Sunday, 30 October 2011

Spotlight on Fiona 'McDroll' Johnson


Today, I have the awesome pleasure of welcoming one of Trestle Press fantastic new authors, Fiona 'McDroll' Johnson, the author of 'KICK IT', for chat. 

Why crime writing?

I’ve always wanted to write as far back as I can remember and over the years I’ve had various disastrous attempts that just didn’t work. My writing was boring, bland and twee. I had come to the conclusion that I just didn’t have what it takes.

Then I joined Twitter and quickly discovered that there were lots of writers around the world tweeting about their writing. They would discuss their difficulties, the characters they wrote about and the struggle to get published.

Slowly I crept into this circle of talented people and as I have always been a rabid reader of crime fiction, I thought that if I couldn’t write then at least I could review and be a little help to those with talent struggling to get noticed.

Eventually some very kind people asked if I wrote. After the initial, ‘no, no, no,’ I decided to give the writing lark another go but this time try to write within the crime genre….and that’s all it took. My years of reading crime have somehow helped me understand how to write the type of story that people seem to get a lot of fun out of reading.

Who do you read?

I’ve really enjoyed reading SMOKE by Nigel Bird, another Trestle author. The story alternates between its two main characters, Jimmy and Carlos. Jimmy is still at school, theoretically, but is one of those lads who has fallen through the cracks in the system and is more likely to be seen pounding the streets of his local community begging smokes or getting blitzed out of his head with his mates.

Carlos has a swanky new motorised wheelchair, top notch, and was Jimmy's sister's boyfriend before somebody tied him to a railway line and he lost an arm and a leg. After a long period of therapy he's back on the local scene and hopes that Kylie will take him back and will allow him access to their young son. Problems start when Kylie declares that the child isn't his.........

I love Nigel’s gritty realism and I can see his characters when I walk down any high street in the towns of Scotland.

Tell us abit more about your books and working with Trestle Press

To have a book published is a magical experience that very few people ever get to achieve, but thanks to TRESTLE PRESS and their amazing outlook on the revolution of digital publishing about to hit readers around the world like a literary tsunami, more amazing writers will be able to get their writing out there to an ever increasing digital audience.

My first collection of short stories, KICK IT has just been published this week and my goodness, I certainly did get a kick from seeing my book up there for sale on Amazon. KICK IT is a collection of 5 short noir / crime stories with a little twist of Scottish humour thrown into the mix.

Three of the stories have my favourite character, DC Gemma Dixon, strutting her stuff around the crime scene of Glasgow. New to CID, Gemma has to learn very quickly to stand up for herself in male dominated environments where as the newbie she gets some of the roughest assignments on offer.

I love having fun with Gemma as she banters with her fellow officers, making sure that she asserts herself and doesn’t take any of their cheek.
My other two stories deal with our perceptions of people and I attempt to show how far off the mark we can be when we don’t take the time to dig a bit deeper into ‘hidden stories;’ the secrets that people keep close to their chests as they go about their daily lives. So much can be going on beneath a person’s outward shell and I try to uncover some of these tales.

So I hope you check out my first ever e-Book and please let me know what you think!

What’s next?

I’m hoping to have another collection of short stories KICK IT AGAIN out soon and then move onto a serialization of a novella that I’ve been working on for some time. More ‘Gemma’ stories are in the pipeline and you will be able to meet Gemma again in BRIT GRIT 2, soon to be published by TRESTLE.

Thank you for the chat, Fiona, and I wish you all the best with 'KICK IT' and upcoming 'KICK IT AGAIN' short stories.


Friday, 28 October 2011

Let's get the drums rolling for Emlyn Chand's Farsighted.

Have you heard about Emyln Chand's Farsighted? The new rockin' sensation paranormal novel on the block?

Today I'd like to share an excerpt from Emlyn Chand's hot new paranormal novel, Farsighted (it just released on 10/24). Before diving in, check out this teaser for the book:

Alex Kosmitoras may be blind, but he can still “see” things others can’t. When his unwanted visions of the future begin to suggest that the girl he likes could be in danger, he has no choice but to take on destiny and demand it reconsider.

