Allan Hudson's Blog, page 43

Returning Guest Author Jason Lawson of New Brunswick

Jason Lawson knows how to tell a story. With numerous published works to his credit, he has agreed to be the Scribbler’s guest this week and participate in a 4Q Session. This is his second visit to the Scribbler. He shared an amusing short story in February, 2014 and if you missed it, please go here. And find an excerpt below from one of his favorite stories.    Discover more about Jason at https://wolfpackpublishing.com/jason-lawson/  
 
 
4Q: The latest news is your just published novel - Visions. This is a sequel to your first published novel – The Vision. Tells us about them.
JL: I didn’t really plan to write a sequel to my novel, ‘the vision’, I had no problem leaving Henry in limbo, for me it was the end. However, the story really didn’t end there. For one thing, I sold the movie rights to the book. I then spent the better part of the next year turning the novel into  a screenplay. During that time, I began receiving a lot of emails and messages from readers asking me to please write a sequel. The problem was, I couldn’t until the screenwriting was done. Once the screenwriting was completed, I took some time to figure out where I wanted to the story to go, then I wrote it.  ‘visions’ picks up where ‘the vision’ left off. Henry is still in a coma, living in an ancient world, but he’s beginning to heal and hear voices from reality. https://youtu.be/f1DSmNMHAz8 
 
 
4Q: This is your eighth novel Jason. Congratulations of course, but which one is your favorite and why?


JL:For some reason, I’m still enamoured with ‘Frack Off’ and ‘Recession Proof’. I guess it comes with the joy of making people laugh. Also, writing humorous fiction is more challenging than anything else I’ve tried. It’s difficult to keep the laughs rolling for an entire novel, so when it works out, I’m very pleased. 
   4Q: Pleased share a childhood anecdote or memory with us.
JL:It actually fits in with the last question. I remember as a kid, visiting the neighbors and watching a comedian on TV with them. The performer was quite vulgar and I remember the lady of the house saying, “If you need to swear to make people laugh, then you’re really not funny.” That sentence is always in the back of my mind when I’m working on something humorous. Sure, a well-placed curse is always comical, but if what you’re writing needs vulgarity to work, then it’s really not funny or well thought out. (cartoon  credited to crabby road)
 
   4Q: Are you still doing any screenwriting and what’s next for JL?
JL: I never stop writing, I think it’s an addiction. I just finished my first ‘based-on-a-true-story’ novel, which I hope will be out in early 2018. I’m working on several development proposals for television stations, and am waiting on news regarding a screenplay that I wrote in 2015. It may go into production in the New Year, but we haven’t received confirmation yet. All fingers are crossed.
This year I also signed with a new publisher, Wolfpack Publishing, which are based in the United States. They’ve been great to work with, and have taken ALL my older titles, so they haven’t all been re-released yet. But they will all be available again real soon.
Thanks for asking such great questions!       An Excerpt from Frack Off. (Copyright is held by the author. Used with permission)
  Frack Off is one of my favorite novels. It is a humorous fiction about a crooked politician who gets blackmailed by an irate landowner to stop the controversial practice of Fracking from happening. In this scene, the politician, Dan Clark, is about to leave on a hunting trip with the Premier, and is chatting with his assistant, Martin.                     
    "So, how do I look,Martin?" Dan asked as he strode into the campaign office dressed in camouflage from head to toe.
  "Wow sir, I almost didn't recognize you."
  "That's good. Or at least I think. Do you really think this is going to fool a moose?" Dan wondered if he looked down at his clothes.
  "I think the idea is for you to blend in with the scenery sir."
  "Right. It's just too bad someone hasn't invented an outfit that resembles a chrome pole and some chairs. Imagine the fun I could have at the strip club."
  "That reminds me sir." Martin started with a look of concern on his face. "I've had no less than six complaints already from constituents who saw you there the other night."
  "Hmm. Anonymous ones no doubt."
  "Yes sir. No one left a name."
  "So who cares? If no one's brave enough to say who they are, they're certainly not going to appear on camera to talk about it. What's that old saying? Let him who is free of sins cast the first ballot?"
  "I believe that's stone,sir."
  "Yeah. Whatever. Nothing to worry about. Every one of the dancers said they were going to vote for me. And there were eight of them. Minus the six complaints and I'm still ahead by two votes."
  "Oh God," Martin exhaled. "By the way sir, the premier's office called and said he'd be picking you up here shortly."
  "Perfect. I'm all packed. Ready to beat around the bush. Put the moose in the noose. We should be sitting by the campfire discussing my promotion to deputy premier before the day's out."
  "Just be careful,sir. I'll take care of things here while you're gone."
  "Be sure to let the media know that I'm rubbing elbows with the premier on a moospedition will you? That will do wonders for my profile."
  "It won't if I call it a moospedition, sir."
  "Right. I know you'll come up with the proper description. And thanks for being here so early to see me off. Why in the name of god do we have to leave at this ungodly hour? Couldn't we have an afternoon excursion?"
  "I think it's because the moose are more active around dawn, sir."
  "I thought that was roosters."
  "You see. It's like. Oh never mind,sir. It would take me too long to explain it."
  "No problem. It's time to go anyways." Dan remarked as he pointed out the window to a massive SUV that was pulling up. "That's the premier's hunting truck."
  "What a gas guzzler." Martin said with disgust.
  "It sure is. Vehicles like that are great for the economy, Martin. They cost a fortune and use up a lot fuel. That creates tax revenue. I thought a political science major like yourself would know that."
  "Except that the taxpayers paid for that vehicle and the gas that goes in it."
  "Details. Details. Wish me luck, Martin." Dan said, exited the office and walked towards the bloated vehicle.
  "You there!" A well-dressed man on the sidewalk stuck out his hand. "Dan Clark. I just wanted to say keep up the good work and I've convinced my entire staff to vote for you."
  "Thank you,sir." Dan shook his hand. "What a great way to start the day. An early endorsement from an early riser."
  "Why are you dressed in camouflage? Going to spy on the opposition?" he said with a snicker.
  "No sir. But that's a good idea. Actually I'm on my way out of town to bag a moose."
  "What!? Why you traitor! You told me if I voted for you, you were going to make all forms of hunting illegal. Don't you remember me?"
  "Sure I do." Dan stared at him hard. "But it's still pretty dark out. And I'm not wearing my glasses."
  "You didn't have any the day you came to my office."
  "Or contacts."
  "I'm Wally Sparks, head of the animal shelter and president of Friends of Wildlife. You said if I donated to your campaign you'd make all forms of hunting illegal!"
  "I am sir, I am. I'm working on it as we speak."
  "You just said you were going to bag a moose!"
  "Tag a moose, Willy. Tag a moose. We're going to monitor these mammals and find out what route they're taking when they go south for the winter. If we can figure out what roads they're crossing on their migration to the southern states, we might be able to put in some animal crosswalks. Do you have any idea how many moose-related fatalities are reported each year?"
  "What? That's insane?"
  "Oh no,Walter. Car accidents are very serious. That's why we're driving this over-sized SUV. If a moose should jump in front of us, we're going to make sure we come out on top. So to speak. Thanks again for your contribution and don't worry sir. A vote for Dan is a vote for the moose, bears, and any other animal that you like. Leave a list with my assistant Martin. Good day to you." Dan smiled as he jumped into the SUV. "Floor it,Mr. Premier."
     For you readers looking for Jason’s books or more information on this clever storyteller, please check out these links.https://www.amazon.ca/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=jason+Lawson
 
ww.jasonlawsonrants.wordpress.com  
 









Thank you so much Jason for being our guest this week.

 
And a special thank you to our visitors and readers. Please tell us your thoughts below in the comment section. We’d love to hear from you.    

