Post your book excerpt & get featured for free!

[Marcus]

https://www.amazon.com/Skip-Demon-Hun...

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

Have marked your book as {To be read}✓

[Marcus]

Thank you!

[Neil]

Hi all, this is a standalone short story I wrote as a taster for my upcoming psychological thriller. It introduces one of the principal characters. I had a lot of fun writing it, although it's quite dark; I'd love to know what people think

First Response

The uniformed officer on the door straightens up and nods as Ray approaches. "Sir."
Control has asked Ray to attend the flat in Granton without giving much in the way of detail. Sudden death. Looked like suicide, but there was a kid involved. He eyes the young PC. "What've we got?"
"Not sure yet. Looks like the mother finally overdid it with the pills and the booze. The FLO's on the way. Paramedics are still inside, looking after the daughter until she arrives."
Ray gets a sinking feeling, low in his stomach. "How old?"
"Nine." The officer looks down. "She's the one who called 999."
"Christ." He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "What about the mother? She known to us?"
He nods. "Aye, minor stuff though. Drunk and disorderly, couple of shoplifting offences. We're trying to get hold of her social worker now."
"Right. Well, better get in there." Ray nods at the younger man and opens the door. He looks around once before entering the communal hallway. It is still quiet, no media presence yet. They don’t attend suicides as a rule, but if there's a child involved…
His stomach does a slow roll again. "Better get some support out here. And chase up that social worker," he calls over his shoulder.
He can see the open door and makes his way to it. The battered door across the hallway looks like it belongs to some jakey out trying to score a drink or three. It's closed, and Ray is thankful for that, at least. No nosy neighbour to phone the media in the hope of making a few quid off the back of a young girl's misery.
He tries not to grimace as he steps inside the flat, feeling the carpet trying to stick to his shoes. A few steps and he is in the living room. There is a body on the couch, and a paramedic is packing equipment up. He looks up as Ray enters the room.
"Dead before we got here," he says. "We went through the motions, but…" He see-saws one hand, still wrapped in nitrile rubber and lowers his voice. "More for the girl's sake. Sally's with her now, through there." He inclines his head in the direction of the kitchenette.
Ray is about to kneel next to the body. He recalls the sticky carpet near the door and thinks better of it at the last moment. "Cause of death?"
The paramedic shrugs. "Need to speak to the ME for that. Off the record, I'd say drugs and booze. Looks like cardiac arrest to me."
"Thanks." Ray nods.
Up close, the woman is younger than his first guess – mid-twenties, he thinks. The booze has aged her, fine lines already creasing her skin. Bottle-yellow hair frames features that have become slack in death. He sees the pill-bottle, and the can that lies on its side. It is the central point of a dark fan of spilled cider that is already drying. Easy to draw the same conclusions, but he wants to try and keep an open mind.
He shakes his head. What a waste of life, he thinks. He wonders if they’ve contacted the social worker yet. He takes a deep breath and heads into the kitchenette.
He looks around, the neatness and order contrasting with the untidy nature of the living room. A muffin tray with a dozen depressions sits in the drainer, drying. He takes in the drainer, notes the cake tray that sits there, drying. There are a dozen depressions in it. Another paramedic – Sally, he thinks – is leaning against the worktop. She looks tired. The young girl perches on a stool, very still.
Ray gives her a slight nod of acknowledgment and crouches in front of the girl. "Hi," he says. "My name's Ray."
She’s staring at the floor. He has to strain to hear her response. "Megan."
"Hi, Megan. How're you doing?"
"Mum won't wake up," she says. Her voice is steady, calm. Shock, he thinks. He glances at Sally, mouths the word. She nods back.
"Well, we're here to help you now," he says, keeping his voice low.
"How?"
Her response surprises Ray. He takes a second to form his reply, make sure the words sound right. "Well, we need to look after your mum, and you as well, make sure you're looked after."
She mumbles something that Ray misses. "Sorry honey, what was that?"
She raises her head and spits words at him. "She's dead, isn't she?"
Ray rocks back at the bitterness in her voice. It isn't a question; she knows the truth already and is looking to confirm it.
He takes a deep breath. "Yes, Megan. I'm sorry."
The girl makes a complicated gesture that he can't quite place. "Suppose you'll be getting the social worker then. Take me into care." Again, the same gesture, but this time he identifies it: she has shrugged.
"We need to make sure you're safe," he says, his mind speeding up. He glances at Sally and sees the paramedic has picked up on the girl's behaviour.
"Okay." Ray’s senses are on high alert now. What has gone on between this girl and her mother? "Do you have anyone else we can call? A granny? An aunt?"
The girl shakes her head, almost uninterested. "No. Not that I've met. Don't think Mum got on with them. Don't know if they're even still alive."
Ray winces inside at the matter-of-fact delivery. The girl is an enigma to him, cold and unemotional. He is sure there is something lurking below the façade she projects that will unlock the night's events. His problem is to get at it. He decides to adopt a similar, brusque approach, see if he can crack the girl's shell.
