D.A. Cairns's Blog, page 20

The Black Coach

Title: The Black CoachISBN: 978-1-62420-311-4Author: Nickie Fleming
Genre: Gothic RomanceExcerpt Heat Level: 1Book Heat Level: 3
Buy at: Rogue Phoenix Press, Amazon, Barnes and NobleNICKIE WILL GIVE AN EBOOK COPY OF ONE OF HER BOOKS TO A RANDOMLY DRAWN COMMENTER.







REVIEW:
The Black CoachNickie Fleming
Reviewed by Tamara White
5 Stars of 5
Abuse, Murder, Love, and the Black Coach
Nickie Fleming’s crisp and colorful words thrust the reader back into a time where horse drawn coaches were the mode of transportation and women’s dresses dragged on the ground. The author’s words give you a real sense of being there. I enjoyed the pace of the book. The book moves effortlessly through the well-defined plot. The book creates an immediate interest in the main character. From the first page the author quickly draws you into the tumultuous life of the young blonde hair woman Maggie. Maggie is a woman who possesses a quiet determination that gives her the strength she needs to defy her beginnings. From the moment you meet Maggie you want to see her make it. Neil Pickering, the man whose life becomes unexpectedly intertwined with Maggie’s, is a unique character. He is as intellectually strong and determined as he is handsome. Whenever Pickering is present his personality commands the scene. His need to understand medicine matches her need to survive. I enjoyed the gritty murders that take place in the book. The murders have a dark undertone, which left me eager to finish each page and discover who has such a thirst for death. The Black Coach plot offers its readers mystery, hope, intrigue, and a quiet love story. It is an immediate for anyone passionate about reading.