Guest Author Ivan 'Doc' Holiday of Florida

"I haven't seen everything as a bouncer, but I've seen enough!" - quote by our guest, Ivan 'Doc' Holiday.


This is the Doc's second visit to the Scribbler. He participated in a 4Q Session in February, 2016 and you can read it here




He is accepted worldwide as a leading authority in the field of nightclub & bar security today. At 59 years old, Doc has worked over 150 nightclubs & bars in both Canada and the US, a career spanning 35 years. Doc is the REAL Roadhouse. The author of four books pertaining to nightclub and bar security, he travels worldwide, offering his expertise as the ‘Best Damn Cooler in the Business’ to establishments with bouncer problems and serious security issues. His new book 'Roadhouse Legacy' is Ivan's first fiction novel.













An excerpt from his novel - Roadhouse Legacy. (copyright is held by the author. Used with permission)
Back at the house, Katherine sat at the kitchen table with a pen and a few sheets of writing paper.  Her letter was short but hard to write. She didn't want to sound desperate or foolish. She was writing a letter to a man she had never met. Who was this Wade Garrett that her dad was staking his whole life's savings on, along with hers and Casey’s?  Katherine fought the fiends of doubt and fear that taunted her as she wrote. Her pen moved across the white paper as the light from the desk lamp flickered and followed her every stroke.  Katherine sighed with relief as she finally signed her name at the bottom of the page. There would be no redraft or grammar check. She wanted to mail it quickly before the feeling of doubtfulness forced her to abandon all hope. Katherine sealed the envelope and stared at the name and address written on the front.
Mr. Wade Garrett
C/O The Double Deuce
1998 Young Street
Jasper, Missouri
 
She hoped that her dad was right. Katherine didn't believe in asking God for a miracle, but at this moment she could use all the help she could get. Katherine felt almost like a schoolgirl pressing the letter to her lips for good-luck. Sent with a hope and a prayer, she hoped that her Dad was right and said a prayer that this Wade Garrett would come. Ivan's novel is available as an eBook here Paperback available in December. Thanks for sharing a portion of your novel Ivan. Good luck with your book.    A SPECIAL THANKS TO YOU THE VISITOR - Please share your thoughts in the comment box at the bottom.   Hey there Book Worms, the latest Drake Alexander action/adventure novel is ready as an eBook. Wall of War can be found on Amazon.ca or Amazon.com for $2.99.
 
  Deep in the wilderness of the Peruvian Andes lies a monument hidden for centuries. Who were the builders? Why was it abandoned? What secrets does it reveal? In 1953, an amateur rock climber makes a startling discovery. Overwhelmed by the choices he must make, the mountaineer completes his ascent deciding he will document his findings and present them to his superiors as soon as possible. It will take another fifty years before anyone reads what he wrote. In 2004 news of the strange revelation reaches Drake Alexander. He will become involved whether he likes it or not. People very dear to him are plunged into a nightmare of avarice, impairment and death. Using all his skills as an ex-soldier, with accomplices he can trust, can he save his tormented friends from the raiders that thirst for the secret that lies within the mountains? Available at Kindle    Go HERE

Guest Author Sally Cronin of the UK.

Have you ever met a person that goes out of their way to be nice?

That’s Sally Cronin and we are so happy to have her as our guest this week on the Scribbler. She was willing to participate in a 4Q and share an excerpt from her work with us.
 
       Thank you very much for your invitation to be interviewed Allan, and for the great questions. Delighted to be featured here with so many of my favourite authors.
 
I have been a storyteller most of my life (my mother called them fibs!). Poetry, song lyrics and short stories were left behind when work and life intruded, but that all changed in 1996. My first book Size Matters was a health and weight loss book based on my own experiences of losing 70kilo. I have written another ten books since then on health and also fiction including three collections of short stories. I am an indie author and proud to be one. My greatest pleasure comes from those readers who enjoy my take on health, characters and twisted endings… and of course come back for more. 
Please see Sally’s links below.
4Q: Before we talk about writing, it is without question that you are one of the most generous authors I’ve met online when it comes to promoting other artists and writers. Is there a reason for that?    SC:  Thank you for the compliment Allan, and there is an important reason behind my commitment to sharing the work of others. When I was first starting out twenty years ago as a writer, it was a very different story when it came to marketing Indie books. Without the Internet it was a question of sending letter after letter to the media both local and national, and it was very difficult to get any kind of response. I was very lucky to get the press coverage that I did; but I look back at that time as being very stressful and disheartening. 

The world of publishing has changed considerably, particularly in the last decade. The opportunities to publish books are varied and improving all the time. However, this has resulted in millions of titles hitting the online book shelves each year.  In many ways this is fantastic, but it has created exactly the same problem for authors as I faced twenty years ago; getting books in front of potential readers.

The numbers are overwhelming, but I firmly believe that instead of trying to make a difference to everyone, you start by making a difference to a few.  At the moment I promote around 25 authors a week in various promotional posts, sharing them on my blog and with social media followers. I have spent the last four years building those platforms to an effective level to promote my own books, and it makes sense to me to use them to give other authors a boost at the same time. 

The community of online bloggers and authors is without a doubt a very generous one; their reciprocation on their platforms is very much appreciated.  Without massive budgets for advertising and promotion, it is probably the most effective form of marketing for the majority of authors.

 
4Q: You have many publications to your credit but which one is your favorite and why?
SC:Probably my favourite book is Just an Odd Job Girl since it is mainly auto-biographical as far as the main events are concerned. It took me a while to find a career that I really enjoyed which was the hospitality industry.  I began work at the age of fourteen at weekends and during school holidays along the seafront in Portsmouth and then moved from job to job as need and circumstances dictated. Thankfully I was never out of work, as I believed in doing whatever I needed, to bring home a weekly wage packet, including temping at certain times.  Apart from jobs that lasted a number of years , I have also worked in a funeral parlour, brokered bull semen, washed dishes in a Chinese restaurant, typed 100 cheques a day for an insurance company (some of which 40 years ago were several times my annual salary) and spent a snowy February lambing.

Writing the book brought back so many memories of those days, and the response from those who have read it, and found it entertaining, is the icing on the cake.
 
4Q: Please share a childhood memory or anecdote.
SC:We travelled a great deal when I was a child as my father was a Royal Naval officer and was stationed in Sri Lanka (then Ceylon), Malta and South Africa. My first memories would be from about the age of three when we were living in Ceylon. I had two elder sisters who were ten and eleven years older than I was. I had an amah (nanny) during the day, but when my sisters arrived back from school, I would be handed over to them. I am sure at thirteen and fourteen they were thrilled to have me trailing behind them, but they were very good to me. Everything that they did, I would do too; including swimming behind them in the sea in my rubber ring. Both were excellent swimmers and divers. One afternoon there was a school swimming and diving competition and we went as a family to watch the two girls compete. My eldest sister climbed the ladder to the high board and walked to the end, executing an excellent dive into the sea. She came to the surface expecting applause from the audience; instead there was absolute silence followed by a universal gasp from the spectators. 

Not to be outdone, I had wandered away from my parents and climbed the ladder to the diving board, tottering to the end where I had last seen my sister.  Noticing her far below me in the water, I decided to follow suit and jumped.  I surfaced completely unaware of the horror that I had inflicted on the crowd, my sisters and parents, and exclaimed "Again"

My life to be honest has been a little like that at times!  Either by accident or design, and I have to say I have loved every minute of it.
 

4Q: This is a double question for you Sally. What inspires your stories and what are you working on?
SC: I have given this question a great deal of thought over the years and I have come to the conclusion that it is life which inspires me. It is so complex; filled with such vivid experiences, good and bad, that you do not have to look far for inspiration. As I mentioned in the previous question, I was very lucky to have travelled as a child, and in adulthood I have spent more of my life abroad than I have in the UK. Such a rich tapestry of different cultures, peoples and experiences that have made such an impact on me. Probably the most significant element of this life we lead, is the people that we meet and their stories that we absorb. Most of my characters are drawn from this reservoir of people I have met; had relationships with, or even met in passing through airports or on a train. I find people fascinating and that is magic for a writer.