"Right, Megan, the social worker should be on her way now. We'll get you settled with her, see what arrangements we can make. We can talk later." He sits back, watching her.
The flash of emotion in her eyes – panic? fear? – brings no joy to him, only a grim satisfaction. He has found a way in. Now he needs to probe deeper, before the girl clams up.
"Or do you want to talk now?" He throws it out as a lifeline to her. "We could have a wee cup of tea if you'd like?"
She looks up and he sees something in her face, a swirl of feeling that she is trying to keep hidden. "And a cake?" she says, her eyes flicking to the worktop.
He smiles at her. "Aye, why not." He senses movement behind and is thankful that the newcomer remains silent. "Should I put the kettle on?"
She shrugs, much more relaxed this time. "If you want. Or I could make it. Mum said I make a good cup of tea."
Ray notes the use of past tense. "I'm sure you do," he says. "But let me do it. Need to look after you tonight, don't we?" He has his own reasons for wanting to move.
The kettle is already full and warm to the touch. He flicks the switch and glances around, keeping his expression relaxed.
The Family Liaison Officer is stood in the doorway, watching him. He knows her, has worked with her a couple of times before. He snaps his fingers as though a thought has occurred to him. "Why doesn't Sophie here make the tea," he says, hoping he has remembered her name. The tight grin he receives in return doesn't give anything away, but she plays along.
"Might as well," she says, her voice warm and homely. She turns her smile on the girl. "Right love, you mentioned cakes?"
The girl manages a smile and points at an old ice cream tub pushed to the back of the worktop. "In there," she says. "I baked them earlier."
Ray watches as the girl's eyes flick to the tub as Sophie opens it. There are a half-dozen cakes inside, topped with white icing.
A terrible thought starts to bubble deep in his brain. He says, "They look good, Megan," and takes a step closer. His eyes note the smears of red icing on the underside of the lid, and his jaw tightens.
"Ah, you know what," he says, "I need to make a call first." He pulls his phone from his jacket pocket as evidence. "I'll be outside; back in a few." He makes eye contact with the FLO and she gives a slight nod.
Outside, she says, "You're treading close to the line in there, Ray. A paramedic does not a responsible adult make." Her voice is tight. "What's got you so worked up?"
Ray frowns. "I'm not sure – yet. But there's more to this than a simple suicide."
She snorts. "Suicide is never simple."
He dips his head once in acknowledgment. "Something feels wrong," he said. He turns to the uniformed officer on the door. "Any word on the ME yet? And the PF?"
"ME's on his way. We’ve informed the Fiscal's office, but I can't say whether they're sending anyone."
“Hmm.” Ray bows his head. Thoughts are spinning through his mind, colliding with each other. The bottle of pills morphs into a can of cheap cider, which in turn becomes a frosted cupcake. The comforts of home baking jar with the dead woman’s obvious addictions. It is the missing fragment, the one that lurks on the edge of vision that troubles him. He knows there is more to this than meets the eye. What complex relationship between the mother and the daughter lies hidden? He’s not sure, but a terrible idea is beginning to form.
“Sophie, does the girl seem – I don’t know, strange? – to you?”
Her forehead creases. She says, “Aye, a bit. Although you can never tell with kids.” Ray nods, encouraging her to go on.
“But this girl…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know, it’s almost too much like you’d read in the training manual. It’s too smooth. All the reactions you’d expect at the right times, but they feel, wrong?” Her voice raises at the end, indicating the question.
Ray’s words are measured when he speaks, giving voice to the idea coalescing in his mind. “She’s acting out how we’d expect her to be. And I have a nasty idea why.”
Sophie’s face drops; her expression says his words have punched her in the stomach. “Ah, Jesus, you don’t think the mother was…”
But Ray is already heading back inside. He shakes his head at her words. His shoulders sag with the weight of responsibility he bears. He turns to Sophie. “It’s the cakes,” he says, his words heavy. “That’s the key.” He notes the way her eyes narrow, and adds, “There were two batches of cakes. Check out the container - there are smears of red icing on the inside of the lid. Some were white; the others were red. We know where the white ones are, but what about the red? There’s a baking tray in the drainer that’s just been washed. Twelve holes; there’re only six cakes.”
“Oh Christ.” She pales as the truth dawns on her.
Ray’s expression is grim. “I’d bet my pension the ME will find traces of cake in her stomach. I think the girl poisoned her mother with doctored cake.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Bloody clever. What are the odds she used her mother’s own medication to try and hide it?”
Sophie looks sick. “That’s nasty,” she says. “Premeditated. And why? What would drive her to do something like that?”
“Ray blows air out through puffed cheeks. “Not our job to find out,” he says. “We can leave all that – thank God – to the shrinks.”
“What the hell do we do now?” It is a rhetorical question; she knows what Ray must do.
“What we’re supposed to,” he says in response. He takes a deep breath and turns back to the door. He is preparing himself to walk back into the flat and arrest the girl for murder.