TAGLINE
The Devil is riding his black coach across the moors of Yorkshire and hunts virgins. Or is this so?
BLURB
Strange things are happening in the village of Pickering, Yorkshire. Two girls are found murdered, and there is talk about strange going-ons at night. Caught in the middle of this turmoil is Maggie Thompson, an orphan, who needs to fend for herself. Running away from an employer who maltreated her, she nearly dies during a winter storm. She is rescued by a man who lives in a nearly abandoned house. Neil Harrington has his own secrets however. Maggie will have to trust on her feelings to know what is right or wrong. And she can’t forget there is a killer on the rampage…
EXCERPT
It didn't take long before Maggie was fast asleep once again. When Martha noted her drooping head, she put a cushion behind it, to make the girl more comfortable and lastly spread a plaid over her, lest she should catch a cold.She studied the girl for a while. Cleaned up, she already looked a lot better than the previous day. She had better talk to the master. The girl's speech was remarkable fine for a working-class child. She felt sure there was something of a mystery involved here. Perhaps thinking about this would lighten Neil's mood. He'd been mourning Lady Suzanne long enough to her liking.Around noon her son walked into the kitchen for his lunch. He looked up when he saw the sleeping girl."Is she fit to come down already?" he wanted to know."She's not completely better," Martha told him, "but she ate all of her breakfast, and as you can see she's sleeping again. No better healer then rest, I say.""The master asked me how she was," Amos said. "I'm glad I can tell him she's doing fine.""Did he need you to fetch something?" Martha wanted to know. They both knew to what she was referring."I brought in the usual. I don't mind, though," her son acknowledged.She nodded. "We have a good master in his lordship. No matter what other people may think, he's a decent human and I'm proud to be serving him.""So am I," Amos agreed.He sat down at the kitchen table and immediately began to eat when his mother put a full plate before him."I thought you'd like some stew," Martha said. "There is enough meat in it to give you stamina for the next trip."No need for more words. Mother and son understood each other perfectly.
~ * ~
Later that afternoon, in Pickering village, the men of the region gathered in the local pub after ending their work on the fields and farms. The talk was lively and the beer flowed freely.John Barry put down his pint, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and remarked to his mate Ben, "Saw that black coach again yesterday, when I went to check on the sheep."Ben hardly looked up. "Aye, I'm listening.""Wonder whose property it is and what its business is. Always appears when darkness falls."Ben took another gulp of his pint. Then he acknowledged what John mentioned. "My brother's son, Tim, saw it too. He said it rode so fast, as if chased by the devil.""Yeah, it was speeding for sure. Could not see who or what was in it.""Not the first time it's been seen on our road. Something strange going on, I think."Joshua Thistlewaite, the landlord, heard the comments but didn't comment on them. He just poured the drinks like a good landlord. Besides, he couldn't well afford to spend time talking to his customers. The pub was full, as always around this time. His sharp eyes surveyed everything to be sure he could intervene at a timely fashion.All the men and lads he knew from around, except for the one stranger. He'd never seen the man before. The man entered about half an hour ago and ordered a light ale in a polite way. Now he was seated in the farthest corner of the pub, sipping his pint.While enjoying a calmer moment behind the tap, Joshua studied the stranger more closely. He looked to be in his forties, had a stern face and lips which seldom laughed. A lawyer or a banker in all probability, he thought.What bothered him a little was that the man appeared to be listening in on the conversation of Ben and John, although he couldn't fathom why such ordinary talk would interest a man of his quality.Disturbing his thoughts, the stranger beckoned him."What can I do for you, sir?" he asked, hurrying over to his table and trying not to show he had been studying him."First, fetch me another pint of this excellent lager and then, if you can spare the time, I'd like to talk to you for a while."It was said in a cultivated tongue, and Joshua could immediately tell the stranger didn't originate from this part of the country. London or some other southern town, he guessed.He hurried to carry out the order, while asking Ben to step behind the bar for the time he was occupied elsewhere. He returned to the table."I am now at your disposal, sir."He saw how the stranger glanced shortly at Ben, who was already tapping another pint for John."Do you get a lot of people in here?" he then wanted to know."It depends," Joshua replied. "On weekdays it can get busy when all the men need to water their throats.""You must know quite well what goes on in the village," the stranger continued.Joshua shrugged. He carefully weighed his words, not wanting to reveal too much. His instinct told him something was not right here."Not much goes on in Pickering I don't know about."The gent nodded. "I thought so. Well, I am trying to locate a young woman by the name of Margaret Thompson. She would be eighteen years of age and has blonde hair. Do you know if any such girl lives in or passed by your village?"Joshua was silent for a moment. The request confirmed his ill feelings. He understood he would have to be very sparse in answering, to make sure he didn't cause harm to anyone or anything."Why do you need to know?" he asked, but in such a way the other would not be insulted.The man smiled. To all appearances, he looked innocent and seemed trustworthy. Joshua knew better. He felt an underlying coldness and sensed some feeling of threat."She's come into an inheritance and the trustees have asked me to find out her whereabouts," the man answered, while smiling again, and producing a gold coin out of one of his pockets.Joshua eyed the coin and reconsidered. It could be true. He knew there existed men who were employed to search for people who were lost or had disappeared. After all, the stranger had done nothing wrong yet."Farmer Aldleigh has a blonde girl working for him," he offered, feeling at last he could trust the man enough. "She came asking for work not so long ago. Perhaps she's the one you are looking for?""It might be," the other agreed, while putting the gold coin into his hand. "Can you be so kind as to give me directions to this farm?""It'll be my pleasure, sir," Joshua beamed. "When you follow the road leading out of the village, you go until the crossroads and then turn left. Aldleigh's farm is a mile or so from there. If you don't wait too long, you can be there before darkness falls.""Thank you. I'll go and have a talk with the farmer.""Glad to be of service.""No, it is I who must thank you," the stranger said while putting a second gold coin on the table. He then got to his feet and grabbed his overcoat.Joshua returned to his work. His eyes followed the gentleman as he made his way through the throngs of farmers and finally left the pub.

                                                               Author Bio

Nickie Fleming was born and raised in the historical town of Dendermonde, Belgium, home of the legendary Horse Bayard. Nickie read English and Dutch Literature and Linguistics at the University of Ghent, where she took her master's degree in 1978. She began work as a teacher of languages to 16-18 year-olds and has done so during her long career. She has been writing since she could hold a pen in her hand, but only came to publication when she was well over 50—mainly because she was not actively seeking it. Besides writing, Nickie spends her time with the things she loves—and those she doesn't like so much: housekeeping, reading (favorites are thrillers and good romances), listening to good music, going to see shows and concerts, travelling, food and wine... Nickie is single and shares her house with her only sister, who is equally single. The two ladies get along just fine and do most things together.

Celebrate the small things: full attendance

Full attendance is my elusive dream: at the beginning of each new term, at the beginning of each new week, at the beginning of each new day, I hope that all of my students will show up to class. Sadly, I have had to abandon my other dream that they would all arrive on time and stay until the end. I now that will not happen - but full attendance is possible, and this week I came tantalizingly close.

