Jane Thomson's Blog: But I'm Beootiful!, page 11

Of mobs and heroes…Australia’s trial by fire

A little context. My home is right now sitting not far away from a massive fire front, its ragged fingers like outstretched talons reaching towards my little rural community. I’ve evacuated, temporarily. Better off than some – whose houses are now ash and rubble. Better off than those who have died, and better off than the millions of animals with nowhere to run, no cars to jump into.

Naturally I spend a lot of time on Facebook, anxiously trawling for news – is it here yet? are my friends and neighbours safe? Do I still have a home to go back to? Facebook, the Great Satan, is proving the Great Connector. And yet.

It’s here that you find the best, and the worst. The people who make your heart swell with pride to be Aussie, or even human, and the people who…well, don’t. Our village fire coordinator, who finds time to make jokes about weird designer clothes for men in the direst of times. The firies who come from the north coast – recently beset by fire – to help us here in our little hamlet. The neighbour who pops around to check someone’s gutters because they can’t climb a ladder, who lends a generator, brings fresh water, cooks a quiche. The truckies who deliver free hay and water, the Sikhs and Moslem convoys who bring food to country towns. The people whose loungerooms are now full of burnt native animals in pillow case pouches. It makes me cry. Kindness, cooperation, stoicism, bravery. The best of us.

And then. The armchair experts who overflow with vitriol and sheer stupidity ‘It’s all the greenies’ fault’, ‘You never see a fire on a concrete footpath’, ‘These fires are nothing unusual’. The ‘string ’em up’ brigade, ‘99% of Aussie fires caused by arsonists’, ‘Looters run amuck in fire evacuated towns’, ‘We need more logging!’.  There’s a tendency for some of us to turn on each other in these awful times. In my own village, thoughtless kids started a blaze which was soon put out; naturally, they got a severe talking to. The single individual who started a hate rant about it on the local Facebook group was quickly shut down – and it’s this which makes me proud of my home. Others have not been so chilled, choosing to maintain old feuds while the fires rage around us, and that’s disappointing.

Opinions are one thing. Mobs are another, very much more dangerous phenomenon that we need to avoid at all costs in these testing times. Anyway. A friend has written an understated and very moving piece about being in the midst of it all…here it is.

And well, like a lot of evacuees, I’m missing my home…

 

I’ve been wondering…

Work….does it strike you as weird that there’s this thing that most of us hate – and yet we have to compete to be allowed to do it, like an odd sort of board game your uncle brings out on Boxing Day.  Throw a six and you get to spend twelve hours a day in a prison shuffling papers, or de-feathering chooks! But of course, what we actually want is money. No money without work, right? But suppose you got paid a living wage whether you worked or not?

A few weeks ago about eight of us rural hicks tooled down to the Community Hall to watch the film Free Lunch Society (we had to bring a plate – does that count as a free lunch?). BUT, said a particularly suspicious woman afterwards, if the government PAY us, does that mean they CONTROL us? Be that as it may…what would you do, if you didn’t HAVE to? (I guess I’d write, and clean house for old ladies. I like old ladies.)

Turning from one kind of dream to another, is there something wrong with us ladies, the way we hoover up all these novels about brooding, muscle-bound billionaires who force us to submit to their cruel desires (granted, we LIKE being made passionate love to by hunks, who wouldn’t? But the whole point seems to be that we DON’T…and yet we must. Sick…or what?) Do you like being ordered around? Or is it a harmless game, like…having a thing for anal porn?

I’ve been reading a lot about domestic abuse (research for my current novel) and have experienced some…it was not particularly sexy. Granted, there’s a rush when a guy wants you so bad he throws you onto the bed and ‘takes’ you…IF you’re in the mood. It palls, though – especially when you wake up in the night and put your hand on his leg and he throws a tantrum because he’s the one who’s supposed to do the taking. I’ve had a guy put his hands around my throat. I’ve had a man force sex on me. I’ve had a man – six foot four and full of muscle, as the song goes – jump up and roar at me. For a while I tried to fix it, as women so often do… We say men need to change – they do, and maybe so do we. Perhaps self-respect, autonomy, the right not to feel afraid – is more important than love. Maybe we need to learn to put LESS value on love, to care a little less…the new feminism?