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

This is brilliant Neil. I couldn't stop reading, and I want to know more. Best of luck with publishing it.

[Neil]

Thanks :) The book itself is in the final stages of editing (after two full rewrites) and I'm hoping to get it out later this year. I'll be looking for beta readers soon

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

👍

[Kimberly]

Neil wrote: "Hi all, this is a standalone short story I wrote as a taster for my upcoming psychological thriller. It introduces one of the principal characters. I had a lot of fun writing it, although it's quit..."

Very nice! I enjoyed it! And yes, good luck getting it published.

[Sharon]

Neil wrote: "Hi all, this is a standalone short story I wrote as a taster for my upcoming psychological thriller. It introduces one of the principal characters. I had a lot of fun writing it, although it's quit..."

Nicely written and you chose a great part to share, one that piques my interest so I’d be more likely to read the full book.

[Sharon]

Marcus wrote: "Chapter one of PALE RAIN.....


Exorcisms suck.
Demons just don’t know when to quit. They are nasty, vile things and once they get a filthy claw in our world they won’t let go, at least not willi..."

I like the idea and the story sounds really interesting. I did get confused though with starting in the room then such a long flashback to earlier that day with no real break in the text. I had originally assumed that Rainah was in the room with the girl as her description came before you indicated you were going back to the morning. The dialogue between everyone is well written and you give really great descriptions. Would I read the book? I know it’s already out on Amazon because I looked, yes, I would read the book and I shall read the book once I have read those I have already waiting patiently for reviews. It says it’s book 1 is there going to be a book 2 and does this end on a cliffhanger?

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

Thank you for the exquisite reviews this week Sharon & Kimberly. PM me your email id to get the pdf of The Poetry of my Soul & a selection from the works of Catherine Habbie

We have the top book reviewers of Goodreads in our midst. Authors, do avail of their services and do not hesitate to offer free books and get reviews.

To review, feel free to use any of the backdated excepts that catch your attention too.

Best of luck to all👍

[Ruby]

Good luck.

[Marcus]

Sharon wrote: "Marcus wrote: "Chapter one of PALE RAIN.....


Exorcisms suck.
Demons just don’t know when to quit. They are nasty, vile things and once they get a filthy claw in our world they won’t let go, at ..."
Thank you for the feedback, that transition has always bothered me, but I wasn't sure if it was obvious, going to go back and see if I can smooth it out.
The excerpt is from PALE RAIN, the second in my Demon Hunter series, the one on Amazon is THE SKIP, the first in the series. I just finished writing PALE RAIN and am going through the editing process before trying my luck at getting an agent. I generally like to wrap my books up in the end, but still leave them open to further stories, so no cliffhangers right at the end. I like the cliffhangers to happen throughout the story to keep the reader engaged. Thanks again for your thoughts on the excerpt, it is much appreciated.

[Simon]

Hello everyone, my name is Simón Camacho and I am a psychologist, I recently finish my second book The Little Ones & Their Monstersthat I am very proud of, because it combines the two subjects that I love the most, psychology and fantasy.
In this book I decided to take some problems that I have found working with children, and describe them in the form of monster, to make them more interesting and easier to understand. The protagonist is the Dr. Alaz F. Raliget, who is a kind of therapist who, in nine short and easy-to-read stories, describe the characteristics of a particular monster, how to identify it and how to face it; In addition, little by little, more details of the world, his life and the monsters that he himself has had to face are revealed.
I wanted to put a chapter in here but it was a little too long so instead I will share the introduction:

Since I became an analyst of monsters when I was seventeen, I have done countless lectures regarding the management of these creatures around the world, that if you are interested in the subject, it is highly likely that you have been in one of them, unless you are a child.
I have always found it very unsettling that, although children are constantly faced with monsters and seek help as often as adults, they rarely attend the meetings I conduct on the subject. This is quite irritating, because I have published a number of books over the years and many are geared towards children, such as, “The Skin Crawler” and “Searching for the False Shadow.” Children are the main players in several of my more complex and interesting cases, and I almost never have the opportunity to share these stories with them.
I decided to write this book today, because I admit that my previous work seems much too long and boring for children seeking ways to rid themselves of the monsters who harass them. Here I describe nine special cases in order to illustrate how to identify almost imperceptible monsters; to disprove myths believed over time; to show the most appropriate way to eliminate them from the lives of our children, or in some cases, to teach how to accept them and make them part of our day to day living.
With these stories children and their parents will learn to work as a team, they will become their own monster analysts, and what I sincerely keep hoping for, is that they will have in their hands the last book about monsters that they will ever need to buy.
Dr. Alaz F. Raliget
Whoever is interested, the book will be free on amazon this friday may 10th until the sunday. I would really appreciate if you could read it and leave an honest review on the amazon page.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07RD4S8XX

[Catherine]

Thanks Simon. That is a very unusual book. I have marked it as [Want to read]

[Dawn]

Good Day, I am Dawn Mossman and I just released a new version of my debut novel. I worked with an editor and the new edition is amazing. I am really proud of it. The book is a quick easy read with a real message behind it. Auracle is ready to present to the world and I think the world is ready to read it.

Auracle is free today through to May 12th on Amazon. The link is below the blurb.

Violet dreams of swimming in a rainbow river in a world greater than her own. The next morning, she sees auras, in all the colors of the rainbow, around her family, her best friends Amber and Nila, classmates, and everyone else in her small east coast town.

Amber is dating the most popular guy in grade nine, but their auras hint at a problem with their relationship, and Amber’s red overlay shows she has unresolved trauma. Violet wants to help, but she needs to know more about auras and her other new abilities. A series of dreams reveal this — and her role in the future of humanity as the first Auracle.

Violet discovers her limitless potential, as she copes with the challenges of high school and friends drifting apart. Fortunately, there’s Perry, her unexpected new friend and confidant. He helps Violet see that nothing in her town or life will ever be black and white again.

An uplifting and positive story about spirituality and teenage angst. Auracle is a coming-of-age story that suggests we are different colors — by spirit, not skin — and that our world is a better place when we unite. Mystical and charming, Dawn Mossman’s debut is sure to be one of the most thought-provoking and enchanting novels you will experience.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NBCNXQW

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

Thanks for the excerpt Dawn. Have marked your bookas {To be read}✓

[Ruby]

Dawn wrote: "Good Day, I am Dawn Mossman and I just released a new version of my debut novel. I worked with an editor and the new edition is amazing. I am really proud of it. The book is a quick easy read with ..."