Due to the rarity of full attendance, I had cause to celebrate 'almost' full attendance twice this week. On Thursday and Friday, only one student was missing.

I am happy to teach whoever shows up. I start the class on time for those who can be bothered to be punctual, and late comers, miss out or have to catch up. Half of the class normally leaves after the second break, but I keep teaching in the last session for the benefit of those who aren't full of excuses about why they can't stay for another forty minutes.

It is annoying and disruptive to have students roll in like browns cows, and/or not attend whole days at all with no good reason, but the students themselves are the ones most affected.

They have to do five assessments every week. Students who are absent have to do those catch up exams when they show up, which means that while they are doing catch up exams which test their knowledge of skills they were not in class to learn or practice, I am teaching new content to those who did show up and who did do the tests. It's a vicious circle for students with poor attendance. Not only do they not learn new content, but they are continually tested on content they don't know, because they don't come to class. or when they do, they are busy doing catch up tests.

Nearly achieving full attendance this week means that all students are now up to date with their assessments, and I was able to teach new content to all but one for two days in a row.

I actually care about how my students perform. I may even care more than some of them do. Full attendance is a little thing, but it makes me happy, so today I'm celebrating 'almost' full attendance and the renewed hope that one day soon, I may get 100%.

I've got a penis and I like women

I'm a Christian, and I'm pretty conservative when it comes to sexuality. (NB; I did not use so I'm pretty conservative, I used and.) I'm a fan of monogamous marriage - one woman and one man. I'm a supporter of abstinence, and I think the practice of heterosexuality is natural, whereas the practice of homosexuality is not.


I don't support bullying, discrimination, intolerance or exclusion. I consider myself to be a rational person with moderate and balanced views. I don't believe I think of myself more highly than I should, nor more lowly. I'm respectful and I have an open mind, but...

Some things just make sense to me that don't make sense to others, and vice-verca. For example, I cannot understand why some Christians make such a fuss about homosexuality when my Bible clearly says that homosexuality, fornication, adultery and dishonesty (among other things) are all one and the same: sin. Excluding practicing homosexuals from the church because they are sinners should logically mean that we exclude everyone from church because we are all sinners. Who decided that homosexual fornication was worse than heterosexual fornication? Who decided that promiscuity was worse than fornication? Who decided that adultery was worse than lying? (Those two always go hand in hand by the way -always.)

Having said that, I don't think two men having sex is natural, nor two women. I may feel attracted to other men, or women, appreciating their appearance or their personality, but that doesn't mean I want to have sex with them. I can love, and I do love other men, but I don't want to have sex with them. I've got a penis and I like women. The penis and the vagina are designed for each other. Yes, designed. I'm a Christian, and I believe in intelligent design.

Take two identical cars. The designer -remembering that even simple machines don't happen by accident, let alone the most complex machine we know of: the human - recommends a certain kind of fuel be used in the car in order to achieve optimal engine performance and longevity. So, car number 1 has its tank filled according to specifications, while car number 2 receives a tankful of cheap, low quality fuel. Now the two cars will be driven for the same length of time, at the same speed, in exactly the same conditions -sorry naturalists, but in this analogy I have removed all elements of chance. It is a totally controlled environment. Two identical cars: one has good fuel, the other has bad fuel. Get the picture?

God has created us and given us all we need to, with apologies to Vulcans, live long and prosper. The designer's guide book is readily available. All we need do is follow it.

If only it were that simple...maybe it is. Maybe we have just become super efficient at complicating, and therefore, ruining our lives and the lives of others. Maybe we keep filling ourselves with bad fuel. Maybe we should worry less about other people's sins and concentrate on our own. Maybe there's a better way.

Celebrate the small things: salt and pepper

When teaching my students how to improve their writing, one of the things I stress is the importance of adjectives and adverbs. I explain to them that adjectives add information to nouns and adverbs add information to verbs. Without them, adjectives especially, writing can be dull, and the one thing you don't want as a writer is to bore your readers. I tell them that adjectives and adverbs add flavour to their writing. Without descriptive language, writing can taste very bland to the reader's palate. (with more advanced learners I can also discuss metaphorical language as exemplified by my previous sentence.)