Okay, now that you're caught up, on to the excerpt! I hope you'll enjoy it.

Farsighted: Chapter 1

Our hero is about to embark on a journey. Life as he knows it is quiet, boring, and predictable, but it’s also comforting and familiar. That will soon change.

Today is the last day of summer, but I’m not doing anything even remotely close to fun. I’m just lying here in Mom’s garden, running my hands over the spiky blades of grass—back and forth, back and forth until my fingertips go numb. Until everything goes numb. I sigh, but no one’s around to hear.

“Alex,” Dad yells from the kitchen window. “Dinner.”

Already? How long have I been out here? I spring up from the ground and the grass springs up with me, one blade at a time – boing, boink, boint. The sounds would be imperceptible to any normal person, but they roar inside my ears. I picture an army of earthworms raising the blades as spears in their turf wars and smile to myself.

Dad opens the back door and calls out to me again. “C’mon, Alex. What’s taking you so long?”

Grabbing my cane, I shuffle over to the house, brushing past him as I squeeze inside. The kitchen reeks of fast food restaurants and movie theaters—butter and grease. That means it’s breakfast for dinner. We do this every Sunday night, because Mom goes out to garden club and Dad doesn’t know how to cook anything else. Plus it’s cheap.

Breathing heavily, Dad plunks some food onto both our plates and collapses into his chair. He groans and asks me to pass the butter, or rather the “bud-dah.” He grew up in Boston and every once in a while the accent works itself into his speech.

I slide the tub to dad; he reaches out and stops it before it can glide clear off the table.

“What’s this?” Dad asks.

“Uh, the butter. Obviously.”

Dad’s voice raises an octave. “I know it’s the butter, so don’t get smart. Why’d you give it to me?”

“Uh, because you asked me to.”

“No, I didn’t.” He exhales as if the wind has been knocked out of him by an ill-timed punch to the stomach. “Guess you must’ve read my mind.” He chuckles to himself and slides the cool metal knife into the butter and scrapes it across his toast.

Dad and I don’t usually talk to each other unless Mom is around, asking about our days, chatting on, working hard to create those warm and fuzzy family moments we don’t seem to create naturally. And even though Mom has reassured me a million times, I know that Dad resents me for being born blind.

I can tell he would have much rather had a son like Brady—the same guy who insists on making my high school experience as difficult as possible. Nothing’s worse than knowing that your own father thinks you’re a loser.

Dad and I finish our meal in silence and my mind wanders.

He rises suddenly from his chair, breaking apart my thoughts. “Let’s get this table cleared before your mother comes home,” he says, without pronouncing the r in cleared.

I stand too and pick up my plate and glass. Guess I’ll pass on that fifth biscuit.

“Your mother has a surprise for you.”

I smile for my dad’s benefit. My parents are horrible at keeping secrets. Last night, I overheard them talking in their room. Mom was bragging about how she found some “cute” new shades on Wal-Mart’s clearance rack.

About ten minutes later, the tires of Mom’s van crunch on the gravel in our driveway with lots of little pings and a big cuh-clunk. As usual, she steers directly into the pothole we don’t have the money to repair. Sometimes I wonder if she does it on purpose.

The door creaks open, inviting a comforting floral fragrance into the house. Mom always smells like flowers—today it’s tulips and jasmine. She steps lightly across the floor and places a wet kiss on my cheek. When she turns to greet Dad, I wipe at the left-over moistness with my shirt sleeve. I’m getting too old for this kind of thing—been too old for a while now actually, but this doesn’t seem to matter to her.

“How was your day, my little sapling?” she asks. I really wish she would stop calling me her “little sapling.”

“Hi, Mom.” I hug her, because it makes her happy.

“Are you excited for tomorrow?”

I snap my fingers, which is how I say “yes” without actually saying it, kind of how most people nod their heads. I’m excited to learn, to have something to do other than lie in the grass, to possibly make a friend. More than likely though, things won’t change. I’ll still be an outcast. I’ll still be all by myself, but at least I’ll know where I stand. No more wondering.