I had a German backpacker here lately. She was lovely, but she wouldn’t watch the news! Why not? Because she said it was depressing…you can’t change anything, after all. You can pick up your rubbish and turn off the lights, but what can you do about Them – better to look away. So what’s the difference between living in a…what’s it called?…oh yeah, democracy…and under a dictatorship? The power to choose between Those and Them, once every four years? And what if THEY take over while you’re not looking and next thing you know…bam, you’re in the Third Reich! Maybe it’s our duty to keep looking…what do you think?

Poor old democracy…I was at the markets the other day and bumped into Suspicious Lady. Again (well, it’s a small place). “Our local council,” she said, “is completely corrupt and useless!” “Yes,” chimed in her grandson, a bearded lad in his twenties, “I’d rather we had a monarchy. At least kings aren’t tied to any particular interest, and they’re trained to rule, right?” If even Generation X want Henry VIII back, are we in trouble?

And on a personal note, I just ran out of water. I’ve got two rainwater tanks: one’s empty, the other nearly. When I walk around, the grass crunches like straw. City people I know have been telling me they’re looking for boltholes…little hideaways in the country where they can hide from the collapse of civil society, when climate change has fucked us all up. On board as I am with this plan…how common is it?….I can’t help thinking, yes, but what will you do when your tanks run dry. What will we all do?

Well, I ordered up a water truck. An acquaintance bought a house in New Zealand. Hard to imagine that any of this borderline survivalist stuff will be required…but I admit, my dried up creek, and the tanks, have me spooked. When the river runs dry…

The beautiful photo is by Tom Gainor on Unsplash.

Remembering happiness!

Of late I’ve been thinking, from time to time, about joy – the sort of moment that lights you up like a Christmas tree and then leaves you just as suddenly, but that’s ok, because you’ve been there, haven’t you! Music seems to have a lot to do with it…sometimes sex. Often nature. Sex IN nature while listening to music…yes! So this is a little memory from my life that I wrote for friends…and a song to go with it.

Words for joy seem inadequate to describe these moments of utter connection. Happiness, bliss, ecstasy, intoxication, rapture – none of these terms seem quite right. I am in a bar, of all places, playing pool – a game I am not good at – with a glass of beer on the table – a drink I do not like – with a temporary friend, a woman with whom I have nothing much in common. The bar is full of Africans; she is mildly racist.

Oh but my God, the potency and power of that pool cue as I balance it in my hand, the beautiful buzz of flirtation, desirability, peril, possibility, the unaccustomed thrill of having a friend of the female persuasion, for once, the secret satisfaction of knowing that I am more pusillanimous than she, the sheer fun of bending over the balls, sighting my shot like a sniper, the snap of the hit and spin and thunk into the pocket, a fantastic fluke.

And then this feeling of reasonless felicity, as if the universe has opened its infinite palm and released a torrent of light, a comet, a halo of happiness white, neon blue, a flower, a flame,, and my grin barely able to contain it all. I should be a burning tower, an exploding star, a wave, a dragon, but I’m just me.

“You know what,” I say to my nervous and narrow companion, “Right now I’m really, really happy!”

“Are you?” she says, and by her uncertain, wary smile I understand that she sees no reason for this hyperbolic happiness, for where are we but in a bar, dingy, unkempt and full of dark foreign faces, her make up worn in vain for there’s no swain here she’d choose to seduce, both of us playing pool poorly, and the drinks cheap and flat.

Words fail and flounder, when divine fire strikes, and I’m its conductor. But like any lightning rod, I must be grounded, connected, a conduit. I can’t do it alone. Spontaneous combustion, a crackle in the atmosphere, a living spark, conflagration. Why we live.

And the song…https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJwLIG4bwIo

Moving from the, um, sublime to the not so sublime, if you’re in the mood to pick up a free first-of-series in the paranormal/scifi/fantasy genres, there’s a bunch of them to be found here! I’ve downloaded a few myself, in my endless search for the Great Indie Novel – so if you do drop by the promotion, tell me if you find a good one.

November’s outstanding indies!

Pete and I have been ferreting about for fun, original and literate self-published novels this month – and here is the fruit of our labours! (Mind you, some of these novels do have a publisher, but since it’s a tiny press, we’ve counted them as indies.)