Well written. Congratulations and the best of luck.

[Dawn]

Grasshopper wrote: "Thanks for the excerpt Dawn. Have marked your bookas {To be read}✓"

Thank you GB! I appreciate your support :)

[Dawn]

Ruby wrote: "Dawn wrote: "Good Day, I am Dawn Mossman and I just released a new version of my debut novel. I worked with an editor and the new edition is amazing. I am really proud of it. The book is a quick ea..."

Thank you Ruby!

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

Dawn wrote: "Grasshopper wrote: "Thanks for the excerpt Dawn. Have marked your bookas {To be read}✓"

Thank you GB! I appreciate your support :)"

My pleasure. We are only overjoyed to support upcoming authors.

[Sharon]

Simón wrote: "Hello everyone, my name is Simón Camacho and I am a psychologist, I recently finish my second book The Little Ones & Their Monstersthat I am very proud of, because it combines the t..."

Hi Simón, thanks for posting the blurb from your book. Your book sounds very interesting and I have just downloaded a copy. It shall take me a few days to get to it but when I do I shall leave a review on Amazon and wherever else I can find the book.

[J.]

Howdy! This is one of my favorite passages from my first book The Three Warlocks, from the second-to-last chapter:

The Summoner, not turning his head, nodded. Like a whisper, his twin, The Fade, vanished. At the same time, the undead legion stepped forward, their black iron armor rumbling, a thunder-like torrent that rolled throughout the streets. Altogether and synchronously, like the rhythmic pounding of a machine, every skeletal warrior rapped its spear against its dark tower shield, again, and again, and again. The legion stepped forward once more. They were the souls of the Animarum, bound to the bones found deep within the earth and transmuted from nature’s gifts, each a bastion of war, an indomitable warrior. Each soul was a personality, full of memories, lost hopes, and forgotten aspirations. The legion advanced once more. Physically, each one of the ghastly legionnaires was the same. However, these souls, bound to their hallowed tethers, had only one thing in common. They were utterly, totally subservient to the whims, orders, and desires of their Master: Aethen Irlassen. “Speak,” whispered their master. And so they spoke. A storm of whispers arose from the grim legion, drenching the air with an indistinct rustling. They took one more step forward, thundering and pounding and whispering and storming, dauntless and fearless and tireless. “Stop,” whispered their master. And so they stopped. All became silent. In a mere four steps, the legion had chipped away at the courage of the garrison. Fear permeated their ranks, revealing the young and inexperienced and craven. Fear touched all the men and women there.

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

That's a great horror read. I must slot you in for a Halloween feature!
Marked as {too be read}✓

[Sylvia]

a very strong picture you paint in your readers head. Well done :)

[Eoin]

Funderland: A Novel

Hi all
My novel, Funderland, is free on Amazon kindle. It is literary fiction in the style of Nick Hornby and Michael Chabon.

Excerpt below.

Weird standard of Introduction

I get recurring dreams.
Nearly every night I dream that I’m driving along the countryside without a care in the world. There’s never a break or a stop or a pit stop or anything. Not even a crash. We just drive. We, as in, there are other people in the car. Sometimes I recognise them. I can see Angie riding shotgun, I can see Matt in the rear-view mirror and Jack sitting in the other vacancy smiling and talking and jabbering on as only Jack knows how. Every once in a while there are some other people I know like Mortimer or Dave or Amy. I’m in the driver’s seat some nights, other nights I’m not. Sometimes I’m in the passenger’s seat; sometimes I’m in the backseat. Once I was in the boot. Another time I was sitting on the roof, scarred out of my mind that I was going to fall off. When I don’t dream of the car I get worried. Although I don’t know why. I’m not particularly fond of driving. But sometimes I’m not there at all. I’m either at the side of the road waiting or else I’m at home sitting on my sofa doing nothing. This is what troubles me the most. Usually in a dream you do something. You talk to someone or you try and catch up with someone or something chases you and you can’t run or you drive a car and you actually arrive somewhere. Sometimes you’re in a strange place but you’re calling it home and you’re hanging around with different people who are an amalgamation of a dozen different people you know. In some dreams I find myself falling in love with a girl who I’ve never seen before and sitting with people I don’t recognise. But they know me and somehow, in the dream, I know them too. In general, though, nothing happens in my dreams. Time moves as slowly when I’m asleep as when I’m awake.
I get some great ideas when I’m dreaming. Things that I’m sure will change my life. Epiphanies by the bucket load that on waking just seem like a bad idea and I label that dream a nightmare. In my dreams it feels like everything is prominent and somehow has a meaning. It’s hard to define what is symbolic. One thing that stood out for the last few nights, though, is the scenery and this is probably the only thing I like about them. The countryside is beautiful. The sun shines a sparkling yellow and the grass is a lush green and the sky is a cloudless blue that stretched over mustard and brown fields and it seems like the dream is making the promise that everything is going to be all right.
But it’s only a dream. Every day I wake up and I’m still here. Where I don’t want to be.
I asked Matt about my dreams. Matt’s good at stuff like this. Or else he pretends that he’s good at stuff like this. He says the reason we have recurring dreams is because our subconscious is trying to tell us something but we haven’t got the message yet. So, it will happen until I get the message. What message? Something in my life is unresolved and needs to be confronted. I wish I knew what it was because then I could confront it and maybe start having a dream where something actually happens like when the three angles of a triangle don’t add up to 180°. A dream that is weird and worth remembering.
My life isn’t the most desirable existence, even for me. I’m trying to be a writer. Being a writer sounds good, doesn’t it? It’s not. I’ve been commissioned to write a novel and I haven’t even started yet. I have a condition that is the most horrible thing that anybody can have. A spirit crushing, mind numbing, disgusting feeling that is slowly killing me. It’s called writer’s block. Nothing, absolutely nothing gives me the inspiration or insight or motivation to put any ideas down. I haven’t turned on my computer in months. I can’t even remember how to turn it on. Well, I can. I just don’t want to.
Angie lives in the apartment below me. I talk to her all the time. There’s a hole in my living room floor so I can look right into her apartment and she can stare right into mine. The hole came about after a party. Everybody that was there were drunk and someone modified the floor with the help of a weight 14 bowling ball and the hole has been there ever since. I prefer it like this. It’s nice knowing that mine and Angie’s apartment is a little different to the rest in the building. It gives the place character.
Angie is a great friend of mine. As I said, we talk all the time and I get on really well with her. She’s a waitress in a café and she hates it. All the people she serves are idiots. They never give her a tip. Ever. You probably think it’s because she’s a bitch or something but she’s not. I’ve watched her at work and she’s great. She chats, smiles, is polite and friendly, brings the food out on time but she never gets anything. Maybe a thank you. Sometimes I feel sorry for her but I know she’ll be okay. Something tells me that she’s strong.