“A sophomore already! I hope I can keep up enough to help you with your homework,” Dad says, acting like a completely different person than he was just a few minutes ago. He has this way of being nicer to me whenever Mom is around. I know it’s for show, and it pisses me off.

Ignoring him, I turn toward Mom. “So, Dad told me you’ve got a surprise for me?” I’d rather get this over with quickly before they try too hard to build up the suspense.

“Oh, yes,” she chirps, fluttering over to the other side of the living room, pulling out the drawer of the small table in the corner, and rustling the unpaid bills inside. She comes back over to me and places a small bag in my lap.

“Wait,” Dad says as my hand is about to reach inside the bag. “Before you open that, I just want to say that I know we haven’t been able to give you as many back-to-school supplies as you need this year. Your backpack is starting to tear and your boots are scuffed…”

I had no idea my boots were scuffed, but now that he’s pointed it out, it’s all I can think about.

“And all of this is my fault,” Dad continues as I wonder how badly my boots are scuffed. Where? On the heel? On the toe?

Mom clicks her tongue and rubs Dad’s shoulder sympathetically, dragging her fingernails across his thick shirt. The scratching sound draws my attention back to his melodramatic speech.

“I want to make you a promise, as soon as I get a job we’re going to buy all of those things for you. Okay?”

“It’s okay, Dad. I don’t need anything.” Except for you to be nice to me even when Mom isn’t around, and, oh yeah, a friend or two.

“That’s my brave little oak tree,” Mom says, giving me another hug. I swear, sometimes I think she’s from another planet, or at least another time period. But still, she loves me, even if she’s constantly saying stupid things like that.

When they seem to have nothing more to say, my left hand reaches into the bag and brings a pair of sunglasses up into the palm. I run my right hand over them, trying to make out their shape. They’ve got hard plastic frames and cushiony rubber ends for where they sit on top of the ears. They’re broad in front; the rim goes in a straight line all the way across about a half an inch above the nosepiece. These aren’t the normal bookworm glasses. They’re cool guy glasses.

“We thought you deserved a new pair of cool guy glasses since you’re practically sixteen,” Mom says.

Ugh, I hate when she uses the same words as me. I make a mental note never to say, or think, the words “cool guy glasses” again.

“And they’re even your favorite color!” Mom shouts, unable to contain herself.

Then they’re green. I “see” color through my nose and like green best because so many of the best-smelling things are that hue, like grass and leaves and vegetables and limes. But with green glasses, I’m afraid I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb—a sore green thumb. I smile and reach out my arms. Both my parents come in for a hug. I whisper a quick prayer for tomorrow and head to bed.

The next morning, my alarm starts yelling at six o’clock. Is it excited or trying to give me a warning? Well, time to get this over with, time to see if this year will be any different from all the crappy ones before. I reach over and flip the off-switch and stumble about in a sleepy haze, getting ready for the first day of the new school year.

On the way to the bathroom, I stub my toe on some bulky object that’s just sitting in the middle of the hallway, not even pushed up against the wall. I kick it to the side—clunk, straight into the wall—and continue to the bathroom. I shouldn’t need my cane to get around my own house. That had to be something of Dad’s. What, is he actually trying to kill me now?

I turn the shower knob and wait for the water to get warm. It’s taking forever since I’m the first one up today. Aggravated by the wait, I go back into the hall to find that object again. Stooping down, I attempt to work out the shape. Rectangular, with a handle, made of leather or something leather-like, with little metal clasps. A briefcase, I guess. But Dad’s a contractor, why would he need a briefcase? Why now? I flip the clasp, eager to find out what’s inside. But the case doesn’t open. Brushing my fingers across the top again, I find a twisty-turny thing on either side. A combination lock. If it’s so important, why’s it laying here in the middle of the hall like a discarded sock?

A wall of steam pushes into my back, returning my attention to the running shower. I return the case to its original position in the middle of the hall and go to wash up for school. Afterward, I towel off and put on my favorite shirt, which is soft and made of flannel. I wear my favorite pants too—they’re baggy with big pockets on the sides. As I’m pulling them on, I feel a tickle at my ankles where the hem now rests two full inches above where it should be. I groan, realizing I must’ve grown over the summer. How much taller can I get? I’m really tall now, at least a couple of inches over six feet, but we just don’t have the money to keep buying me new clothes every time I grow another inch.

