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Monday, 28 April 2014

REVIEWS: JUDGMENT OR FEEDBACK?


Tanya J Peterson, open heartedly,  talks about judgement and how an earlier experience shadows her.

I recently realized one of the great ironies of my life. For as long as I can remember, I have feared and hated the idea of being judged, yet I became a writer by trade. Some people might argue that these two things—judgment and writing—have only a little bit to do with each other. In my mind, though, they have had everything to do with each other.

I think my obsession with being judged began in kindergarten. I did something terrible, and I received a horrible consequence. It’s painful to talk about even to this day, but I’ll do so anyway. Brace yourself for the horror. On a shapes worksheet, I colored the circle black and the square blue. But it was supposed to be the other way around! One of my first official creations for people other than my family, who approved of everything I made, and I did it wrong! Not only did I fail to receive a gold star, but I didn’t receive a star at all. The teacher marked my paper with (gasp) a frownie face!

Now perhaps the irony is clearer. I have chosen to be a novelist. I write stories and “turn them in” and then hold my breath uncomfortably and pace (pacing would be easier if I were to allow myself to breathe through it, but I don’t) while I await judgment from the world. I hope for stars. I fear frownie faces.

Of course I’m not alone in this. Writers care about what they write. They love their characters, who become not characters but real people whom they love and cherish. Much like parents who don’t want to see their children hurt, writers don’t want to see their characters crushed by the outside world.



Leave of Absence was my first book in the genre of adult contemporary fiction. I’ve been very worried about Oliver, Penelope, and William and whether I did a good enough job with them so they weren’t met with too many frownie faces in the real world.

I have a second novel almost ready to be released into the world. My Life in a Nutshell: A Novel will be available around June 1, 2014. Currently, it’s out for some professional reviews. Despite the fact that I’ve been here before with Leave of Absence, I’m extremely nervous about its reception. Will I receive nothing but frownie faces?



Happily, I’m no longer five years old. I’m not in Kindergarten. (Maybe first grade, but hey, that’s progress.) Of course I care deeply about my characters, and I care very much about the readers, too. I will never have an “in-your-face-I-don’t-care-about-your-opinion” type of attitude, but I’m coming to realize that book reviews aren’t black and white, they’re not an either-or, gold star or frownie face type of judgment. They’re a special type of interaction between reader and writer, a tool that can be used by the writer as feedback.


As a parent, I want my children to do well in the world. I take in feedback from teachers, activity leaders, other parents, etc., and I use it to further nurture my children. And so it is for my books. Reviews, with their honest evaluation of my books, can help me be a good parent for the characters I put forth into the world. 

Find out more about Tanya by visiting her web site http://tanyajpeterson.com/

Saturday, 26 April 2014

Hug A Book with Firewalls by Eileen Schuh


Hug A Book is sponsored by






It’s HUG A BOOK and this weekend it’s with Eileen Schuh

And

Firewalls



Meet Eileen



Eileen Schuh has published three novels in her young adult BackTracker series, THE TRAZ, FATAL ERROR and FIREWALLS. THE TRAZ is also available in a School Edition. As well, she has as an adult Science Fiction novella to her credit (SCHRÖDINGER'S CAT) and is planning the summer 2014 release of her second SciFi, DISPASSIONATE LIES.

Schuh, born Eileen Fairbrother in Tofield, Alberta lives in Canada’s northern boreal forests and draws her inspiration from the wilderness, her grandchildren, family, and friends, and her adopted community of St. Paul, Alberta.


Details of Firewalls



While working with the Alberta Police force, young Constable Katrina Randal has become a master at breaking through computer security in her pursuit of cybercrime but when the criminals behind the firewalls turn out to be villains from her past, her job takes on a much more dangerous tone.

Obsessed with haunting memories and wracked by emotions she can’t name, her nightmarish ordeal turns uglier as she ignores orders and takes to the street to lure the criminals from the shadows of cyberspace to face justice.

It’s not until her career is in shambles that she realizes that neither her war against crime nor her struggle with Post Traumatic Stress are battles she can win alone. However, the walls she’s built to protect her heart from pain and betrayal, don’t tumble easily. As she slides deeper into the darkness, she fears she’s waited too long to trust and love; her criminal associates from the past are stealing her future and Corporal Chad Leslie, who she’s loved since the beginning of time, is mere steps away from walking out of her life forever.