My latest project is a follow up to Tales from the Garden which was set in our home in Madrid. This second book is set in a number of gardens here in Ireland and features some of the characters from the first set of short stories. Including the fairy Queen Filigree and her court who have escaped from Spain, finding sanctuary in The Storyteller's garden.

I have a number of wonderful illustrations by the very talented artist Donata Zawadzka and I am really enjoying the process.
 Tales from the Garden is also my first translated book into Spanish and that will be released later this year.



   An Excerpt from Chapter Five of Just an Odd Job Girl(Copyright is held by the author and is used with permission)
I lived in a naval town and it was inevitable that socially I would meet and go out with young naval officers. I was at a party one Saturday, when I was introduced to this very tall, good-looking guy. I was now nineteen and felt I looked stunning, in a new outfit that I had just bought. This included a false half-wig on a black velvet band. It was ash blonde, and if you pulled the band far enough forward it hid the true colour of your hair. It hung seductively down my back and swung with a very satisfying swish when I walked or danced. Combined with a short black velvet dress and knee-high black boots, I was ready to rock and roll.
He was a wonderful dancer. He threw me around the floor to the Rolling Stones and Rod Stewart and held me close when slow music was playing. He was gorgeous and I could see all my girlfriends looking on in envy as I strutted my stuff. This was living! My fertile imagination went into overtime. I had just got to the bit where I stunned my parents by taking this Adonis home to meet them when my favourite Rolling Stones song blared out from the speakers. Brown Sugar. If ever there was a song to dance to this was it. I was flying, and it took several minutes for it to register that not only my partner but also several people around us had stopped dancing. Assuming that they were so stunned by my gyrations and flexible interpretations of the music that they had stopped to watch, I carried on playing up to my audience.
There were a number of poles supporting the roof of the dance floor. One was quite close by, and I avoided hitting it as I twirled on the spangled floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something hanging halfway up the pole, but I was busy and didn’t take much notice of it. By now about two dozen people were watching the performance and I was too intent on keeping them entertained. I whirled faster, got closer to the pole, and only then realised that the object hanging limply from a hook was my ash-blonde hairpiece.
I stood there, with my own hair pinned on top of my head covered by a stocking that held it firmly in place. I looked over at my Adonis to find a look of horrified fascination on his face. I grabbed the hair and dashed for the stairs, and the ladies.
I was wearing a little shoulder bag and had no coat, so a speedy retreat was possible. I ripped the stocking and pins from my own hair and legged it out the door and into a taxi home. I have never been so mortified in my life. Today I would have laughed it off and carried on, but at nineteen it was the end of my world and the stunning future I had envisioned for myself with Mr. Fantastic. I hadn’t even got his name, but thankfully he hadn’t got mine either.
Two days later, still squirming from my ordeal, I attended my interview for acceptance into the Queen Alexandra Nursing Service. It was held over in Gosport, at the naval hospital, and along with twenty other hopefuls, I undertook a day of testing and medical examinations.
Eye tests, weight, blood pressure, heart and lungs all checked out. This was conducted by a very severe looking nursing sister and then we were passed on to a doctor for a full medical.
At nineteen, I was not sure what this entailed, and was rather concerned to be asked to remove all my clothing and don a backless hospital gown.
Holding this gown in place with one hand behind my back, I was led, nervously, into the examining room. A head was bent over some notes and I was escorted behind a screen and told to hop up on the examining couch. The nurse loosened the ties behind the neck of the gown and stood at the head of the couch. The curtains parted and the doctor entered. Now I know what a rabbit feels like, paralysed in the glare of the headlights. There before me in a white coat with stethoscope at the ready was my Adonis.
 
This is a story I'd like to read. For you readers that would like to know more about this talented author, please visit Sally’s links.  Blog: https://smorgasbordinvitation.wordpre...
Amazon: https://amazon.com/Sally-Cronin/e/B00...
Twitter: https://twitter.com/sgc58
 
Thank you very much Allan for being such a great host. 
 

It's a pleasure to have you as our guest this week Sally. I'm reading your excellent short stories from the "What's in a Name" collection and am truly enjoying it. Good luck with all your future endeavors.




 And thanks to you the visitor, feel free to tell us what's on your mind!
 

Guest Author Jonathan Mark of Great Britain

This week the Scribbler is pleased to have Jonathan Mark as our guest He has kindly agreed to participate in a 4Q Interview and share an excerpt with us.
Jonathan worked in the City of London for various financial institutions including the Bank of America. He lives in South West England with his wife Lin. Jonathan always wanted to be a writer but was only too aware that writing is not a lucrative career for the vast majority. Like many prospective writers he was only too ready to make excuses about why he did not write, but with the children grown up and his career coming to an end, he decided he had to take the plunge and duly signed up for an MA in Crime and Thriller writing at City University London to kick start his writing career. During the course he met many published writers who write commercial fiction and learnt a huge amount about the publishing industry and what literary agents were looking for. In order to pass the course a completed novel had to be submitted for assessment by two successful and highly respected authors. The Last Messenger was the novel submitted for the MA. It is a story which evolved from a novel collecting dust in his desk drawer for over twenty years. Literary agents advised him that there was no longer a demand for conspiracy thrillers and so with a streak of bloody minded and perhaps misguided optimism he decided to self publish The Last Messenger himself.  

See below for Jonathan’s links.





4Q: Upon visiting your website Jonathan, you mention that you had ambition to write after you retired, tell us why you felt that way and what inspired you to start.
JM: When I was a kid one of my favourite pastimes was to write stories. To do it for a living would have always been my dream job but sometimes in life, as you struggle to pay the mortgage, you need to put your dreams on hold and face the realities of life. When I retired , I could no longer make excuses because I had already provided for my income in future life. Earning money from writing is not my priority. For the first time in my life I could follow my dream without fear of the consequences. I must say that I get more pleasure from someone saying how much they like my book than getting a royalty check from Amazon. Having said that, I still believe it is important to be professional and write something that people will want to read. The MA taught me to be commercial in my approach and that was my inspiration to start. The course gave me the motivation and the deadline to complete a novel.


4Q: Tell us about “The Last Messenger”.
 
JM: During the Battle of Crete in 1941 an ancient scroll
is discovered by Callidora a young Cretan shepherdess who risks everything to conceal the scroll’s devastating secret from the Nazis. In 2005, Richard, an MI6 analyst, is caught up in the London bombings. A Muslim man fatally injured by the Piccadilly Line bomb hands Richard an icon. What is the connection with the scroll found on Crete? Arab terrorists want the secret revealed while the CIA, Mossad and MI6 want it destroyed.

Although the book is a conspiracy thriller in the Dan Brown mode, it has an important theme which I hope will resonate with readers. Despite all the trouble in the world caused by religious conflict there is really no need for this to exist because religious faith is universal. Judaism, Islam and Christianity all originate from the same source. They all trace their roots back to Abraham.

This theme can be summed up by what Amira says to Richard in the novel:

‘Do you think it’s possible for a man to be both Christian and Muslim at the same time?’

He was surprised by the question, but everything surprised him about Amira. ‘I don’t know whether that’s possible. I’m sorry to say I don’t believe in God.'

‘I’m not surprised you don’t,’ she replied. ‘Religion has caused so much trouble in the world but that’s because they forget that there is only one God. There is not a Muslim God, a Christian God and a Jewish God. There is only one God. Masood understood that.’