To add the finishing touch to my first-day-of-school look, I slip my new cool guy glasses—er, sunglasses—on over my nose. The lenses are extra thick. Probably, if I wanted, I could sleep in class and no teacher would ever notice. But I’m not like that; I like to learn.

“Honey?” Mom calls from the end of the hallway. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” I yell back. “Just a sec.” I fiddle with my boots, trying to stuff my pants into them, so no one at school sees they’re too short. I’m sure this makes me look even more like a teenage Paul Bunyan than usual, but I don’t care. The boots are comfortable and help to support my ankles. Anyway I could probably wear nothing but expensive designer clothes and still be considered a freak.

Before standing, I run my hands over my feet. The right boot has a long narrow indentation across the toe. They are scuffed. Great. With a drawn-out sigh, I pick up my backpack and walk over to the kitchen where Mom is waiting. She has way too much energy for this early in the day.

“Yogurt with berries fresh from the garden,” she says, placing a glass in my hand. “You can eat in the car.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I jab a heaping spoonful into my mouth and finish it in five huge bites, then grab my cane from the hook near the front door, loop the cord around my wrist, and follow Mom out to the driveway where the rattly old family van is parked. As she shifts the car into drive, sadness washes over me. I’m almost sixteen, but I’ll never be able to drive. I’ll always be forced to rely on my parents for everything, my entire life.

We drive the twelve minutes to school, while Mom talks non-stop about new beginnings and the “carefree happiness of youth.” When the van stops, I take a deep breath, and wrap my fingers around the door handle, ready to find out what’s in store for me this year at Grandon High.

“Hey, Alex?” Mom stops me just as I’m about to step out onto the curb. I pause and wait. “Have a good day at school.”

“I will.”

“Dad’ll pick you up and bring you to the shop in the afternoon, okay?”

“Okay. Bye, Mom.” The longer we draw this scene out, the higher the chances of her kissing me on the head or calling me her “little sapling.” I just can’t risk starting out the year on such an embarrassing note.

I get out of the car and head straight inside the building. A bunch of kids are hanging around outside, chatting away about their summers, getting back into the swing of things. They don’t notice me as I slink by and make my way to my first hour, English—I memorized the location of all of my classes during the summer, so I wouldn’t embarrass myself by getting lost or arriving after the bell rings.

Entering the classroom, I drop my backpack on the floor, and prop my cane between the seat and the desk; that way it’s near at hand and easy to get later. Nobody else is here yet, not even the teacher. Bored already, I decide to go get a drink of water from the fountain. As I’m rounding the corner of the familiar hall, the air gets heavy like it does after a rainstorm. The aroma of wet grass and asphalt overpowers my senses. This definitely seems out of place for a high school hallway.

“Hey, Alex, how was it today?” Dad asks in a much better mood than usual.

I turn around in shock. What is my Dad doing here? Mom just dropped me off. Dad should be in bed still, not here at school embarrassing me.

“Dad?” I ask tentatively. “Dad, what are you doing here?”

“I’m not your daddy, you no-eyed freak!” comes the voice of Brady Evans, the running-back of the school’s Junior Varsity football team—my biggest enemy.

The air becomes lighter all of a sudden, as if a vacuum cleaner has sucked up all the humidity. The fragrance of sweat and Axe deodorant spray fills my nostrils. I’m totally confused now.


“No, it’s your daddy. Loser…” Laughter comes from at least six different people, most of them girls.

“Sorry,” I mumble and head back to English class, forgetting to get my drink of water. Brady and his entourage follow me in, making jokes at my expense.

I put my head down on my desk, wishing I was a chameleon, so I could become one with the desk and fade out of view—being a reptile couldn’t be that much worse than having to endure high school.

“Mr. Kosmitoras, could you please come here?” the teacher calls, butchering the pronunciation of my name.