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

Pardon me as I'm going to quote from your Dream book:
Epiphanies by the bucket load, that on waking just seem like a bad idea.
The reason we have recurring dreams is because our subconscious is trying to tell us something but we haven’t got the message yet. So, it will happen until I get the message. What message?
Something in my life is unresolved and needs to be confronted.
I simply adore your book. Dreams are a topic that have always intrigued me. The
Writer's block angle & the friendship with the character Angie are very promising. I look forward to reading your book. have marked as {to be read}✓
PS. Have you crossed the 1K word limit though?

[Eoin]

Hi Grasshopper
Thanks so much. I hope you enjoy! Please let me know.
Eoin

(PS Apologies if exceeded 1k - all new this website!)

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

No worries. Do take care next time.

[Caroline]

I love this! OK, people meet Jon Banks from Nowhere in the Map
***
The gleaming black truck pulled into the drive hesitantly, the shadow in the window observed the driver from her living room. Maggie thought to herself that the driver is clearly not from around here, there is not another place like this crazy house. She continued to watch him; she wanted a feel for this man. Miss Fern spoke of him often, but she cannot recall that she had ever met him. Some nephew he was, here the woman been hospitalized and is now in a nursing home and this is the first time he bothered to come. He is likely here now, because he knew she'd signed over the place to him. Issuing a soft snort, she began to assemble a poor impression of him before setting eyes on the man. The individual remained in the truck, talking on a cell phone, the darken windows giving her only a shadowy view of him. The truck was sleek, clean and a newer model. She mumbled, “Definitely a city cat playing country boy” to no one in particular. Doubting it’d ever held a piece of lumber or load of dirt, she mentally questioned the point of owning it. He may as well own one of those Eco-friendly cars; it made more sense. Her scrutiny took on a more judgmental stance; in the back of her mind, she determined he had not deserved to be Fern's nephew.

Finally, he disembarked and simply stood there looking around. Brass softly growled demanding she pay attention to the fact there was a stranger on their property. She placed her hand on the dog’s head but continued watching the man. He was tall, 6'4 average build, no, she corrected herself, and he definitely is of a more muscular build. He wore a hat but from the view of the back of his neck, she noticed he wore his hair buzzed short, and it was a dark brunette. He turned slowly while Maggie continued to observe the stranger. She glanced down at his feet – he wore sneakers, jeans, and a black t-shirt, over the pocket, was an emblem she could not make out. If she had to guess, he weighed every bit of 250. Even behind the sunglasses, she would define him as attractive, strong chin line with a bit of a scruff to it. He likely did this for looks rather than being too busy to shave.

As if on cue, he zoned in on her, looking directly at her, not in her direction but right into her own eyes. He had felt her eyes on him and was returning the favor. Taken aback by his stare Maggie instinctively straightened her spine; even Brass issued a warning growl. Steeling her nerves, she walked out of the flat, commanding the dog to stay. Brass had never shown a protective side before, but there was no reason to chance it. Biting her new landlord would not go over well she did not care who you were.
***
Thank you, hope you enjoy the except.

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

Thanks Caroline. Have marked it as { To be read}✓
Will go over it at leisure. The exposition of the story is good. It has built up an anticipation in the reader of more exciting moments to come. Thanks for sharing it.

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

Would you like to be featured on our site in February 2020 for 'Meet the Author'? PM me for more details.

[Colm]

Grasshopper wrote: "Would you like to be featured on our site in February 2020 for 'Meet the Author'? PM me for more details."

I sure would … but … how do I PM you?

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

Just send a message on Goodreads

[Swarnendu]

Hi, below is an excerpt from my book- Mir Qasim's Tunnel. Looking forward to comments/feedbacks. Thanks.