Available in paperback and popular eBook formats from all fine online book sellers. If it is not on the shelf of your local library or bookstore you can ask to have it ordered in for you.



Excerpt



CHAPTER 1


"Sergeant Kindle wants us in his office," Syd said. The tension inside her coiled tighter. She glued her eyes to her computer monitor and slipped the black Jack onto the red Queen. Syd’s announcement ended her doubt; she was just moments away from losing her job. “Katrina?”
Concentrating intently on the game, she planned every move to the finish, touched her fingers to the mouse and rapidly clicked across the screen. As the fifty-two e-cards fluttered into place she leaned back and sighed. “Just take Sergeant Kindle a message. Tell him I quit.”
“This isn’t about your job. It’s about James’ new book.”
As if that news is any better. She slouched into her steno chair and nervously ran her eyes around the room. A serpentine row of a dozen desks curved toward the wall of windows. It stopped well short of the squares of morning light brightening the floor tiles because, Katrina surmised, computer geeks had evolved in dark basements and preferred not to bask in sunshine.
There were only a few police officers at their work stations, studying their monitors with fake intensity. Katrina was sure that they were all listening. Listening, speculating and inwardly mocking her—the tiny blue-eyed rookie who was mere minutes away from being booted from the force. “James is an idiot,” Katrina muttered. James’ book, her job, yesterday’s ethics session—it was all related and today she was taking a tumble.
A fellow officer folded his hands on his lap and gawked across at her. Katrina returned his stare, not blinking until he dropped his eyes back to his keyboard.
She was feeling as empty as the grey metal filing cabinets squatting between the workstations in the room. The cabinets were empty because computer people don’t store information in non-digital form. She was empty because death had stolen those she loved, and now Sergeant Kindle was set to steal her dreams.
They can’t fire me. They need me. Although she’d been here only a few weeks, she knew everything there was to know about the Computer Crimes Department and about the aging, pre-internet-era bosses who were trying to run it. She was aware of the dozen meetings addressing the lack of paperwork in the cabinets and the two dozen increasingly irate memos regarding the Computer Centre’s rampant and persistent disregard of the uniform dress code. Katrina and her fellow officers took it all in stride, well aware that even in a police detachment their specialized knowledge out-powered seniority. However, she could think of nothing that would give her power over Rusty James, ex-cop-turned-literary-bestseller.
When James had been Syd’s undercover partner on the streets of Calgary and she’d been a wayward juvenile, she’d tangled with him more than once. He was an idiot as well as a moron but today he held a pen. How the hell can I fight that?
“Well?” Syd asked. “Are you coming?”
“Is this book James’ millennium project?”
“The millennium was last year.”
“No it wasn’t! 2000 was the last year of the second millennium. We now start the third. It’s not a difficult concept.”
“Is it a difficult concept that Sergeant Kindle wants you in his office?”
“It’s a difficult concept that Kindle fears the lies James has written.”
“Don’t dismiss James so easily; he has believers this time around.”
“Why would anyone believe him?”
“I guess,” Syd said so quietly Katrina had to strain to hear, “the truth has a way of rising to the top.”
The truth? Is James gutsy enough to put the truth in print? When Rusty James promised the media his first book would reveal the identity of the Crown’s tiny blue-eyed child witness who’d brought down The Traz biker gang, the elite at police headquarters and a pack of high-priced tax-payer-paid lawyers led the fight against him, forced him to revise his book, and then legally changed her name from Katrina Buckhold to Felicity Randal. Although, all paperwork including her driver’s licence and personnel file carried her new legal name, to her friends and co-workers, she insisted on being Katrina. The bikers had stolen so much from her, she just couldn’t let them also take the name her father had given her.
“It’s never going to end, is it?” Katrina said, exiting the solitaire game and staring up at Syd. There was no sympathy on his face, just accusation. “Don’t give me that look! You’re the dirty one here. James’ story is your story, your dirty little story.”
“If nothing else,” Syd replied, “I was hoping you’d learned in yesterday’s session to accept responsibility. Obviously, that didn’t happen.”
“Whoa, buddy!” Katrina slowly rose. At only five feet tall, it was a long way up to meet Syd’s green eyes. “Seems to me, this whole thing is boiling down to what you have never taken responsibility for.”
The young officer gave a quick nod. “Perhaps.”