“Um, it’s Caas-me-toe-rh-aas actually,” I respond, getting up and walking over to the teacher’s desk at the front of the room. Brady and his friends are still laughing. I hope they’ve moved onto a new topic.

“Here are your textbooks for the year. We’re starting out with this basic reader,” she says, plopping a thick book into my hands. “Then we’ll be moving on to The Odyssey and finally Romeo and Juliet.” She places these into my outstretched palms as well.

“Thanks,” I mutter and head back to my seat. I begin skimming the basic reader, flipping through several pages at once, randomly trailing my finger over little snippets of text. Since no school around here caters specifically to visually impaired kids, my teachers special-order textbooks in braille for me. That’s all I need to get by, really. With very few exceptions, I can do anything other kids my age do. I’ve been this way my whole life; I know how to make it work.

Bit by bit, the other students trickle into the class. Someone who smells like cherry candy sits down across the room. Then, a series of loud thuds comes from that direction—she must’ve dropped her books.

“Simmi! Simmi, Jeez! Don’t make so much noise!” says some boy, who sounds a bit like Brady, but I don’t think is Brady. I don’t know anybody named Simmi, so this girl must be a new student. Why’s this boy being so mean to her already? Hope rises within me. Maybe she’ll be an outcast too; the two of us could team up.

The bell rings, taking away the cherries. I don’t pay any attention to the teacher as she introduces herself to the class. Instead, I think about the strange things that have been happening today. What was in that briefcase in the hall this morning, and why couldn’t I open it? Why did I think Brady Evans was my dad? Why do we have to read Romeo and Juliet this year in English class? We’re less than five minutes into first period, and my hopes for the new year are pretty much dashed.

Blog Tour Notes

THE BOOK:  Alex Kosmitoras may be blind, but he can still “see” things others can’t.  When his unwanted visions of the future begin to suggest that the girl he likes could be in danger, he has no choice but to take on destiny and demand it reconsider. Get your copy today by visiting’s Kindle store or the eBook retailer of your choice. The paperback edition will be available on November 24 (for the author’s birthday).

THE CASH PRIZES:  Guess what? You could win a $100 Amazon gift card as part of this special blog tour. That’s right! Just leave a comment below saying something about the post you just read, and you’ll be entered into the raffle. I could win $100 too! Please help by voting for my blog in the traffic-breaker poll. To cast your vote, visit the official Farsighted blog tour page and scroll all the way to the bottom. Thank you for your help with that.

THE GIVEAWAYS:  Win 1 of 10 autographed copies of Farsighted before its paperback release by entering the giveaway on GoodReads. Perhaps you’d like an autographed postcard from the author; you can request one on her site.

THE AUTHOR:  Emlyn Chand has always loved to hear and tell stories, having emerged from the womb with a fountain pen grasped firmly in her left hand (true story). When she’s not writing, she runs a large book club in Ann Arbor and is the president of author PR firm, Novel Publicity. Emlyn loves to connect with readers and is available throughout the social media interweb. Visit for more info. Don’t forget to say “hi” to her sun conure Ducky!

MORE FUN: There's more fun below. Watch the live action Farsighted book trailer and take the quiz to find out which character is most like you!

Thursday, 27 October 2011

Dirty Little Secret 27/10/2011

Dirty Little Secret is a weekly meme hosted by Under the covers Every Thursday we get to know other bloggers and our readers more intimately by asking them a question hoping to reveal their dirty little secrets.  We hope that you will all join us!

To participate in the meme all you need to do is:

1. Be a follower of Under the covers
2. Create a post in your blog taking the meme image and copy instructions.
3. Answer the question we propose! This can be done in any way you like, post a video, write a post etc.
4.  Add your link to the Mister Linky's in the Dirty Little Secret post @Under the covers

This weeks question is:

"If you could shape shift into anything, what would it be?
A dragila without a doubt: That's my own Shapeshifer Supernatural beings in my book series I'm currently editing. Dragon and Vila = Dragila. A dragon's attitude and a vila's charm.

Sunday, 23 October 2011

Courtesy of:
1) HAVE FUN!!!


