.  This was a place that was different enough without being too intimidating.   What struck me most was the scale of everything.  The distances between towns and cities huge, the fields were enormous.  No wonder French cows were so happy. ‘Let’s get off here and find a campsite!’ said Carol, long before we reached our destination and after far too many hours travelling without a proper night’s sleep.  I didn’t need persuading.The sign on the platform announced that we had arrived in a place called Carcassonne.  It sounded pretty.  We stepped down, and I was grateful for the solidity of the ground beneath my feet.  I was not yet fully recovered from my ordeal on the ferry and was as keen as Carol to set up somewhere for the evening.  Anywhere, in fact, that wasn’t moving.‘Excusez-moi?  Nous cherchons un camping près d’ici,’ I said, to a woman who had started scowling even before I had started speaking, and who obviously did not realise that I was a master of her mother tongue.‘Perhaps she’s not French,’ said Carol, peering at a large brown patch on the woman’s neck.‘Let me try another one.  There!  He looks normal.’Carol approached a man dressed in white tennis shorts and a purple floral shirt.‘Excusez-moi, monsieur?  Le campsite, ici?’ I winced at Carol’s appalling grammar.The man looked even more confused than the woman.‘Sorry, I don’t speak French,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders and wobbling his chins.Soon, Carol and Mr. Plunket had become bosom buddies and it wasn’t long before he was loading our bags into the back of his hired BMW.It was a short drive to Carcasonne centre and what we saw as we looked out of the windows were flowers.  They were everywhere.  Along the verges, in pots along the road, at roundabouts.  Everywhere.  We had arrived in a land of colour and fragrance.  I wound the window down and a French wasp flew in.  Several screams and swipes later, Carol wound down her window and, to everyone’s relief, it flew back out again.  Pulses returned to normal and, after consulting one of the many maps our patient escort had thought to bring along, we arrived at our destination.Jethro Plunket dropped us off at the municipal campsite and pressed a five-hundred-franc note into Carol’s hand, saying that he had a daughter of his own who was about our age and that he believed in karma.‘Thanks, Mr. Plunket.’‘Call me Jethro.’‘Thanks, Jethro.’‘What kind of a name is Jethro?’ I asked, as he drove away. ‘Do you think it’s his real name?’‘No, probably working under cover, doing good deeds for vulnerable girls travelling through France,’ said Carol.‘Really?’‘No!!’Carol said that she didn’t know how I would survive without her and, picking up her bag, marched off to reception, leaving me to feast my eyes on the view of her red polka-dot knickers, which were exposed to the world due to the fact that she had caught her skirt on her bag.‘Welcome in Camping Municipal of Carcassonne!’ said the sign in the window.We peered inside and, just as we were about to venture in, a dumpy girl, eating a doughnut, loomed into view and locked the door from the inside.
End of excerpt. 

Free Detective Fiction (ends 9th June)

'Another cracking read from B A Spicer. You definitely won't spot the murderer from the outset, and you won't expect the outcome. Very well written.' Amazon reviewer



Hanson's Hunch 
British Detective Inspector Hanson is on the track of a serial killer.

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Bunny on a Bike by Bev Spicer is just 99p this week.

When I left university with my friend, Carol, I didn't have a clue what I wanted to do.  The career officer's spiel dulled my senses with suggestions that made the future into a nine to five nightmare.  I panicked.  Did I really have to choose?  Couldn't I put it off for a while?

Then I saw the advert for Playboy croupiers.  Never in a million years had I ever wanted to be a croupier and especially not for Playboy.  I imagined boobs, wild orgies and middle aged men pinching my cotton-tailed bum.  Somehow, reverse logic kicked in and I saw it as a challenge.

So, because it was a totally random thing to do and because it would undoubtedly shock a lot of people, I told Carol and we applied.

Bunny on a Bike tells the story of our adventure in 80s London, training in Victor Lownes' mansion and dealing blackjack in Playboy's London casino.  It's not a kiss and tell story.  It's a story of friendship, stolen teabags and comically lustful landlords.  And what it was really like to work for Playboy.

I'm so glad I did it.  And I'm so glad I did it with my lovely friend, Carol.

It's just 99p this week, if you want some fun between literary masterpieces.  Just click on the link below.  Hope you like it. 


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New Release - Download Hit and Run using the link below.

'Unputdownable'  Amazon reviewer.

I’m excited to announce the publication of my second Alice Candy novel.
It’s been a real test of endurance, having needed one major re-write and several drafts, all because characters grew, sprouted their own personalities and refused to be sidelined.  So we have, in no particular order, a handsome Reverend, a talented artist and her wild, dysfunctional sister, a dodgy-dealing ex-husband, an enigmatic lord of the manor and his equally intriguing staff, a missing teenage boy, and of course the very distinctive and unorthodox DCI Alice Candy, not forgetting her sharp and pragmatic sidekick, DS Will Brady.
One cold January morning, the day begins with a brutal hit and run at Breton Manor, but Alice quickly discovers there is much more to this case than meets the eye.  And so we embark on a tale of complicity and deception, of red herrings and strange twists, only to find ourselves at the end of another cul de sac. 
Tantalising and  complex, Hit and Run is the kind of novel that will keep you guessing until the end.  A full-blooded crime-mystery for readers who love characters they can believe in and a plot that seeks to outfox them.
Available as an ebook for the moment.  Paperback version to follow.


 Click to view on Amazon


The first Alice Candy novel, Locked Away, is very different in tone, having been originally conceived as a New Adult novel.  It has been re-worked and revised, but remains much more dramatic and at times hysterical, as the main protagonist is a girl in her early twenties, Ellie Braintree, who has been kidnapped on her birthday and finds herself in the cellar of a house, terrified in the darkness that surrounds her.  She is, however, no pushover and soon begins to put her quick mind to use to work out who her captor is and how to get the better of him or her and escape.
Things take an extraordinary turn when a second victim arrives, cold and whimpering, crouched in the shadows, too scared to say a word.
Alice Candy needs all her skills to find Ellie before it’s too late. 

Available as an ebook or in paperback.



Click to view on Amazon