"I have always been fond of the morning sky and its colorful hues. That morning also, the sky was filled with long master strokes of numerous shades of pink, white and blue above the Ganges. As soft hymns of Hanuman Chalisa from the temple woke up life around the Kashtaharni Ghat, three youngsters jumped into the river. The cold but pleasant water of the Ganges freshened up Shakti, Binod and Rakesh and removed the last traces of sleepiness from their eyes. After a quick bath, they took blessings in the nearby temple and hurried to Sri Krishna Vatika, a nearby garden. The garden was on a small hill overlooking the Ganges. The quietness of the wee hours provided them the much needed cover to enter into the famous tunnel of Mir Qasim at the garden unnoticed. They have been doing this for the past week, since roughly the time Binod returned for summer holidays from his studies.
The three centuries old tunnel was in ruins. The entry into the tunnel had a staircase going downwards, steps of which bore the weariness that time had brought along with itself. The steps looked all tired. The hot summer had dried up most of the moss, but dark green patches were left behind. The two side walls were full of cracks. There as an arch at the entry. The last few steps leading into the tunnel were filled with water most of the year except for summer. The arch itself had been painted white; mostly during one of the restoration drives much after it was built. However, as one came nearer, the darkness under the white arch was formidable. It became much quieter. Sounds from nearby nature also came to a halt. A sudden eeriness crept in. One could almost hear one’s heartbeat. Even the day light could penetrate only few feet into the tunnel. As one approached near the last few steps, the darkness was overpowering."

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

What an interesting tale Swarnendu! You have begun weaving the story very intricately. The setting is beautiful. Looking forward to reading your book. Will mark as {To be read}✓

[Swarnendu]

Thanks a lot. You will not be disappointed. Awaiting your feedback/review!

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

👍

[Ehinaaya]

The Essence of Heartbreak

Hello Everyone!

Happy to join this amazing and exciting group!

I am the author of the newly self published poetry book called ‘The Essence of Heartbreak’

I’m looking for some honest critique if any one is interested in reviewing/ reading my book.

Thanks in advance :)

Here are two excerpt;

Sweet Love

“Making love to you is so exquisite
that I cannot fathom the words to describe.
Our souls entwine graciously whilst
our energy feeds off one another.
Heartbeats in synchronization from the
cohesiveness of each other’s intimacy.
We have become one,
outshining the most majestic star
in the galaxy.”
©Ehinaaya

Everlasting Scent

“I waited for you at the coffee shop
where we first met.
The aroma in the air reminds me of you.
The lingering scent send my eyes
into a tsunami I cannot contain.
The tears drench my heart,
weighing down to the pits of my stomach,
and replaces the butterflies you once
made me feel.
I watch the world flash by;
body motionless as my gaze out
the window condensates the windows in
anticipation of your return.
It’s hard to breath as the words get stuck in the
throat whenever I attempt to say your name.
Yet I maintain hope that one day you come
running back and replace the warmth
that this coffee fails to do.”
©Ehinaaya

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

Excellent Ehinaaya. We love your poems.
Almost erotic and yet thought provoking. Do post more regularly in our Poetry folder.
Marked your book as {To be read}✓

Glad you love our group. Do post more about yourself in the Introductions folder & make sure you avail of the Promotion folder too!

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

Hi Richard, would appreciate it if you could post this in the book promotion folder. We would like to see a bit of your actual work here to comment on and review if that's what you're looking for.

[Richard]

Grasshopper wrote: "Hi Richard, would appreciate it if you could post this in the book promotion folder. We would like to see a bit of your actual work here to comment on and review if that's what your the looking for."

Ah, my apologies Grasshopper. I'll try that again!

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

Have marked your book as to be read. Absolutely love the profusion of alliteration. Does it happen throughout the book? It is an interesting style of writing. Must recommend it for speech therapy classes.

[Richard]

Grasshopper wrote: "Have marked your book as to be read. Absolutely love the profusion of alliteration. Does it happen throughout the book? It is an interesting style of writing. Must recommend it for speech therapy c..."

Why thank you! They are the segments I use for the villain throughout the book yes.

The narrator takes the remainder of the spotlight, breaking the fourth wall and berating the main characters and even the author throughout the story.

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

👍

[Peter]

I'm writing a short story that serves as a kind of prequel to my novel His Name Was Zach! It's a first-person account of events leading up to "The Crisis", as seen through one of the protagonist's (Abby) eyes. Here's an excerpt from the first page:

Of all the people in this world, your mother is the one person that you should know. I mean, she’s the very first person you ever know, right? Before you’re even born, you know your
mom’s voice. You feel her heart beating just a few inches away. Every second of every day until you’re born, you could practically reach right out and touch her heart. There really isn’t any relationship that can get any closer.

I wish I still had that with my mom. Oh, I should probably say that she isn’t some kind of deadbeat or anything. No, if there’s a deadbeat in my story it’s my dad. He ran off the moment my mom knew she was pregnant with me. I’ve never even seen a picture of him, and mom never talks about him. As far as I’m concerned, I spontaneously appeared in my mother’s womb almost thirteen years ago. Well, that long ago plus nine months. I’ll be thirteen in September, right after school starts up. But it’s still July, so why am I even talking about school!