“More than perhaps.” As Katrina stepped toward him, he backed away and nervously ran his fingers through his straw-coloured crew cut, obviously fighting a blush that was threatening to drown his freckles.
“Maybe it won’t end until we all come clean.”
We all come clean? Excuse me, Syd. We?”
“You’re not an innocent victim.”
“Was it up to you to supply the evidence of that fact? None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t brought your damned King’s Ace surveillance photos up here to Sergeant Kindle. Where were you when the brains were passed out?” The photos had tarnished her reputation and nearly lost the Crown all two hundred-plus biker convictions. ‘Concealing evidence,’ the defence has said. But the worst part was the pictures had revealed she was a friend of the murder victim.
She jabbed her finger at her temple. “How stupid are you? How the hell did you make it through training depot? It doesn’t take a genius to realize which photos you should’ve deleted!”
“I couldn’t delete those photos! They were evidence in another investigation. Besides, you can’t seriously believe that you’d get away with testifying as an eyewitness at a murder trial and omitting the fact you were the victim’s friend.”
Victim... She shivered, remembering that cold, dark, October night in a metal shed on the Alberta prairie. Although Lukas was the only one lying lifeless when the sun rose over that Quonset, there’d been many victims in other ways...and much blame. When the media, the brass, and the entire nation began laying that blame on Shrug’s shoulders, she’d covertly stepped in.
Shrug may have wrongly recruited her into the gang to assist with the police sting, but he’d also saved her life, several times over. She owed him. Besides, at the time of his disciplinary hearing, she’d needed some good words to support her application to police training. It was then she’d asked Syd to leak some of his surveillance photos showing her trading crack for dollars or tossing back some Ecstasy—just a little something to prove that although Shrug may have involved a minor, it wasn’t an angelic, grief-torn orphan he’d invited onto the backseat of his Harley. Syd was not supposed to have shown Kindle pictures of her cavorting with Lukas, a friendship that could have remained secret to this day. Someone two desks over coughed—a stark reminder of many other dark secrets that must forever remain untold.
Katrina lowered her voice to a whisper. “No one needed to know Lukas was my friend. Besides, I never lied; no one ever asked if I knew him before he was murdered. Not even the defendants’ legal team and they could’ve—their clients knew.”
“Obviously Gator didn’t want the jury to hear that it was your boyfriend and not some random druggie that he’d forced you to watch get sliced to pieces—it would’ve made him look even more evil.”
“That was Gator’s decision, not mine. How can you say it was my fault?” Katrina took another step toward Syd.
This time, he held his ground. “For the sake of justice, it was something the court should’ve heard. Blame whoever you want for your troubles, Katrina. I’m past the point of arguing and past the point of thinking your problems are my fault.”
“But—” She clamped her mouth shut. Considering my job’s at risk, I need allies, not more enemies. Syd would be a strong ally; he was open and honest and respected by both those above him and below him. Plus, he still harboured remnants of guilt because of what had happened between them when she was a child on the street—he’d said as much in yesterday’s session.
“Rusty’s out to get me because I’m the reason he was fired.” She studied Syd’s reaction as she spoke. “He shouldn’t be allowed to do that.
“You weren’t the reason he was fired.”
“He used me to get information about the drug trade down at the King’s Ace.”
“So did I, and I’m not fired.”
“But he refused to admit he’d done anything wrong.”
“Exactly. So it’s his fault he got fired, not yours. It’s not always all about you.”
Katrina’s vision narrowed and her jaw tightened. “You’re right, it’s not about me; it’s about you! James would have had nothing more to write if you hadn’t….” She left it unsaid and locked her eyes on Syd’s. He shifted from one foot to another. A police radio crackled in the distance. A phone rang. “Or, do you believe that secret is somehow my fault, too?” The sun slipped behind a cloud and the room darkened.
Syd looked to his shoes and ran his toe along the grey grout hemming the worn tiles. The fluorescent fixture above them hissed and dimmed. “It’s going to be in James’ book,” Katrina continued. “I guarantee it. Rumour is he’s promoting a conspiracy theory. All the dirt will be there. He has nothing to lose by talking about it.”
Syd looked past her, over the humming monitors and clicking keyboards. Past the people straining to listen. He looked out the window. “Let’s not keep Sergeant Kindle waiting,” he finally said. “It’ll only make things worse.”