So from me…

Artist on Campaign, by Caroline Miley, is a superb – and I don’t say that lightly – historical novel set in the Peninsular Wars (fought by Wellington against Napoleon’s generals in Portugal and Spain). The novel concerns the adventures of Mr Ralph Oughtred, an impecunious artist who’s hired (in the nick of time, as far as his finances are concerned) to paint portraits of all the main British generals engaged in the war. Damn it, they keep dying – so he needs to be quick! Oughtred is loath to leave his lady friend – “dearest Lucinda” – but of course, once he’s in Portugal, temptations (and risks) abound. As the plot unfurls, Oughtred finds himself embroiled in more adventure than he bargained for. Miley does ‘period conversation’ brilliantly, but brings a modern sense of pace and liveliness that’s really enjoyable. She has a historian’s grasp of the context and a writer’s instinct for plot and style – the book is a tour de force. You can find it here.

Wild Hare, by Laura Koerber, is a beautiful example of ‘dystopian magic realism’. The story revolves around a half-breed forest fairy, Bobby Fallon, who uses his limited magical powers to con shopkeepers into letting him walk out with extra fags and toilet roll. Bobby hangs out in the woods with a selection of tramps and full blood fairies, but beyond their carefully guarded refuge, America has become a Trumpian nightmare, embodied by the slogan ‘Make Your Own Happiness!’. When Bobby’s friend Arne is locked up for non-payment of fines in a seemingly perpetual bureaucratic cycle of despair, Bobby has to resort to extreme measures to find the money to bail him out. Meanwhile, romance blossoms between Bobby and the kind, overweight receptionist at Bear Lake holiday park….This book is kind, insightful, original, scary, funny – and beautifully written. You can find it here.

And from Pete…

Who do you send for when you have a claim-jumping dragon? Or need to rescue your beloved from a forced marriage? The ingenious Edward Wallace, cunning contriver of steam-powered magic, that’s who – in two novellas by Bryan Fields: Mine and Hearts Before Diamonds. Neatly-written and ingeniously-plotted tales set in a world where plagues of flying tigers mix with clockwork wonders.

Bryan’s partner, Noelle Meade, has an engaging heroine whose life is turned around when one third of humanity turns into dwarves, elves, minotaurs and other less classifiable creatures. Even though – or perhaps because – many politicians are now small grey scuttling things, life somehow goes on. Or would, if not for the horrible ex-boyfriend, now a werewolf. Warning – a fair amount of sex, and some violence (he’s not the nice kind of werewolf, if there is such a thing), but you warm to Olivia and keep wanting to find out how she is going to turn her life around. That’s Forging Day, first in a series.

A side-note is that Bryan Fields died recently after a long illness, and his partner is wrestling with the crappy US health system. So by buying the book, you get a good read and do a good deed!

Happy November reading! And btw, if you HAVE a book you’d like reviewed, feel free to get in touch (fallaciousrose at fallaciousrose.com). And if you want to get down amongst the free indie fiction, there’s a bunch of free November mysteries here – tell me if you find anything good!

Sex, politics and Facebook Messenger!

This morning I received a startling communication. From the guy who (once) chopped some wood for me. It told of his yearning to fondle my naked form, to press his…oh well let’s not go into it. Now what I’d like to know is – do you reckon any woman would say ‘Sure, come on over!’ to this kind of overture? Have you ever (as a man) made one and scored a hit? Personally, even if it was Aidan Turner and not a portly bloke in a singlet, I would decline (in Aidan’s case, regretfully).

Moving along. Right wing. Left wing. Do they mean anything anymore? I used to think not…but now I’m inclined to think one’s political leanings are pretty revealing.

If you’re on the left wing, you think the government should look after people. If you’re on the right, you think people need to look after their damn selves.

Now the problem with the left is learned helplessness. Pretty soon, everyone feels entitled, bugger this self-reliance shit. And the problem with the right is that, well, not everyone can look after themselves. I’m inclined to feel that the left is essentially more caring, the right more pragmatic – am I right?

Anyways…if you went into politics, how long do you think it’d be before someone pulled a skeleton out of your closet and shoved it under your nose? For me, it’d be no time at all. All the revealing things I’ve said on Facebook…not to mention my blog, and my books! Well I guess that’s the end of my bid for Supreme Power. Just out of interest, would you vote for an ex-prostitute? I would. I’ve never seen anything immoral about being a prostitute (just dispiriting). On the other hand I’d never vote for a Hillsong member.

And that’s another thing. Can anyone pinpoint the exact moment when one turns into an old dear? Is it when you cut your hair and rinse it purple? Is it when you wear support stockings…or view stairs with the same misgivings as a Dalek? I don’t mind being characterised as ‘old’ (if I’d been 80 instead of 57, I’m betting the woodchopper would have kept his deathless prose to himself). It’s when it starts messing with all my other essential characteristics that I have a problem. Dear? Sour more like.