Another character in the novel is fascinated that the angel Gabriel who appeared to Mohammed to give him the Holy Koran is the same angel who appeared to Mary to tell her she was pregnant with Jesus. Indeed, both Mary and Jesus (who is known as Isa) appear in the Holy Koran and are respected. Indeed, the Nineteenth chapter of the Holy Koran is dedicated to Mary which describes the virgin birth of Jesus.


4Q: Please share a childhood memory or anecdote.


JM: The most powerful memory I have of childhood concerns a near death experience when at the age of nine years old I was staying with my parents in a cottage by the sea. An aunt came to visit and gave me a half a crown for ice cream. It was getting late and being impetuous I was determined to spend the money immediately. There was a café down by the sea and so I set off immediately to buy the ice cream. Unfortunately, the shop was already closed and, undeterred, I climbed up a cliff to see if I could see any more shops open.
Along the coast I saw a Lighthouse flashing its light. I decided to walk to the light, not judging that it was over nine miles away . After walking some distance and the light failing rapidly I decided to turn back and remember clambering up the cliff again to avoid the sea tide which was coming in quickly and would cut me off. I was becoming more scared as I realised I'd made a big mistake trying to walk to the lighthouse. When I reached the top and clear of the approaching sea, I walked along the cliff path and came to a section where the path narrowed with thorns on one side and a sheer ninety foot drop off the cliff on the other. Panicking, I lost my footing and slipped. My feet were dangling off the edge as I grabbed hold off thorn bushes and pulled myself back onto the path. My hands were cut and I was very scared. One little boy had learned a very important lesson and lived to tell the tale. 


4Q: What’s next for Jonathan Mark, the author?

JM: I've been pleased with the sales so far of my first book and am now working on Book 2 of the trilogy. It's called The Barnabas Legacy which I hope to have out early next year. I'm also writing a psychological thriller which I hope will have a wider appeal than my current books.



An Excerpt from The Last Messenger



On my website, it is possible to read the first few chapters of the book . It is also possible to download an extract via Amazon of the opening chapters so as not to repeat that, I've chosen the beginning of Chapter Eight which is the first time that Callidora is introduced at the moment when the Germans are invading.

(Copyright is held by the author and is used with permission)



Crete, Greece, May 20th 1941



It was the best time of the day. A time when out of breath from her long climb, she heard the first sound of her goats, their bells ringing across the breeze, telling her that they were in good health.
At first, she could only hear them, but as she strained her eyes, some looked back through the bushes, feasting on the wild spring harvest of the mountain. 

It was a moment, she’d never forget. In a matter of seconds her life would change. 

Without warning, a new hostile sound filled the air. An incessant droning, unnatural, mechanical, drowning the peace. Callidora had heard bombers before, attacking British ships in Suda Bay, but this was different. It was louder and more ominous. She knew what she was hearing. Today was the day when the Germans would invade her country, just as her brother Nikos had predicted.

And then she saw them, waves after wave of planes in formation, blacking out the sun. She’d seen bombers before, but nothing on this scale. These planes were not dropping bombs, but men in their hundreds, changing the sky into a myriad of mushroom shapes, like umbrellas floating to the ground. The men attached were falling helpless, parachutes swirling in the breeze while they drifted to earth. Nikos had said the invasion would come from the sea, but he was wrong.

It was coming from the air.

She ran towards her village, slipping and stumbling down the path; her long dress only suitable for slow mountain descents. Fear at what danger lay above was taking over. Stopping, she stared again at the lurid sky, scared, but also in awe at the enormity of what she was seeing. Some of the larger planes were towing smaller planes in their wake. As she watched, they were released from the tow and began floating to earth. Over in the bay, dive bombers were attacking ships. Screaming death, they were dropping out of the sky at terrifying speeds, like birds of prey swooping on their victims. 

Approaching the village, she could see Germans in the sky getting closer. It was relentless and some were falling straight to earth, where bullets had punctured the silk of their parachutes. There were New Zealanders based near the village, she thought, so maybe they were killing the Germans. All around, she could see people coming out of houses, armed with everything they could carry. Pitch forks, scythes, sickles and knives used to cut vegetables. The church bell rang, not to summon to prayer, but to call the people to arms. There was Nikos, leading as he always did, followed by Father Manousos, carrying a rifle. As she ran towards them, she could see Nikos, armed with two large knives and carrying an ancient rifle that belonged to her grandfather. It had been hanging on the wall since she was a small child and never fired in anger. He didn't even use it to shoot birds and now Nikos intended to kill Germans. 


Thank you Jonathan for taking the time to share your thoughts on the Scribbler. For you readers that want more information of Jonathan and his novels visit these links.

https://jonathanmarkwriter.com


 @jonmark1956

https://www.amazon.com/Last-Messenger-Historical-Conspiracy-Thriller-ebook/dp/B071H58G8V



As always, a special thank you to you, the visitor. Please leave a comment before you go.



In November, you can get your copy of the Wall of War. Watch here for details.




 

Guest Author Jonathan Mark of Great Britian

This week the Scribbler is pleased to have Jonathan Mark as our guest He has kindly agreed to participate in a 4Q Interview and share an excerpt with us.
Jonathan worked in the City of London for various financial institutions including the Bank of America. He lives in South West England with his wife Lin. Jonathan always wanted to be a writer but was only too aware that writing is not a lucrative career for the vast majority. Like many prospective writers he was only too ready to make excuses about why he did not write, but with the children grown up and his career coming to an end, he decided he had to take the plunge and duly signed up for an MA in Crime and Thriller writing at City University London to kick start his writing career. During the course he met many published writers who write commercial fiction and learnt a huge amount about the publishing industry and what literary agents were looking for. In order to pass the course a completed novel had to be submitted for assessment by two successful and highly respected authors. The Last Messenger was the novel submitted for the MA. It is a story which evolved from a novel collecting dust in his desk drawer for over twenty years. Literary agents advised him that there was no longer a demand for conspiracy thrillers and so with a streak of bloody minded and perhaps misguided optimism he decided to self publish The Last Messenger himself.  

See below for Jonathan’s links.





4Q: Upon visiting your website Jonathan, you mention that you had ambition to write after you retired, tell us why you felt that way and what inspired you to start.

JM: When I was a kid one of my favourite pastimes was to write stories. To do it for a living would have always been my dream job but sometimes in life, as you struggle to pay the mortgage, you need to put your dreams on hold and face the realities of life. When I retired , I could no longer make excuses because I had already provided for my income in future life. Earning money from writing is not my priority. For the first time in my life I could follow my dream without fear of the consequences. I must say that I get more pleasure from someone saying how much they like my book than getting a royalty check from Amazon. Having said that, I still believe it is important to be professional and write something that people will want to read. The MA taught me to be commercial in my approach and that was my inspiration to start. The course gave me the motivation and the deadline to complete a novel.


4Q: Tell us about “The Last Messenger”.
 
JM: During the Battle of Crete in 1941 an ancient scroll
is discovered by Callidora a young Cretan shepherdess who risks everything to conceal the scroll’s devastating secret from the Nazis. In 2005, Richard, an MI6 analyst, is caught up in the London bombings. A Muslim man fatally injured by the Piccadilly Line bomb hands Richard an icon. What is the connection with the scroll found on Crete? Arab terrorists want the secret revealed while the CIA, Mossad and MI6 want it destroyed.

Although the book is a conspiracy thriller in the Dan Brown mode, it has an important theme which I hope will resonate with readers. Despite all the trouble in the world caused by religious conflict there is really no need for this to exist because religious faith is universal. Judaism, Islam and Christianity all originate from the same source. They all trace their roots back to Abraham.

This theme can be summed up by what Amira says to Richard in the novel:

‘Do you think it’s possible for a man to be both Christian and Muslim at the same time?’