I recently chose a book based on the title and the blurb. Had I also read the first chapter or even the first few pages, I would not have bought it. Why? As far as descriptive and metaphorical language goes, it was a desert. I won't name the book here, but I did, after much deliberation, review it on Goodreads with a rating of two stars. I read through it quickly without feeling engaged or especially interested at any point. At first, I didn't know why, and then I figured it out. Aside from other faults, like excessive use of passive voice, it lacked descriptive language. I might be wrong, but I don't think there was a single metaphor or simile to be found between its covers. 


Quickly moving on to the next novel, I was immediately relieved. To continue my desert metaphor from above, I had made it to an oasis where I was able to jump in to beautiful literary writing, full of wonderful descriptive passages and powerful metaphors. My soul was refreshed after just one chapter of The Water Horse by Julia Gregson.

That is also the reason I love classic novels so much: they feature such beautiful and fascinating language, as well as unusual and complex sentence structures.

So today I am thankful for adjectives, adverbs and metaphors: salt and pepper, and mushroom sauce on my reading steak. 

Celebrate the Small Things: A taste of metal

None of my friends, in real life, or in my online life are major heavy metal fans like myself which means I have no one to talk to about one of the loves of my life. My son used to be. He was once obsessed with Metallica, and he introduced me to the band which is now one of my favourites: Australia's own, Parkway Drive. Sadly he has moved on from his metal phase.

To overcome this problem, I did what everyone does when they have no one to talk to...I turned to social media. I found a Facebook group for heavy metal fans, and now I can exchange opinions and music with headbangers from all over the globe. This gives me pleasure, so today I am giving thanks for Crescent Heavy Metal Rock Music.

I also want to give thanks for the genre itself, which contains surprising diversity. Bach is said to be the originator of heavy music, and many of the great early heavy metal bands, Black Sabbath for example, credit this influence. I don't like all the sub genres of heavy metal, but I doubt anybody does. Whilst some think heavy metal is just noise, the bands I like, impress and move me with their musicianship and the lyrical content. I actually find loud, fast and aggressive music relaxing. Okay, so that sounds weird, but each to their own right?

My top five metal bands are, in no particular order: POD, Metallica, Disciple, Parkway Drive, and Trivium.

Here's something moderate for your possible enjoyment:

Celebrate the Small Things: Fluff and Bubbles

Social media represents different things to different people. For some it is an addiction, for others a time filler/waster. To some it is a weapon of activist/fundamentalist warfare, for others it's all about relationships, (sharing and connectedness). For some it's about information, for other it's about entertainment. For some people it's a mixture of all these things with recipes as diverse as humanity itself, while for others it's nothing at all.
I have an eclectic group of friends on Facebook so I get exposed to a wonderful variety of people and their worldviews. I love it! It's so fascinating - irritating and offensive at times, to be sure, but nonetheless engaging, informative and entertaining.
From time to time, I like to take my friends on by making provocative comments because I like a good discussion. At other times, I just want to 'share' my own thoughts. I also, on occasion, simply want some fluff and bubbles. I think most memes are stupid so I just ignore them. It still mystifies me how a video of ducks walking along a road gets millions of views on YouTube, but...whatever. I don't tell anyone what they should or shouldn't like or share because I respect people.
Today I feel grateful for the World Wide Web, and in particular, social media which is, on balance, a wonderful thing. So today because I'm feeling light and fluffy, here's a video of ducks; just for you.

Healthy Choice Lasagne

Oops...this isn't supposed to be here. Maybe this 'accident'  happened for a reason.

It's what I also feared (perhaps too strong of a word) about microwave low fat/no fat meals: a lack of taste. This cost $4, and was quite filling, but lacked punch, and cheese. This is easily the worst of the microwave lasagnes I've had. Not terrible, just not as good as the others. 2 mangoes.

I bought myself another half pineapple for $2.50 from Coles, and had some tonight. Great. Sweet and juicy. 5 mangoes.

Celebrate the Small Things:Australia Day

"Australia is a 21st century project being worked on by around 24 million people." - Prime Minister, Malcolm Turnbull.

These words were spoken during a citizenship ceremony in Canberra last Thursday: Australia Day. I've been thinking about what he said a lot since. His words resonate deeply with me. I find them both profound and inspirational.

January 26, 1788, was the day the First Fleet, led by the incomparable Captain Arthur Phillip, arrived in Sydney Cove and raised the British flag over a new penal colony. With a simple ceremony the British empire claimed another piece of 'empty' land as their own. 