And here is a story about slugs. It has to be 4000 words, and finely edited, by tomorrow, so any suggestions are warmly welcomed.

Author interview with multi-genre author Fallacious Rose

Here’s me being interviewed by the lovely Jane Ballard!

A Girl and Her Book Reviews

Give us a brief summary of your life till now (education, work, etc) and how it led you to write.

I’ve had a fairly boring ‘outer’ life and quite a rich ‘inner’ life. I think one of the things that influenced me the most was being born partially blind. For me at least, it meant a childhood spent fleeing difficulties (like intense bullying at school) into make-believe. I grew up in an eccentric household, reading an enormous amount, and with a strong core belief that I had a gift. A vocation, even. Actually, as we Aussies say, I was seriously up myself, and probably I still am. I was good at expressing myself in words, and boy did I have a lot to say (and nobody to say it to)! So here I am – writer!

You write across so many genres — Regency vampire romance, animal books for older…

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This October, be a man!

…like Miss Appleby. In Emily Larkin’s amusing romance Unmasking Miss Appleby, downtrodden Charlotte Appleby receives a visit from her malicious fairy godmother, who offers her a choice of supernatural abilities. From the look in the fairy’s obsidian eye, some are more poison chalice than gift – but Charlotte eventually settles on metamorphosis. Because she really needs a job, and in the 18th century or thereabouts, well-paid positions are restricted to male applicants only. When newly-enpenised Appin lands a plum position as the Ninth Earl of Cosgrove’s secretary, difficulties ensue – just as the fairy knew they would. It’s well written, cheeky, and original, and you can find it here.

For a gritty psychological thriller in the style of John Grisham (and I have to admit, I’ve read nearly every book Grisham wrote) look no further than B.B.Griffith’s The Sleepwalkers. Gordon Pope is a disillusioned, divorced child psychiatrist who takes on court work. One day he’s asked to contribute to the defence of a twelve year old who – it’s claimed – tried to murder another kid at a sleepover. The crux of the case is – was the perpetrator asleep at the time? It’s pacey, gripping – and the psychological background is pretty damn interesting. You can find it here.

And now to memoir. Wanderlost: Shots of literary tequila for the restless soul, by Simon Williams, is a lively account of the author’s misspent youth. It could have degenerated into one of those ‘I spent my entire twenties high, pissed or screwing around, so I thought I’d relive that in three hefty volumes’ things – but it isn’t. You will find more insightful bon mots in three pages of this than the whole of War and Peace. Possibly. You can find it here.

And now I’ve introduced sex, let me introduce you to Guilty Pleasures and Other Dark Delights, edited by Steve Dillon. This is a collection of – surprise surprise – erotic short stories (plus a novella), but unlike most erotica, it’s a heady mix of funny, scary, weird, ironic and well…try it. Most of the stories are pretty good, and there isn’t a topless billionaire in sight. Thank God. You can find it here.

My author brother Pete has derelicted his duty this month and hasn’t come up with a fifth excellent indie, so I’ve spitefully decided to review his second book in the Tales of the Wild series, The Servant’s Story. If you enjoyed A Walk in the Wild, you’ll like it (and if you haven’t read it, try it). It’s a light-hearted fantasy adventure set in a world where magic is available and utterly practical (who would set out on a camping trip without packing their Magic Massage Kit, for instance?). Up and coming lawyer Izuli is on her way to a new job when she’s captured by a robber baron with tax problems. Meanwhile, a bunch of clueless ne’er do wells seek hidden treasure in the fabled Wild. The two plots come together in a surprising way – but you’d have to read the book to find out how. You can find it here (and that’ll teach you to skip out on your reviewing duties, Pete!).

I have a particularly brilliant indie book to introduce next month (when it comes out) among other things, but meanwhile, here are a bunch of free fantasy books, and a song in appreciation of the general scrumptiousness of life (on limited occasions).

Read – or written – anything amazing (and self-published/indie) recently? Let me know and I’ll consider reviewing it!

 

Morning thought bubbles

For a person who’s always talking to herself (in her head), it’s weird that when I sit down to write a blog post, I often find I have nothing to say. Or I do, but I can’t make up my mind to say it. Will you hate me if I say this or that? Am I lecturing you (as I’m wont to do)? Should I make a list instead? People like lists! Or should l try to tell you something you don’t know about, say, the menace of trolls to Icelandic tourism? (But then, you know so much more about that than I do. And anyway, I don’t like facts – they get in the way of a good story.)