Eileen’s Links



There is an Kindle copy up for grabs if you would like to review this fantastic read.
Just leave a comment below so we can contact you

Thank you!

Friday, 25 April 2014

Tall Dark & Kilted - A Taster!


Tall, Dark and Kilted - Notting Hill Meets Monarch of the Glen 

A taster for Tall, Dark and Kilted by Lizzie Lamb.
Enjoy!

            ‘I’d like you to come up on the hills with me. There’s something I’d like to show you,’ Ruairi said.
            ‘More etchings?’ Fliss raised her eyebrow.
            ‘A Brocken Spectre - if we’re lucky.’
            ‘A what spectre? Like Most Haunted?’ Now her curiosity was piqued.
            ‘You’ll see.’
            ‘What should I wear?’
            ‘Plenty of protection against the -’
            ‘Spectres?’
            ‘The midges.’
            He bent down and took the mug from her slack fingers, his face just inches from hers. Fliss sensed that he badly wanted to kiss her and his ardent look showed how much he wanted to climb into bed with her and conclude last night’s lovemaking. But, clearly he thought better of it, because he turned on his heel and left her to finish her coffee and cold toast alone.


An hour later, they made their way along a ridge towards a triangulation point high above Kinloch Mara. They walked in silence, aware only of the uneven ground, the damp atmosphere and drop below them hidden by enshrouding mist and cloud. The grass was wet and Fliss was glad of her waterproof walking gaiters, otherwise, her jeans would have been sodden. Out of breath from having walked up a punishing incline, she stopped and pressed her hand into her right side where a painful stitch was making itself felt.
            ‘I am so out of condition,’ she said and flopped onto a large boulder.
            ‘Here,’ Ruairi rooted around inside his rucksack, found a bottle of water and passed it to her. She took a large swig from it and handed it back. Without taking his eyes off her, he drank from the same bottle and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The gesture was highly erotic and Fliss felt as if she’d been kissed by proxy when she took her turn with the water bottle. His searing look made it plain that last night’s interrupted lovemaking hadn’t been consigned to the past; it had simply been put on hold.
            ‘I’m surprised you don’t bottle your own water off the hills. Remember the episode of Only Fools and Horses where Del and Rodney sell tap water as Peckham Spring Water? Maybe you and Murdo could set up a profitable sideline doing that. Aren’t landowners supposed to diversify or die?’ Fliss made the joke to cover her churning emotions - this man rocked her to her core, even when he was just drinking from a water bottle!
            ‘Diversify, yes; break the law? No.’ He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on. Not far now until you see the spectre.’
            ‘Is this one of those rituals where the heir is shown some hideously deformed monster mummified behind a brick wall on coming of age and is sworn to secrecy? Like the monster of Glamis?’ She gabbled on as goose bumps travelled the length of her arms - was he really going to show her a ghost?
            ‘I’m impressed that you know your Scottish history. But no; it’s nothing like that. Wait and see.’
            They climbed higher and were soon above the clouds with the sun on their backs. Ruairi’s grip on her hand tightened as they climbed the last few feet to the summit. Then, taking her by the shoulders he looked down into her eyes.
             ‘Do you trust me?’ Her teeth were chattering with a mix of fear and anticipation but she nodded. He positioned her so that the low sun warmed her back and the mist-shrouded valley was in front of her. ‘Close your eyes and put your hands out like you’re flying. Now don’t move. I’m going to take a few steps away and then I’ll ask you to open your eyes.’
            She heard the long grass brush against his waterproof gaiters, smelled the crushed blades beneath his boots and heard the wind singing in her ears. Behind her closed eyelids it was semi-dark, but she wasn’t afraid; she knew he wouldn’t place her in any danger. Holding her arms out like Kate Winslet on the prow of the Titanic, she gave a nervous giggle.
            ‘Aren’t you supposed to say: “I’m King of the World”?’ She rocked on the balls of her feet in borrowed boots that were too large for her. ‘Oops.’
            ‘Okay. Open your eyes.’
            It took a few seconds for her to become accustomed to the light, and then she saw it. Not a ghost or a spectre, but her own form cast as a huge shadow onto the cloud bank below her. She wiggled her arms up and down like she was indeed flying and her shadow followed suit. When she saw the nimbus around her ‘shadow’s’ head - all red, gold and green, like a pre-Raphaelite saint’s, she drew in a breath and instinctively reached out for him.
            He’d taken precious hours out of his busy schedule to bring her here and share something special with her. Her eyes pricked with tears and she knew in that instant that she was falling, deeply and irrevocably in love with this proud, complex man.
            ‘Oh My God. What is it?’
            She clung to him as if she couldn’t believe her eyes or trust her brain to make sense of the tumultuous feelings rocking her. Their shadows merged onto the clouds and the nimbus of light encompassed them, making it seem like they were literally standing beneath the arc of a rainbow.
            ‘It’s called a Brocken Spectre and it’s a natural phenomenon.’
            ‘But how - how does it happen?’ she asked in a whisper.
            ‘Okay - here’s the science bit. First, the weather conditions need to be perfect - like today. The spectre - in this case, you - must climb to a high point while the morning sun is low in the sky. That’s why I got you out of bed so early.’
            ‘I get that bit, but . . .’ Ruairi pulled her into his side and silenced her with a kiss.
            ‘The spectre must stand with her back to the sun so the shadow is formed. The spectre’s halo - or glory - occurs when droplets of water are suspended in the air and sunlight reflects off them, shines back toward the sun and . . . us.’
             ‘Wow.’ The word was inadequate and hardly described the spectre or what she was feeling.
            ‘Wow - indeed. You make me feel King of the World - know that?’ Unexpectedly serious, Ruairi turned her round and looked as if he was committing her face to memory. Then he drew her into his arms and kissed her. If they hadn’t been lost in the kiss they would have seen themselves surrounded by glory as the light shimmered and diffracted around them. Ruairi was first to break off. ‘Forgiven?’