He was surprised by the question, but everything surprised him about Amira. ‘I don’t know whether that’s possible. I’m sorry to say I don’t believe in God.'

‘I’m not surprised you don’t,’ she replied. ‘Religion has caused so much trouble in the world but that’s because they forget that there is only one God. There is not a Muslim God, a Christian God and a Jewish God. There is only one God. Masood understood that.’


Another character in the novel is fascinated that the angel Gabriel who appeared to Mohammed to give him the Holy Koran is the same angel who appeared to Mary to tell her she was pregnant with Jesus. Indeed, both Mary and Jesus (who is known as Isa) appear in the Holy Koran and are respected. Indeed, the Nineteenth chapter of the Holy Koran is dedicated to Mary which describes the virgin birth of Jesus.


4Q: Please share a childhood memory or anecdote.


JM: The most powerful memory I have of childhood concerns a near death experience when at the age of nine years old I was staying with my parents in a cottage by the sea. An aunt came to visit and gave me a half a crown for ice cream. It was getting late and being impetuous I was determined to spend the money immediately. There was a café down by the sea and so I set off immediately to buy the ice cream. Unfortunately, the shop was already closed and, undeterred, I climbed up a cliff to see if I could see any more shops open. Along the coast I saw a Lighthouse flashing its light. I decided to walk to the light, not judging that it was over nine miles away . After walking some distance and the light failing rapidly I decided to turn back and remember clambering up the cliff again to avoid the sea tide which was coming in quickly and would cut me off. I was becoming more scared as I realised I'd made a big mistake trying to walk to the lighthouse. When I reached the top and clear of the approaching sea, I walked along the cliff path and came to a section where the path narrowed with thorns on one side and a sheer ninety foot drop off the cliff on the other. Panicking, I lost my footing and slipped. My feet were dangling off the edge as I grabbed hold off thorn bushes and pulled myself back onto the path. My hands were cut and I was very scared. One little boy had learned a very important lesson and lived to tell the tale. 


4Q: What’s next for Jonathan Mark, the author?

JM: I've been pleased with the sales so far of my first book and am now working on Book 2 of the trilogy. It's called The Barnabas Legacy which I hope to have out early next year. I'm also writing a psychological thriller which I hope will have a wider appeal than my current books.



An Excerpt from The Last Messenger



On my website, it is possible to read the first few chapters of the book . It is also possible to download an extract via Amazon of the opening chapters so as not to repeat that, I've chosen the beginning of Chapter Eight which is the first time that Callidora is introduced at the moment when the Germans are invading.

(Copyright is held by the author and is used with permission)



Crete, Greece, May 20th 1941



It was the best time of the day. A time when out of breath from her long climb, she heard the first sound of her goats, their bells ringing across the breeze, telling her that they were in good health. At first, she could only hear them, but as she strained her eyes, some looked back through the bushes, feasting on the wild spring harvest of the mountain. 

It was a moment, she’d never forget. In a matter of seconds her life would change. 

Without warning, a new hostile sound filled the air. An incessant droning, unnatural, mechanical, drowning the peace. Callidora had heard bombers before, attacking British ships in Suda Bay, but this was different. It was louder and more ominous. She knew what she was hearing. Today was the day when the Germans would invade her country, just as her brother Nikos had predicted.

And then she saw them, waves after wave of planes in formation, blacking out the sun. She’d seen bombers before, but nothing on this scale. These planes were not dropping bombs, but men in their hundreds, changing the sky into a myriad of mushroom shapes, like umbrellas floating to the ground. The men attached were falling helpless, parachutes swirling in the breeze while they drifted to earth. Nikos had said the invasion would come from the sea, but he was wrong.

It was coming from the air. 

She ran towards her village, slipping and stumbling down the path; her long dress only suitable for slow mountain descents. Fear at what danger lay above was taking over. Stopping, she stared again at the lurid sky, scared, but also in awe at the enormity of what she was seeing. Some of the larger planes were towing smaller planes in their wake. As she watched, they were released from the tow and began floating to earth. Over in the bay, dive bombers were attacking ships. Screaming death, they were dropping out of the sky at terrifying speeds, like birds of prey swooping on their victims. 

Approaching the village, she could see Germans in the sky getting closer. It was relentless and some were falling straight to earth, where bullets had punctured the silk of their parachutes. There were New Zealanders based near the village, she thought, so maybe they were killing the Germans. All around, she could see people coming out of houses, armed with everything they could carry. Pitch forks, scythes, sickles and knives used to cut vegetables. The church bell rang, not to summon to prayer, but to call the people to arms. There was Nikos, leading as he always did, followed by Father Manousos, carrying a rifle. As she ran towards them, she could see Nikos, armed with two large knives and carrying an ancient rifle that belonged to her grandfather. It had been hanging on the wall since she was a small child and never fired in anger. He didn't even use it to shoot birds and now Nikos intended to kill Germans. 


Thank you Jonathan for taking the time to share your thoughts on the Scribbler. For you readers that want more information of Jonathan and his novels visit these links.

https://jonathanmarkwriter.com


 @jonmark1956

https://www.amazon.com/Last-Messenger-Historical-Conspiracy-Thriller-ebook/dp/B071H58G8V



As always, a special thank you to you, the visitor. Please leave a comment before you go.



In November, you can get your copy of the Wall of War. Watch here for details.




 

Guest Author S.C. Eston of New Brunswick

Always a treat to have a fellow New Brunswicker on the Scribbler. Time to meet Steve Eston and read an excerpt from his newest work.







Thank you Allan for extending the invitation and visiting our writing group earlier this year. It is an honour to be a guest on the South Branch Scribbler.

I am Steve C. Eston and I live in Fredericton with my wife Leigh and our son. I write speculative fiction, mainly fantasy and science-fiction. I have been writing sporadically since childhood and more seriously in the past five to six years. I invite you to visit me at www.sceston.ca and check out some of my free short stories available for download while you are there. I am always interested to hear from readers, so don’t be shy about reaching out and letting me know what you think of any of my stories.

Until earlier this year, I had been writing in a lone bubble, most often late in the evening or in the middle of the night. When I started writing more seriously six or seven years ago, I already knew about the fight between sleep and writing that many authors find themselves facing. After all, it is mentioned in most books on writing. 

I tried to schedule my writing sessions during daylight, but that did not quite work and I reverted to late nights and early mornings. There is satisfaction in accomplishing something during these hours that are mostly allocated to rest and recuperation. I also find that the darkness helps with getting into the story; the darkness and well selected music. Many of my stories, short and long, came from writing at these times.

Writing is a lonely endeavour and even though I had a routine that worked, I felt that something was missing. Leigh had been telling me for a while that I needed to get out there and meet other authors. This is what I set out to do in 2017.

So, in early summer, I joined a writing group. Although I had
participated to a few workshops before, this was quite different. Here was a group of generous and passionate people, authors, who met regularly to talk about writing. More importantly, here was a group of people who were willing and interested to listen to other people talk about their writing; every week! Authors can ramble on and on when talking about their craft and the challenges they are facing. Since working on a story can take quite a while, days to months to years, being on the listening side can become quite tedious and probably torturous in some cases; which may explain why my wife suggested I get out in the first place…

My writing group has been extremely welcoming and joining is one of the best decisions I made as an author. It opened my world and connected me with a group of people I am proud to call friends. For an author, having such support is invaluable.

To starting authors out there: do not wait like I did.
Reach out right away, join a group and go to events. The Writers’ Federation of New Brunswick - www.wfnb.ca - has been very helpful in finding a writing group and is a limitless source of useful information. I recommend joining and you never know; it may lead to a writing group who has a special guest resulting in an invitation to post on the South Branch Scribbler!