So, well, here are some of the things that have crossed my mind this morning…and to hell with it.

Me Too. I get Me Too, I really do. And yet…anything which smells of, I dunno, getting onto a bandwagon, joining a movement, makes me instinctively recoil. Sure, let’s out the bigger bastards – and for the little ones, perhaps we could just all learn to say ‘Fuck off mate, in your dreams’? Which leads me to (me too?)…

Victim culture. Is it just me, or are we all much keener to join the ranks of ‘people who’ve been done wrong by’ nowadays? My theory – before the late 20th century, victims were generally blamed, sneered at and ignored. Now it’s a coveted state, in an era when we all want attention and sympathy. Is that a good thing (personally, I prefer to think of myself as ‘tough’)? Or am I just wrong?

Horses. Last night I declined to watch an undercover expose of the wretched rejects of the horse-racing industry being beaten and turned into dogfood. Are we all going to the races this year? Betting on the Cup? Not me. Let’s boycott the fuckers. Meanwhile, I’m investigating the possibility of adopting a ‘death row’ racehorse or two (the main issue for me is that I’m not sure I have enough cash to cover vet bills, which, for large animals, tend to be substantial).

https://www.news.com.au/sport/explosive-730-investigation-exposes-brutal-slaughter-of-thousands-of-healthy-racehorses/news-story/eafb209900ad1c18a38b2062ad679381

Do you write? And if you do, do you ever wonder, is this really worth saying? I mean, sure, we can tell a good story – but are we actually giving our readers an insight into anything that matters? Are we helping them to deal with the inevitable human quest for meaning? To get over (or into) a love affair? To feel more empathy for the ‘other’ – different races, sexualities, species? Do you ever ask yourself, ok, I can wield a keyboard – but do I actually have anything important to say? Does it matter? Does it matter to you?

And what do you think of, when you’re thinking and wondering and turning it all over in that amazing organ of yours, the human brain?

 

Our kids are being brainwashed – by bicycles!

Lies are being pedalled (sic) to our children about climate change!

…says SKY news. By bicycle courier, I guess…and I’ll start listening to SKY news when they learn to spell.

I’m no climate change activist, in fact ‘on the fence’ is my favourite place to sit, but this is how I see it.

I live on a rural property, and I’m surrounded by farmers, who run stock and grow food.

Along with all my neighbours, my dam is drying up and my tanks are low. If my water runs out, I’ll have to truck it in. But from where? Town dams are drying up too – even city water supplies are doing it tough. Winter rainfall in southern Australia has more than halved since the 1960s, and as I probably don’t need to tell you, it doesn’t rain a lot in summer. January to August 2019 was the driest on record.

What do you care, though? (No, not you, blameless blog reader – I mean YOU. Plump city journos over at SKY TV.) You live in the city. Water comes from taps, right, and food comes from supermarkets? Well no, mate, it doesn’t. Water comes from rivers and dams, and food comes from…farms. Like the ones around my place. The ones that won’t be able to feed their stock and water their crops if the long-term trend in low rainfall continues.

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And I haven’t yet mentioned fires. This year, fire season was brought forward about a month – so it started in winter. And so far, it’s looking like it’s going to be the worst season on record! If there’s a fire, I could lose my home and maybe my life.

A lot of animals (the edible ones, obviously nobody cares about the wallabies and koalas and such) will likely be burnt to a crisp – and not on your barbecue. The Bureau of Meteorology (obviously a stooge of the leftist climate socialist front) refers to a “long-term increase in extreme fire weather, and in the length of the fire season.”  Lucky for you that you live in a high rise, and can probably afford a rise in steak prices.

Forget sea level rise – I don’t live on the coast so why should I care. But…if I did, I’d be a tad worried. You really think developers are still investing in low lying coastal areas? Good for them, but you wouldn’t catch me buying that seafront Gold Coast mansion for my retirement. You’re welcome, though.

So when you talk about how climate change is all made up and we’ve always had droughts and heatwaves and blah blah blah, try living on the land. Get a birdseye view. It looks different from where I sit.

And while I’m on the subject, here’s a creepy little story I came up with the other day – enjoy!

September’s Final Five

A quick review of five great indie novels that caught our eye this September.