            ‘Nothing to forgive.’ To hide the catch in her voice she moved away from him and their shadows broke apart. ‘But, Ruairi how can this work - you and me?’ He turned his back on the Brocken Spectre as if it was too distracting, and looked instead across the wide acres of Kinloch Mara just visible through the shifting mist.

Get your copy  now!





Thursday, 24 April 2014

Gone to the Flicks!

Going to the cinema has never been such fun. So please take a seat, help yourself to popcorn and sit back and enjoy these fabulous trailers

Enjoy!






By: Pauline Barclay





By: Pauline Barclay





By: Pauline Barclay



Satchfield Hall
By Pauline Barclay





By: Eileen Schuh





By: Suzy Turner





By: Suzy Turner



By: Suzy Turner




The Death Game
By Chris Longmuir




By: Chris Longmuir





By: Chris Longmuir




By: Chris Longmuir


Leave of Absence
By Tanya J Peterson



Foxden Acres
By Madalyn Morgan












Wednesday, 23 April 2014

Madalyn Morgan in the Spotlight


Meet the amazing Madalyn Morgan


Madalyn Morgan I have been an actress for more than thirty years working in Repertory theatre, the West End, film and television.  I am also a radio presenter and journalist, writing articles for newspapers and magazines.

     I was brought up in a busy working class pub in the market town of Lutterworth in Leicestershire.  The pub was a great place for an aspiring actress and writer to live. There were so many wonderful characters to study and accents to learn.  My parents wanted me to get a ‘proper job,’ which I did.  I became a hairdresser, but at twenty-four I gave up my successful hairdressing salon and wig-hire business for a place at E15 Drama College, and a career as an actress.