For this post, I thought I’d provide a short excerpt of my published fantasy novella The Burden of the Protector. It is a story about friendship and loyalties, told in a journal-like style by a man reflecting on his life and wondering if it is too late to make amends. The passage provided here shows the main character discovering a strange object that would complicate his life in more ways than one. This is also the passage I read at WordFeast 2017in Fredericton. I hope you enjoy it.



                                                                                * * *


Excerpt from The Burden of the Protector, by S.C.Eston
(Copyright is held by the author. Used with permission)












The thing was immutable.

It stood exactly where I had left it. A cold rain had fallen the night before, but the curio itself was completely dry. No rivulet of moisture on it. Even the concave cavity, which should have retained some of the water, was bare.

My denial was now turning to a detached acceptance. I felt powerless, a tiny living being whose understanding of the world didn’t matter. The universe would do as it pleased.

With little worry for my well-being, I walked forward until I was a few feet from the object. It showed no symbol or engraving. The surface was perfectly plain.

From this close, the thing’s purpose became more apparent. Its orientation provided another clue. I took a few steps until I was behind it and looked forward. To my amazement, the leaves and branches of the trees opened into a tunnel. I was too short to be able to see all the way through…

Too short? Indeed, I now suspected that the object was some kind of seat and that it had been designed for creatures at least twice my height.

I should have turned around then and fled. But it was too late. By hiding the discovery, by returning a second time, I was now committed. After hearing so many stories from Vìr, here I was having my own adventure.

Without thinking, I scrambled up and sat on the cube. As I
realized where I was, I started to shake. My bow slipped out of my hand and went to rest in the dead leaves on the ground. Beads of sweat formed on the back of my neck and on my forehead. Slowly, I grabbed the edges on both sides of me, trying to stabilize myself. The surface was surprisingly warm to the touch. I had expected a metallic cold.

As I started to control my breathing again, an eerie sensation enveloped me. My body became numb. My mind, though, was fully alert. I became dizzy, but it was comforting in some bizarre way. The world around me seemed to blur and move away. Everything became distant. That was when I thought to look forward…

And there, in between leaves and branches, over the vast void of Yurita, a path opened, an imaginary tunnel of sorts. Delimited and yet going in all directions at once. Abruptly, the mountains of Ul Darak pretended to be close enough to be touched. The clarity of the visions, the range of what I was seeing… the trees so close, the leaves, one falling slowly now, detaching itself from a branch… and at the same instant, the mountains, so far, yet here, and out of the corner of my eye, a pride of mountain lions, climbing, then a deep lake, waterfalls on my right, and there, dark, an opening…

What I was experiencing was beyond belief, absurd, and way too much for my limited senses. After those few and brief spectacular sights, consciousness started to slip away from me. Then nothingness caught me and dragged me down.



                                                                            *   


I awakened some time later, disoriented and lying on the ground, face pushed against the damp dirt. Moving my head, I found my bow a little to the right. I grabbed it instantly and noticed as I did that I was a few feet away from the cube. Either I had gotten up, taken a few steps, and fallen, or someone had moved me. I couldn’t say. Both ideas were disturbing.

The sun was low, partly hidden behind the mountains. Hours had evaporated. I had no recollection of the images I had seen or been shown. Those visions would return later.

As I stood, my mind was surprisingly blank. Paralysed… and yet, deep inside, a terror grew. I felt as if I had transgressed. I looked and there was no one around. But I felt spied upon. The sensation was upsetting.

I assumed I had seen something forbidden, done something unacceptable. Whoever had put the object here hadn’t meant it to be used by others, not by any of the knights, certainly not by me.

I started running. I ran as I had never run before, choosing a direction at random. Any direction was good as long as it was away from that accursed glade. As was bound to happen, I came across the path and had wit enough to turn toward the bridge. Even though I didn’t think it was possible, I ran faster. I didn’t look back and concentrated on the ground in front of me. A presence was following me. It was huge and all-encompassing. It was judging me, warning me never to return. There was no voice, but I could hear the warning, the accusation. It was inside my head, inside my bones.

On several occasions, I fell, scratched and damaged my knees; my elbows, both bleeding. Got back on my feet and ran. I dropped my bow. Didn’t stop to pick it up.











Thank you Steve for being our guest this week. We wish you continued success with your writing.






And to you the reader, thanks for stopping by. We'd love to hear from you so why don't you leave a comment below.




Coming soon.....watch here for more information!

Guests Sylvie Mazerolle & Jason Hamilton - Photographer & Author

Another First for the Scribbler.   



Partners in real life, Sylvie Mazerolle – photographer - and Jason Hamilton – author – are featured in a 4Q Interview.  Both have been guests on the Scribbler before but individually.  Sylvie here. Jason here. 

They met while working in the movie industry, Sylvie a makeup artist and Jason a lighting technician. They have a son, Dustin and now live in Dieppe, New Brunswick. They have agreed to a joint 4Q Interview.




(Photos by Sylvia are copyrighted and used with permission)
Thank you both for being our guests this week.
Sylvie, the first question is for you.
4Q: Since your visit to the Scribbler in June, you’ve added a new collection to your portfolio, “Colors in Motion” which is on exhibit now. What’s it all about?
SM: This series was inspired by a string of Umbrella that were being installed just outside the office window where I work. I could see them going up one by one. Pops of color in bloom like spring flowers.  I got so excited, I knew I had to capture the energy they exuded. I grabbed my camera at lunch and started shooting.
 Instead of merely reflecting back the world around me, I wanted to show details, textures, movement and the color’s that caught my attention in the first place.   

The series is about bright vivid abstract images that resemble paintings.


This is my first solo exhibit and it hosts 12 images that are 20 x 16 print size. I hope this is the first of many more to come.




 
4Q: Jason recently published his latest novel, The Prince of Acadia. Please tell us about your book Jason.
JH: The Prince of Acadia & the River of Fire is the result of a clash between a belligerent boss and a powerful urge to write a story that my son might enjoy, ha ha. The seed for the Prince of Acadia was planted just a year after Sylvie and I moved to New Brunswick. We were both starting over again and I found myself in the employ of a rather tyrannical supervisor (who’s name I altered to be the bad guy in the book. Ahh sweet revenge.) that I had to find a way to endure. I felt like I had no choice but to ‘suck it up’ and stay employed, but I couldn’t let the man’s behaviour make me crazy. I decided that, no matter how degrading the task, no matter how verbally abusive he was, I was going to kill him with kindness. I felt like Wesley in Princess Bride: “Good-night Jason, sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.” At least, that’s how it seemed. But anger can be incredibly motivating.
I also had a broad concept about doing a story around a very real river in New Brunswick called the ‘Richibucto’ which, in Mi’kmaq means “River of Fire”. I would arrive about half an hour before starting work at 7 am and scribble my story, long hand, in my car before I started my shift. The more my boss yelled and screamed at my incompetence the hungrier I became to exact my revenge on the page. I suffered through John Jerryston (fictional name) for three months and in that same time I had the first draft of what would become “The River of Fire”. It was probably the quickest I’ve ever written!
It’s now the first in a series. I’m grinding through the sequel as we speak, but it seems a little harder to find the right motivation for this one, ha ha.

4Q: Did you ever wish you could make a living by being a photographer or is always going to be a hobby?
SM:   Do I wish I could make a living being a photographer?  Do birds fly? It’s my dream to make my living as a full time creative. Since the first day I sharpened a box of wooden coloring crayons I dreamed of being an artist.





4Q: Would you like to write full time Jason and what are you working on now?
JH: The dream is to become a full-time writer and I’m piecing together the segments I think I’ll need in order to construct that vision. I’m working on “The Prince of Acadia &  the Lost Tribe” the follow up to “River of Fire”. When I haven’t been writing fiction, I’ve been polishing my speaking skills at various open mic stand-up comedy events in NB and PEI. (Hmmm, maybe polish is a bit generous.)
The better I get at promoting my work in whatever form it needs to take is another step further in my development as a writer. I’m having a blast, learning a lot, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find the sweet spot between entertaining, inspirational and informative.   