January 26, 1788, was the day the white man came and dispossessed the Aboriginal inhabitants, ushering in a long period of human rights abuses against them. A number of Australians now call January 26, "Invasion Day" - not a day for celebration, but a day for mourning.

While the debate rages around me, I mostly avoid it and continue to celebrate Australia Day because I love my country, and I, as the PM stated, believe in our future. I understand and 'own' Australia's history, and the plight of Indigenous Australians fills me with regret and sadness, but I am not responsible for what happened. I am responsible for how I treat people now. I believe we can find our way to true reconciliation so I focus on all the good things.This is a great country. It is my home. I was born here, and I am thankful for that.

Celebrate the Small Things: Rules

Despite my aversion to Chinese take-away food, I placed an order with Happy Garden, and fifteen minutes after my call, I strolled down the road to collect my dinner. It is a short, and typically uneventful journey, which I have made on numerous occasions.

As I left home, I heard my second least favourite suburban sound: a leaf blower. (Why can't people just use a broom?) When I turned the corner, I saw the offending contraption being wielded by a neighbour. He was operating on the same side of the road on which I was walking. Blowing leaves and twigs from his driveway and the section of footpath which stretched across in front of his property. I came closer, he saw me, but continued his two-stroke puffing. On the assumption that he would cease his labour momentarily to allow me to pass, I continued. I even caught his eye, and nodded in the laconic masculine way we Aussie blokes acknowledge strangers.

When he didn't stop, I deviated off the footpath on to the road and
received a faceful of dust. Blinking furiously to clear the offending detritus, I was unaware of the man's dog running towards me. I only realized it was there when it jumped on me and began humping my leg. I turned to the owner who turned away, and when the dog was finished, it too, left me alone, and both returned to the private space behind the automatic gate which was closing.

I reckon this man broke a number of social rules; the worst of which was not apologizing. Thankful for the fact that none of the stuff he blew in my face damaged my eyes, and neither did his overly friendly dog do me any harm, I simply reflected on the fact the world is a better place when people are considerate of other people.

Celebrate the Small Things: Thoughts on the brain

A war is said to rage, in most men and women, between the head and the heart. The head refers to logic, to rationality, while the heart is the seat of our emotions. This is a metaphor obviously because as we know the heart only has one function: to pump blood around our body. Admittedly, it's a pretty important job, but the point is the heart is merely a muscle with no capacity for producing emotions.

Feelings are generated in our heads, by the chemicals produced in our brains. Does it disillusion you to know that the alleged battle between the heart and the head is really a civil war fought inside your cranium? Head V Head. Different parts of the brain fighting for control of the same territory.


Emotions are merely brain functions, but I wonder if how we feel is a product of how we think, or if it is the other way around. Aha! Another chicken and egg question.

In Crime and Punishment, Raskolnikov challenges Svridrigailov about the morality of his pending marriage to a young woman much his junior, by saying: 'The fact is this monstrous difference in age and development excites your sensuality. Will you really make such a marriage?'

Svridrigailov replies, 'Why, of course. Everyone thinks of himself, and he lives most gaily who knows best how to deceive himself.'
(spoiler alert: read what happened to Svridrigailov below)

Most of us attempt to control our feelings by managing our thoughts, by restraining them as best we can, but for many this is an almost impossible task and one which, at the very least, is exhausting. Maybe I am the only one whose brain gives him as much trouble as it does pleasure. (What a strange confession.)

My brain controls all my body functions, and I earn a good living with my brain (as a teacher and a writer), but that same organ often gets me in all sorts of bother. A character on a TV soap* recently said that she wished she could take her brain out of her head for a just a few hours so she could have a rest. I feel the same way some times.

Today I thank God for my brain.

*Paige (Olympia Valance) on Neighbours

Photo sources:
http://unstoppablefamily.com/wins-bat...
https://fridgepants.wordpress.com/tag... 

Svidrigailov visited his 16 year old fiance and her family one rainy night, paying them a large sum of money and saying he had to go away on urgent business, but would return soon. He then spent a sleepless night in a cheap and nasty hotel where he suffered through an horrific series of nightmares. The next day he proceeded to the American Embassy where he shot himself dead at the front gate, despite the protests of the guard who told him his actions were inappropriate.