    In 2000, with fewer parts available for older actresses, I taught myself to touch type, completed a two-year correspondence course with The Writer’s Bureau, and started writing.  I loved it.  So, after living in London for thirty-six years, I came back to Lutterworth, swapping window boxes and a mortgage for a garden and the freedom to write.



     I am currently writing the third novel in the Dudley Sister’s Saga.  China Blue is Claire’s story.  It’s a love story set in England and France, with the WAAF, SoE and French Resistance.  Applause, my second novel (published March 2014), is set in London during the Blitz and sees the second Dudley sister, Margot, climb from usherette in a West End theatre to the leading lady.  The first in the quartet, Foxden Acres, is Bess Dudley’s story.  It is about the strength of women, letting go and moving on.  Set in the Midlands it features the RAF and an army of land girls.  



Foxden Acres and Applause are available on Amazon in paperback and e-book.

Tuesday, 22 April 2014

allthingsbookie Reviews Storm Clouds Gathering


Julie Ryan from allthingsbookie reviews Storm Clouds Gathering by Pauline Barclay


This is the first book of Pauline Barclay’s that I have read and it won’t be the last. ‘Storm Clouds Gathering’ tells the story of three families during the sixties in the North of England. Being a Yorkshire lass myself the setting immediately appealed to me and Pauline’s evocation of the era is spot-on.  I particularly enjoyed the way in which the three stories intertwined and Pauline Barclay is adept at sweeping the reader up as the story carries you along.I became quite engrossed in the highs and lows that the different characters shared running the whole gamut of emotions – always the sign of a good writer. This is a book that will stay in your mind long after you have finished the last page.


Find out more about Julie and her fabulous Blog at allthingsbookie


Saturday, 19 April 2014

HUG A BOOK with Missing Believed Dead by Chris Longmuir


Hug A Book is sponsored by





It’s HUG A BOOK and this weekend it’s with Chris Longmuir

And

You could win a Kindle copy of
Missing Believed Dead





Meet Chris



Chris Longmuir was born in Wiltshire and now lives in Angus. Her family moved to Scotland when she was two. After leaving school at fifteen, Chris worked in shops, offices, mills and factories, and was a bus conductor for a spell, before working as a social worker for Angus Council (latterly serving as Assistant Principal Officer for Adoption and Fostering).

Chris is an award winning novelist and has published three novels in her Dundee Crime Series. Night Watcher, the first book in the series, won the Scottish Association of Writers’ Pitlochry Award, and the sequel, Dead Wood, won the Dundee International Book Prize, as well as the Pitlochry Award. Missing Believed Dead is the third book in the series.

Her crime novels are set in DundeeScotland, and have been described as scary, atmospheric, page turners. Chris also writes historical sagas, short stories and historical articles which have been published in America and Britain. Writing is like an addiction to me, Chris says, I go into withdrawals without it. She is currently working on a further 2 crime novels.

Chris is a member of the Society of Authors, the Crime Writers Association and the Scottish Association of Writers. She designed her own website and confesses to being a techno-geek who builds computers in her spare time.




Details of Missing Believed Dead



Missing children! Internet predators! Dead bodies!

She crossed his arms over his chest, and placed the jade beads in his eyes. ‘To remind you of me,’ she said.

Jade was 13 when she disappeared, five years ago, and DS Bill Murphy suspects someone from her family is responsible for recent Dundee murders. But is it her mother, Diane, who now suffers from OCD? Or Emma, her twin sister, who was catatonic for a year after Jade’s disappearance. Or Jade’s brother, Ryan, who enjoys dressing in women’s clothes and is going through a sexuality crisis, unsure whether or not he is gay.

What happened to Jade? Is she alive or dead? Or has she returned to wreak a terrible revenge on all male predators?