Thank you both for taking the time to be my guests this week and making this a special feature.  



See more about Sylvie & Jason by going to these sites.

www.jasonehamilton.co
https://sylviemazerolle.wixsite.com/m...


 A special thank you to You - the Reader, for visiting the Scribbler. Please leave a comment below before you go.
 Coming in November, e-book and paperback - Wall of War. Watch here for details and where you can buy YOUR copy.

Guests Silvia Mazerolle & Jason Hamilton - Photographer & Author

Another First for the Scribbler.   



Partners in real life, Sylvie Mazerolle – photographer - and Jason Hamilton – author – are featured in a 4Q Interview.  Both have been guests on the Scribbler before but individually.  Sylvie here. Jason here. 

They met while working in the movie industry, Sylvie a makeup artist and Jason a lighting technician. They have a son, Dustin and now live in Dieppe, New Brunswick. They have agreed to a joint 4Q Interview.

 


(Photos by Sylvia are copyrighted and used with permission)
  Thank you both for being our guests this week.
Sylvie, the first question is for you.
4Q: Since your visit to the Scribbler in June, you’ve added a new collection to your portfolio, “Colors in Motion” which is on exhibit now. What’s it all about?
SM: This series was inspired by a string of Umbrella that were being installed just outside the office window where I work. I could see them going up one by one. Pops of color in bloom like spring flowers.  I got so excited, I knew I had to capture the energy they exuded. I grabbed my camera at lunch and started shooting.
 Instead of merely reflecting back the world around me, I wanted to show details, textures, movement and the color’s that caught my attention in the first place.   
 
The series is about bright vivid abstract images that resemble paintings.


This is my first solo exhibit and it hosts 12 images that are 20 x 16 print size. I hope this is the first of many more to come.



 
4Q: Jason recently published his latest novel, The Prince of Acadia. Please tell us about your book Jason.
JH: The Prince of Acadia & the River of Fire is the result of a clash between a belligerent boss and a powerful urge to write a story that my son might enjoy, ha ha. The seed for the Prince of Acadia was planted just a year after Sylvie and I moved to New Brunswick. We were both starting over again and I found myself in the employ of a rather tyrannical supervisor (who’s name I altered to be the bad guy in the book. Ahh sweet revenge.) that I had to find a way to endure. I felt like I had no choice but to ‘suck it up’ and stay employed, but I couldn’t let the man’s behaviour make me crazy. I decided that, no matter how degrading the task, no matter how verbally abusive he was, I was going to kill him with kindness. I felt like Wesley in Princess Bride: “Good-night Jason, sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.” At least, that’s how it seemed. But anger can be incredibly motivating.
I also had a broad concept about doing a story around a very real river in New Brunswick called the ‘Richibucto’ which, in Mi’kmaq means “River of Fire”. I would arrive about half an hour before starting work at 7 am and scribble my story, long hand, in my car before I started my shift. The more my boss yelled and screamed at my incompetence the hungrier I became to exact my revenge on the page. I suffered through John Jerryston (fictional name) for three months and in that same time I had the first draft of what would become “The River of Fire”. It was probably the quickest I’ve ever written!
It’s now the first in a series. I’m grinding through the sequel as we speak, but it seems a little harder to find the right motivation for this one, ha ha.

4Q: Did you ever wish you could make a living by being a photographer or is always going to be a hobby?
SM:   Do I wish I could make a living being a photographer?  Do birds fly? It’s my dream to make my living as a full time creative. Since the first day I sharpened a box of wooden coloring crayons I dreamed of being an artist.

    4Q: Would you like to write full time Jason and what are you working on now?
JH: The dream is to become a full-time writer and I’m piecing together the segments I think I’ll need in order to construct that vision. I’m working on “The Prince of Acadia &  the Lost Tribe” the follow up to “River of Fire”. When I haven’t been writing fiction, I’ve been polishing my speaking skills at various open mic stand-up comedy events in NB and PEI. (Hmmm, maybe polish is a bit generous.)
   The better I get at promoting my work in whatever form it needs to take is another step further in my development as a writer. I’m having a blast, learning a lot, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find the sweet spot between entertaining, inspirational and informative.   

      Thank you both for taking the time to be my guests this week and making this a special feature.  



See more about Sylvie & Jason by going to these sites.

www.jasonehamilton.co
 https://sylviemazerolle.wixsite.com/m...      A special thank you to You - the Reader, for visiting the Scribbler. Please leave a comment below before you go.  
 Coming in November, e-book and paperback - Wall of War. Watch here for details and where you can buy YOUR copy.

Guest Julia Suzuki, British Author, Designer and Businesswoman.

An exciting week for the Scribbler to have Julia Suzuki as our featured guest: a British Author of fantasy novels, Designer and Businesswoman. Julia is known for her unique writing style; threading together adventure and suspense in magical epic settings, with plots that are topped off with beautiful messages.
She has been kind enough to answer a few questions for a 4Q Interview. See below for her website.




     4Q: Thank you Julia for being our guest this week and sharing your thoughts. Your website tells us of the many things you are involved in but what inspired you to begin writing.   
JS: I have always been passionate about literature, especially fantasy, and later personal development books. I have an innate desire to learn and grow… that to me is our adventure – our personal story arc.
As a child my hobbies were the outdoors, and reading. I studied Speech and Drama with the London School of Music before hitting the business world in children’s licensing and then leisure which led me to travel the world.  It was the accumulation of my experiences that lead to my idea for the first book in the series, set in the magical land of Dragor. In fact it was a burst of inspiration that led me to actually start writing the series when the idea (as if from nowhere) popped into my head.
 
4Q: Please tell us about your Fantasy series.
JS:  
 

The Land of Dragor Series
Julia Suzuki
 
Is a middle grade fantasy series that appeals to boys and girls and adults.
The world’s last remaining dragons and dinosaurs live secretly in hiding, while a new species – the dragsaurs – are planning total domination. Meet a dragon boy whose destiny through many trials is to destroy these savage creatures, and allow dragons and dinosaurs to live once more in harmony in his magical, bountiful homeland, Dragor… 
The books involve three distinct territories, and the main hero who is trialed to overcome his weaknesses, which involves many challenges and his nemesis is a fellow dragon who is committed to seeing him fail.
In their exclusivity, the dragons have become selective in sharing knowledge of the world beyond Dragor. They live by the legend – the most famous dragon of all times; the first to ever breathe fire; he who led dragons to triumph against the dinosaurs and secured their freedom; and who created the dragons’ power source by creating a setting of six precious FIRESTONES (opals).
The legend isn’t an exhaustive account of history, as our hero Jam discovers. Over the course of the series, he learns much to equip him in his challenges, but facts threaten to isolate him from the dragons he’s grown up with.
 
 
4Q: Can you share a childhood memory or anecdote?
JS: My memories when I first took speech and drama classes are particularly strong: walking down a long gravel, drive from the age of seven years, to greet the harsh, dramatic teacher – with her hair in a tight silver bun (and a stern welcome). But the classes were simply wonderful, joyfully learning to recite excerpts from books like The Snow Goose and Wind in The Willows, in a whimsical style with proper pronunciation. This was in preparation for the London examiners to come up to grade us. I continued until I had achieve all the grades.
 