Oh yeah, my mom. Like I was saying, she’s not a bad mom. Far from it. She works her butt off to provide for me. And that’s great, because I have everything I need. Maybe I don’t have the coolest outfits, the prettiest shoes, or any make-up, but things could always be way worse. I really am thankful for everything
mom gives me. I just wish I saw her more often. Honestly, we’ll go two or three days without seeing each other sometimes. She’s up and off to her first job before I wake up, and she won’t get back from one of her other two jobs until
after I’ve gone back to sleep.

But on the rare occasion that she gets a day off, does she nap? Does she sit on the couch and relax? No. That woman insists on going out with me and doing fun stuff, making memories. We spend all day talking about what we’ve been up to, but mostly she wants to hear about me and how I’m doing. I tell her how my
grades are (all A’s, of course), I tell her about dance class (she really shouldn’t be paying for that, but she knows I love it), and she makes me tell her what I want to do with my life.
I always tell her I don’t know yet, and she’ll answer, “Well, you’ll figure it out. Whatever it is, I will be proud of you”.

She’s like a superhero to me. Can you imagine if I had a dad that was just half as amazing as her? Man, that would rule! But
that’s enough daydreaming. I know it wasn’t a lot of daydreaming, but even a little time spent on what could be is time away from what is, as mom says.

“You tell this story to all the bus drivers, kid?” the older woman asked. I hadn’t seen her before today. She was either a new bus driver, or had started a different shift.

“Yeah, pretty much. I like talking to the bus drivers,” I answered. Her question was probably rhetorical, but I don’t care. Like I told her, I like talking to the bus drivers. They usually have a really unique perspective on everything, I’ve found. Driving all around Chicago, picking up so many different people, breaking up a fight or two. That kind of life can’t ever get boring, I would think.

[Grasshopper, Administrator]

That's so lovely Peter. Rarely do mother's get such approbation on days other than Mother's day!
Best of Luck with your story.

[Adele]

Grasshopper wrote: "
Authors, feel free to post an excerpt from your book & get them reviewed by our readers here:"

Gorgeous! How to look and feel fantastic every dayThis book will slowly tease open your mind, plant a few, new thoughts and ultimately change the direction of your life. You will lose weight. I’m going to hypnotise you into it; my little voice will be with you now for the rest of your life. You can argue with me, by all means, you can shout at me and laugh with me. But I will change your preconceptions and I will be the nagging, challenging conceptions voice for years to come.
The first few chapters begin with pushing the ‘good girl’ mindset off the school bench. Good girl syndrome, as I have coined it, is that feeling that you must be seen as perfect, working hard and never rocking the boat. Then spoon in a big dollop of an “I am worthy because I’m so hard-working” mindset. That needy, working hard, victim mentality is in all women, me included. I am going to dislodge that badge of honour; it may not come off straight away, but you will become aware of how you talk to yourself.
Katie and I brought up our firstborn sons together. She is my oldest BFF [best friend forever] and she laughs when we chat, “You are not a witch … exactly … Adele.” She never quite finishes that sentence. I will talk you round, cajole, interest, make you laugh and annoy you all in the space of one book. You can tick those emotions off as you go through.
Chapter 1 is about knowing yourself. Find out how you operate, what your triggers are and how you can get out of your own way. Chapter 2 moves forward and gives your ‘mindset frog’ a push off the lily pad – in a way that reassures you and helps your move forward, explaining that everything is going to be OK for you. Your self-awareness and confidence will grow.
You’ll discover my big sister tendencies in chapter 3 as I move you through and beyond your negative, self-sabotaging talk, explaining why it is imperative that you smile through adversity and look for the positive in life. An overexuberant, happy demeanour may be irritating, but scientists have established that once you take a positive approach to life you will be happier and feel fantastic in the longer term.
No more “life’s not fair”, because you will miss out on opportunities and gifts: this is explored in chapter 3. Chapter 4 explores your guiding spirit, who she is and how she can help guide your life, your health and your weight loss. Ensuring that you take care of yourself is an essential part of female growth and has been sadly lacking over the last two thousand years. Chapter 5 outlines why caring for yourself is your duty.
The second part of the book becomes a little racier, moves a little faster and illustrates why you do have a perfect weight and the nutritional science behind it. Chapter 6 explains how easy it is to obtain your perfect size once you have come to terms with and accepted who you are. Mental health is an intrinsic part of your health, the first step to true grace, dignity and beauty now and later in life – this is covered in chapter 7. Chapter 8 outlines that basic movement is an essential part of your health, and is very different from a brisk walk in the park or three times a week at the gym. That is simply not enough to win the war on your health. Your posture is paramount to your bone health, muscle strength, and overall sexiness. As a posture bore, I will outline great posture, perfect balance, optimum strength and how you need to move more and exercise less, in the last chapter.

[Catherine]

Thanks Adele. I love your self-help excerpt. I have marked your book as 'Want to read'.

PS. To all writers. Please stick to the 1K word limit here. Our reviewers will be glad to review your whole book if you approach them through the 'Maximum Reviews' contest and offer a pdf file.

[Jerrimiah]

A Bear Among Sheep

Hey guys. As you know if I'm missing I'm working on a new book. I hope to have this one finished by the end of July.