Available for Kindle & paperback



Excerpt



Bill Murphy teased the paper cup from underneath the coffee machine spout. It required a special technique to get cup to desk without suffering first degree burns, and Bill hadn’t mastered it yet. Not to be beaten, he pulled his shirt-tail out of his trousers and used it to protect his fingers.
Coffee slopped onto the desk and his shirt when he laid the cup down. ‘Damn it,’ he said. It had been one of those days when his reactions had been slow, his limbs did not seem to belong to him, and his head felt as if it would explode.
‘What’s up?’ Sue Rogers closed the file she’d been studying and looked at him.
‘I’m knackered. That’s what’s up,’ Bill grumbled. ‘I spent most of yesterday with the couple from Hell. Their daughter’s gone walkabout again, and they’re convinced she’s been snatched by a paedo. I’ve got half the force out searching for her, and she’ll turn up, same as she did the last time, after a rave-up with her pals. Bloody waste of time, if you ask me. Then to top it all, that call out last night took forever. Body in a bag, they said. Bloody body indeed! Turned out it was a dog the size of a race horse. I could have been in my bed instead of spending most of the night freezing my balls off on Broughty Ferry beach.’
‘You should have taken time off this morning,’ Sue said. ‘I’d have covered for you.’
‘That’ll be right.’ Bill rubbed his shirt with a grubby paper napkin he’d dug out of a drawer. ‘A little birdie told me our new DI is descending on us today. And I’m already in the super’s bad books. Damn, I wish Andy was back.’
Sue reached for another file. ‘Speaking of Andy, I had a phone call from a woman this morning. She wanted to talk to him about an investigation to do with her missing daughter. I tried to tell her Andy wasn’t available but she wouldn’t listen. There was something strange about her though – couldn’t put my finger on it, although I did wonder whether she might be having a panic attack.’
Bill groaned. ‘Not Mrs Fraser again? That woman’s driving me nuts.’
‘Don’t know. I asked for her name but she didn’t give it. Daughter’s name is Jade though, and she said there had been a development. Thought I might find something in these old files.’
‘It’s probably some nutter.’
‘Maybe, but she did ask for Andy by name.’
Sue turned her attention back to the heap of files on her desk. ‘Are you going to faff about all day, or are you going to help me sort out these files?’
Bill continued scrubbing at his shirt. ‘Bloody coffee stain’s not coming out.’



Chris’s Links
You can get Missing Believed dead here

or check me out at the links below






Now watch the Trailer...



If you would like to review Missing Believed Dead, please leave a comment below so that we can contact you.



Thursday, 17 April 2014

Posters from Lizzie Lamb

Lizzie Lamb shares the posters she uses to promote her top selling books.








Wednesday, 16 April 2014

Eileen Schuh is in the Spotlight



Meet Canadian Author, Eileen Schuh


Eileen Schuh has published three novels in her young adult BackTracker series, THE TRAZ, FATAL ERROR and FIREWALLS. THE TRAZ is also available in a School Edition. As well, she has as an adult Science Fiction novella to her credit (SCHRÖDINGER'S CAT) and is planning the summer 2014 release of her second SciFi, DISPASSIONATE LIES.



In THE TRAZ, grieving and alone, thirteen-year-old Katrina Buckhold, experiences depression, illicit drugs, gangs and betrayal as she struggles to find somewhere to belong. In FATAL ERROR, she faces the social, legal and emotional consequences of her year in The Traz biker gang.



Katrina enters adulthood in FIREWALLS,  scarred but determined. Despite her deepest desires, her intelligence and her spunk, she eventually realizes that in order to seize her future, she must deal with her Post Traumatic Stress. However, that turns out to be a very difficult task.



Having written the BackTracker novels to inspire teens and the adults in their lives, Schuh is pleased to have been invited to present her books to children in venues such as the North Slave Young Offenders Facility, the St. Paul Alternate Education Centre, and schools and libraries throughout North Eastern Alberta.



Although Schuh’s SciFis are written for adults, they also integrate the psychological drama that pervades her YA novels. SCHRÖDINGER'S CAT, with its tangled relationships, weaves intense emotion into the science of multi-universes. Two worlds, two lives—too much for one woman.

Her soon-to-be-released near-future tale DISPASSIONATE LIES explores female sexual against a backdrop of high-tech science, governmental and pharmaceutical conspiracies, espionage, and perhaps even murder.


Schuh, born Eileen Fairbrother in Tofield, Alberta lives in Canada’s northern boreal forests and draws her inspiration from the wilderness, her grandchildren, family, and friends, and her adopted community of St. Paul, Alberta.