What Caught Rose’s Eye

The Law of Capture, by Joe Totten. Edward Valentine sets out to make his fortune in the Wild West, sometime in the 1800s. This book is gripping, well-researched, and written in a dry, almost deadpan style. The hero, Valentine, is more or less a ‘fixer’, someone employed by the rudimentary powers that be to go and settle the accounts of troublesome characters. He’s not a cruel or violent man, but the life he chooses to lead results in alienation from family and friends. In parallel, Totten writes from the perspective of other characters whose lives interact with Valentine: his wife, a prostitute, his victims and acquaintances. They include an indigenous man of the Osage, Stares at the Sky, who witnesses the subjugation of his people and of the West. So altogether, it’s not a light read. The novel is thoughtful without being preachy or playing overtly to modern sensibilities, and beautifully written. Check it out here.

This Day is Ours, by Jeanette Gretchen . Don’t judge this by the swooning couple on the cover (or do, if you like that kind of thing). It’s romance, but a cut above. Alexandra Pennington, a woman of mettle and intelligence, falls for the down-to-earth, borderline illiterate but witty Jack Flash. She’s a British loyalist, he’s an American rebel, and it’s the American War of Independence. As romances go, the writing and character development are excellent, and as historical fiction goes, it’s engaging, realistic and feels true to the time (not that I can judge, since I’ve read very little about this period). The description of the War of Independence from the perspective of those who fought on both sides of it, and from civilians who endured occupations, riots and privations, was captivating. Check it out here.

The Life of Death, by Lucy Booth. Now, technically, this book has a publisher, so it’s not indie. But I include it because the publisher is Unbound – the world’s first crowd-funded publisher (which I thought might interest any indies reading this – it does me). The novel’s about a girl who’s about to be burned as a witch in 16th century England, when Satan makes her a proposition. Lizzy can live forever, if she’ll agree to act as ‘death’, ushering people to the next world through the centuries, in the form of the woman most important in their lives. She accepts the proposal, and throws herself wholeheartedly into her work, until one day she falls in love, and wants to rescind the deal. Of course, deals with Satan are never that simple (apparently). It’s well written, reflective, philosophical, and kept me turning the pages to see if Lizzy (Little D) finally manages to live happily ever after. As for the publisher, Unbound works with some major authors but it’s also willing to entertain pitches from unknowns. If readers – and the publishers – like your idea, they’ll support you in publishing it. More about Unbound here, and about The Life of Death here.

What Caught Pete’s Eye

Tales from the Society for the Preservation of Preposterous Absurdity, by Shane Darke – whimsical tales of the efforts needed to keep the universe from turning inside out. Many of us are unaware that it was actually destroyed – oh well – but then restored just as it used to be, except for being one centimeter to the left. Which explains a lot. Check it out here.

Unreliable Histories: A Tale of Cartography, Magic and Other Perils, by Rob Gregson. Engagingly urbane in manner, neatly plotted, sympathetic characters. Reminiscent in some ways of Terry Pratchett, but certainly not a mere imitation. And who doesn’t like maps of places that don’t exist, and the fictional people who push out their edges? Check it out here.

 

And now for the honorable mentions: a quick review (by Rose) of some personal recommendations from friends and readers…

Blue Moon Investigations by Steve Higgs. It’s a series about a paranormal investigator who doesn’t believe in the paranormal (and who’s absolutely right not to). The characters are unusual (they include a cross-dressing guy with a split personality) and the situations intrinsically comic. Like the woman who turns up terrified she’s about to become a vampire, since she’s just been bitten by one. Turns out he’s just a fake at the local goth nightclub – much to her disappointment. For me, the novels were amusing, but could be improved by more use of suspense – you basically know the solution to the mystery very early on in the stories, and so the only thing that remains is to nab the perpetrator. Check it out here

The Hilcrest Witch mystery series, by Amorette Anderson. This series is ‘cozy’ – a term meaning basically ‘you won’t find any thrusting loins and blood-spattered corpses here’. The main character endearingly investigates crime (in her village) with the aid of a book of spells which her makeshift coven (more of a knitting group really) is painstakingly working through. It’s sweet, well put together and quite well written, but I cottoned on to the wrongdoer very early on, so the element of mystery was a bit weak, in my view. Check it out here.

If you’re an indie author in search of an editor, I’d like to recommend Jane Ballard of Editing Ink, She’s just building up her business and so (at present) sometimes takes on clients for free: in any case her fees are very reasonable. (And she’s not paying me to say that. Just so’s you know.) Check out her website here.

And if you’ve read any great novels by indie authors recently, tell me about it! (Even if it’ yours. But be aware – if I don’t enjoy it, for whatever reason, I won’t review it.)