1 BOARS HEAD TAVERN BRAWL



Country music started playing on the jukebox after Lisa Nolan had pressed F6. She leaned over looking for her next selection causing her short, denim skirt to rise to reveal more of her soft white thighs. Gyrating her hips to the music, she was fully aware that she now had the attention of half the men in the bar.
On Friday nights in Wateree, South Carolina, most of the small town’s young people gathered in and outside the Boars Head Tavern. This night, one of the men admiring the rhythmic motion of Lisa’s hips, was Gunnery Sergeant Michael Green. He had just returned from serving three tours in Iraq with his childhood best friend, Master Gunnery Sergeant John “Bear” Walker, and they were celebrating with a few drinks.
If Michael had only known that Lisa was married to Stan Nolan, an insanely jealous local, he would not have asked to buy her a drink after she winked at him. Lisa gladly accepted his offer as there were some memories she wanted to drown. The most recent being the violent confrontation she had with Stan only an hour before when she stormed out the house, after telling him she was going to find herself a real man.
“So how many men did you kill?” Lisa asked poking the olive with a toothpick in her martini.
This question did not surprise Michael coming from the 22-year-old, bleached blonde with a bra size larger than her I.Q. She barely had enough brain power to operate her cell phone, however she did have an ass that stopped traffic when she walked down Main Street.
It was that same body that helped her graduate high school via the backseat of many of her teacher’s cars. One math teacher did not see her graduate because on that day, he was sitting in prison for having sex with her when she was sixteen. Upon graduation, the only future she had was waitressing at the Boars Head Tavern or getting pregnant by the Varsity football star quarterback; Stan Nolan. She supposedly had a miscarriage a few days after they were married.
“That’s usually not a question someone asks,” Michael said. “I’m sure police officers don’t like being asked how many men they’ve shot over dinner either.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to…”
“No, it’s fine,” he said sipping his beer. “I’m sure if I was a civilian I would want to know out of curiosity as well. To tell the truth I don’t know. When you’re in a firefight all you care about is sending 50 rounds at 2900 feet per second and pray you hit whoever is shooting at you.”
“So you were in for three years,” she said counting on her fingers. “That means you could have killed at least three men.”
“Or I could have been a bad shot and killed none,” he said with a chuckle.
“Oh, you’re just teasin me now, honey,” she said patting his chest. “My, my aren’t you in shape. I bet you got some stamina.”
Lisa was leaning forward so that Michael could get a full view of her lovely boobs as they pressed against his arm. They swelled like bread rising in an oven.
“I try to stay in shape little lady,” he said leaning closer to make her chest swell even more.
“I bet you could go all night, sugar,” Lisa said sucking on her finger.
“Like a nonstop locomotive, little lady,” he said.
“Baby, as you can see, there aint nuffin little on me,” she said leaning back so that Michael could take in the whole view.
“Well that’s good to know,” he said. “Because I pack a lot of hardware.”
“You better because what I got between my legs is gonna make you surrender,” she said, rubbing her inner thighs.
“When I get finished, you’re going to think the whole Marine Corp marched sweet that little ass of yours,” he whispered in her ear.
“Why don’t you tell me what you just said to my wife, jarhead,” Stan said.
Michael swiveled in his stool to see the red face of Stan who was accompanied by his three friends. On his right, holding a baseball bat was Bo, a fat slob that stood 6 feet, bald, and a member of the local skinheads. On the other side of Stan was Pete, who was also a member of the skinhead club. He barely stood 5 feet 9 inches tall, but he was built like a tank. Hovering behind the three miscreants was a 6 foot 5 inch tall mountain named “Stackhouse” Sutton.
Sutton, who was completely bald and wore the biker beard down to his chest, always wore a bike chain around his neck. It matched well with his leather biker jacket and steel tipped boots. He had already legally killed four men in bar fights. It was rumored that he was related to Judge Ryan Vickers, and that’s why his cases were always dismissed as self-defense.
“Mister, I didn’t mean no harm, but she didn’t say she was married,” Michael said sliding off the stool.
“I guess you must be blind if you didn’t see that wedding ring on her finger,” Stan said.
“Well, I’m not blind and I don’t have x-ray vision,” he said. “So unless it’s in her purse, I don’t see any ring on her finger.”
“Get your ass over here,” Stan snapped at Lisa.
Lisa slowly slid off the stool. Having discovered a new sense of modesty she pulled down her skirt, and walked over to him.
“Put out your hand,” he barked.
Lisa timidly extended her ring hand.
“Doing this shit again?” he said, twisting her wrist to show her the barren ring finger.
“Baby, I left it on the sink after washing the dishes,” she protested. “Let’s go home and you’ll see I just forgot to put it back on. You know I left fast after the little argument we had.”
You could see the pinwheel spinning in Stan’s head as he thought about what she said.
“OK, I believe you,” he said, giving her a kiss and smacking her on the ass. “Not get the fuck home, and be ready for the ass whoopin you’re going to get.”
The bar watched as she sashayed out of the bar, followed by a few other patrons who had seen incidents like this escalate in the past before. Of course she didn’t go home. She lit up a cigarette as an excuse for sticking around. Lisa was hoping that this was the night when someone would finally give her husband what she had taken for the past four years. A good beating.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, jarhead?” Stan said, blocking Michael's path with his arm.
“Mister, you remove your arm from my path,” Michael said, putting down his beer on the bar.
“Or else what, boy?” Stan said.
“Or I’m going to remove your arm from your shoulder,” Michael said.
“Listen, let’s not have any trouble in here, gentlemen,” Raul said. “Next round is on the house.”
“Mind your business, wetback,” Sutton said.
“Stay out of this Raul,” Stan said.
Raul shook his head and walked to the other side of the bar to take care of customers.