    4Q: What else would you like us to know about Julia Suzuki?
JS: I love to inspire and uplift others, to encourage them to believe in themselves and feel good.
My hobbies are dress design, in fact I love all things design from interiors to illustration.
I have a fifteen-year-old son who is very much a free spirit, like myself.
I grew up listening to the thrilling screeches of people enjoying theme park rides; opposite from where I lived (as a child) was a large theme park.       Thank you Julia for being our guest this week. Discover more about this talented lady by visiting her website : www.juliasuzuki.com




  The Wall of War will be available in November/2017.  Watch the Scribbler for more information. 
 

The Wall of War is almost ready for publication. It's an ...

The Wall of War is almost ready for publication. It's an exciting time for this writer!






So, people ask, "What's next?"



I've been writing an historical fiction tentativley titled "Alexanders - The Decades"
Each book will contain ten years in the life of Drake Alexander's ancestors, beginning with his grandfather, Dominic, in Scotland in 1911.


  
                              Alexanders – The Decades   
This excerpt is from the second section - 1912-1914. It tells the reader how Dominic finds a new friend.

(Copyright is held by the author)


    Being in the cooler northern region of Great Britain, Scotland is one of the windiest countries in the world with higher than normal amounts of rainfall. Winter usually brings copious amounts of snow in the Highlands with lesser accumulation in the lower regions. The days are much shorter. This first day of February, a Thursday and the last day of Dominic’s work week is clear, a cool breeze chills from the southeast as he walks along Langlands Road. Bluish shadows from a gibbous moon accompanies him home. Pulling his parka tighter about his face, he hurries his step knowing Uncle likes to eat at six o’clock and he guesses it must be a half hour later than that. He’s usually home by then, now that the days are not as long but he and Tubs had to finish replacing the door in Danny Meek’s bungalow in Ibrox.
He’s tired, his shoulders are slouched. One gloved hand carries his still stiff tool belt. A well-used hammer Tubs gave him hangs from one of the side loops and bumps against his leg. The repetitive slap in the only noise except for the distant clanging of the Fairfield Shipyards which go all night. The other hand holds the front of his coat tight at the neck. A well-used canvas lunch bag is slung over one shoulder. He was up at 6 this morning and helping Duff in his shop. The security men who pick up the repairs come every Thursday at noon delivering the jewellery to be fixed and pick up the completed jobs. Dominic spent the morning polishing chains that Duff had repaired. There was a silver one he really liked and hoped to own one day. While thinking of how much he needs to put aside when he turns onto Drive Road that will take him by Elder Park, he encounters three boys roughly his age.
Two of them are pushing and shoving a smaller boy who is doing his best to hold his own pushing and shoving when he can. The larger of the aggressors gets in close enough to grab the smaller one by his jacket collar and shove him against the wrought iron fence that surrounds the park. His companion steps closer and hits the smaller boy in the stomach. When the injured youngster falls to the ground Dominic is close enough to hear them. They don’t know he is near.  Not liking what he sees, the fallen boy much smaller, he sets his tool belt down gently and creeps closer.
“We told you before Pestov, you stay in the Gorbals. You Russian scum need to stay in the tenements where you belong. We don’t want you ‘Pests” around…”
Tall boy is interrupted by a blow to his left ear that causes him to stagger and cartwheel his arms before careening into his helper knocking them both down, the bigger one on top.  Dominic steps up to them, his gloved fists in the fighter’s pose his father taught him, taught all his boys.  His left foot back for balance, both feet on their toes.
“Try someone your own size ya bullies.”
Dominic is a scary figure, only his silhouette is visible to the downed ruffians, the partial moon shines over his left shoulder exposing his upraised defensive fists.  The downed boy is surprised by the aggressive act of the stranger and sits up trying to catch his breath and watch. The two on the roadway are scrambling backwards. The bolder one shouts while rubbing his ear.
“What’s it to you…and ya shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
They’re standing now and may be street tough but they’re leery of this stranger that is not an adult. They strike their own poses, the shorter one a step behind and bobbing his head back and forth from Dominic and his companion not sure what to do.
“Ya shouldn’t be picking on people smaller than you and you’re obviously not brave enough to do it on your own, takes two of yas.”
Dominic starts to bob lightly like a trained boxer.
“Step up now you cowards and let’s finish this…or bugger off!”
Tall boy and Uncertain give each other a glance before deciding that buggering off is probably the best option, turn and scamper away behind one of the apartment buildings on the other side of the street. Dominic relaxes and turns to face a bedraggled figure sitting with legs flat, holding his stomach and taking short breaths. The head is uncapped and hanging down. Even in the low light, Dominic can see the jacket is light and tattered.  Gathering his tool belt he wonders at the boy’s silence.
“Ya could at least say thank you.”
The voice is deep for someone so young and heavily accented from a foreign language.
“I didn’t need any help.”
“That’s not what I saw.”
No response. He reaches down with his free hand.
“C’mon, I’ll give you a hand up.”
Hesitant at first, the younger fellow offers an uncovered hand, small and delicate like a girl’s.  Dominic is startled by the uncovered limb. Grasping the hand, Dominic helps him to stand.
“Gracious, don’t you have any mitts?”
Tucking his hands in his jacket side pockets belies the next statement.
“No, I don’t, but I don’t need any.”
Stepping back Dominic tries to see his face but the lowlight only casts shadows. He can see that it is wide, lots of stray hair. The chin is up. Dominic stands at least five or six inches taller.
“So, what was that all about? And do you really live in the Gorbals?”
“They just think that all Russians are like the Ivanov gang and all we want to do is steal everything. And yes I do live in the Gorbals and I do live in a tenement before you ask.”
Dominic heard about the squalid buildings that housed immigrants in crowded quarters, often four to five in one or two rooms, lured by work in the yards. Always a shortage of homes drove the rents upward. Sanitation is a problem. Many do not eat properly. He didn’t believe it at first. He knew his family was poor but they always had a roof that didn’t leak, clean beds and food.
“What are you doing here? And at night?”
“I…I just need to get away from all that noise and dirty smells and…”
Dominic senses discouragement in the voice, a lower tone. The pitch changes, bolder.
“It’s not your business.  I should be going, my brothers will be home later and I need to be there.”
Without any further comment, he sets off towards the other side of the park. Dominic can see the figure shaking from the cold and stares at his gloves. He has an older pair at home, not as new but just as warm. Removing his gloves, he chases after the boy.
“Here, take these.”
Surprised by the command, the boy stops and faces Dominic, seeing the gloves in the outstretched hand. He is affected by the offer.
“You’d give me your gloves?”
“Well it’s two or three miles to Gorbals and I have another pair.”
He can’t say no. He can hardly grasp the gloves properly from chilled fingers. He stares at Dominic while twisting them on.
“Why are you doing this? You don’t know me.”
“Not so long ago I didn’t always have mitts either and I know what it is like. Now I’m working and can buy my own.”
There’s a moment of silence.  Dominic puts his own hands in his coat pocket.
“What’s your name?”
“Ivan.”
It comes out in Russian, eeVAHN. Not I-van like Scots call him.
“Ivan Pestov and what’s yours?”
“Dominic Alexander, but most people call me Dom. You can if you like.”
“Why would I like, I’ll probably never see you again. I doubt you hang around the Gorbals and I’m not welcome here.”
“Sure ya are, ya can come home and have a bite with me and Uncle if ya like?”
Dominic is worried about his spontaneous suggestion not sure how Duff will react to an uninvited guest but he needn’t be. Surprised by the stranger’s generosity, Ivan waves him off and starts towards the Gorbals.
“Thanks for the gloves and for getting those jerks off my back.”
Watching until the retreating figure is in darkness, Dominic hitches his lunch bag straighter on his shoulder and heads home wondering what the surprise is that Duff said would be there because today is his birthday.




I hope you enjoyed this brief excerpt as much as I enjoyed imagining it. It will be a couple of years before this novel is completed but I'll post an excerpt here and there in hopes you will follow Dominic's development.

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