3) THIS TOUR STARTS: Monday, October 17, at Midnight (Arizona Time)
    THIS TOUR ENDS: Monday, October 24, at Midnight (Arizona Time)
    Winners will be drawn and posted October 25th! ***



 ***Authors & Book Pages have full discretion to choose an alternate winner in the event any winner fails to claim their prize(s) within 72 hours of their name being posted or after notification of win, whichever comes first. Anyone who participates in this blog hop tour is subject to these rules***
I was late putting this up, but never late than never, right?  And it's fun!! Click  HERE to visit the other blogs. 

So, my giveaway is the first installment of my  YA debut novel  'The Grim Reaper's Novice The Soul Collector series'. All you have to do is:

1. Read the Excerpt. If you enjoyed reading it and would like to know what happens after, please comment and leave your email address so I can send it to you as a pdf.

Actually that's it. 

You can find me on twitter: CeCeMR
Goodreads: Cecilia Robert

Thanks for stopping by and happy hopping!

Saturday, 22 October 2011

Keeper of the Dead Nola Series by Alexandrea Weis

Date published: 04th November 2011


The NOLA Series,part of the Trestle Press Cliffhanger Digital Story Series:
As Director of Cemeteries for the Catholic Archdiocese of New Orleans, Angele Soule is jokingly known around town as The Keeper of the Dead. But Angele’s quiet job is turned upside down when a coworker’s body parts begin appearing in front of the tomb of the famous Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau. During the investigation Angele meets Lou Glapion, a NOPD Homicide Detective, who is convinced the woman’s murder is the work of a deranged individual and not related to the notorious voodoo practitioner.

But Angele is not entirely convinced and begins to probe into the dark art of voodoo. But when someone threatens Angele by ransacking her home, she turns to the handsome detective for help. Falling for Angele, and desperate to protect her, Lou Glapion insists she move in with him until the murder is solved. However, when another woman from her office is found dead, Angele feels she may become the killer’s next victim. But all is not as it would seem, until one night when Angele discovers the truth behind the murders. Suddenly trapped in the sinister world of voodoo, Angele finds her fate resting in the hands of the dead Marie Laveau.

For Angele Soule, being The Keeper of the Dead is about to take on a whole new meaning.

 My review:

The Keeper of the dead grabbed my attention from the begining to the end. I found her descriptions about New Orleans very well done, and for someone who has never been there like me, it was nice to see all that. I enjoyed reading from the first page, Angele's friends turning up dead to the voodoo practices to the very end which was quite unexpected turn of events. All in all, it was a very good read. I'm looking forward to the next book in these series.

Open Minds (Book One of the Mindjack Trilogy)

When everyone reads minds, a secret is a dangerous thing to keep.

Sixteen-year-old Kira Moore is a zero, someone who can’t read thoughts or be read by others. Zeros are outcasts who can’t be trusted, leaving her no chance with Raf, a regular mindreader and the best friend she secretly loves. When she accidentally controls Raf’s mind and nearly kills him, Kira tries to hide her frightening new ability from her family and an increasingly suspicious Raf. But lies tangle around her, and she’s dragged deep into a hidden world of mindjackers, where having to mind control everyone she loves is just the beginning of the deadly choices before her.

Congratulations to Susan Kaye Quinn

There's the virtual launch party happening on the November 1st. You are all welcome to party with us so lets get the drums rolling. If you'd like to join Susan's OPEN MINDS lauch party, please click here and help us spread the word, tweet, facebook-ing, blogging... Hope to see you there!

Friday, 21 October 2011

Blogfest Contest

Below is my entry for Brenda Drake's 'Can you leave us breathless?' Blogfest. It is taken from the second chapter of my debut novel The Grim Reaper's Novice (The Soul Collector series) published by Trestle Press. I hope you enjoy reading it. Any feedback/comments/critique will be very welcome.Thank you for taking time to read this.


Test day. Ten minutes to eight.
Cloaked in a Concealment Spell, I lean against a lamppost opposite Vienna Opera, sipping coffee and nibbling on an apple pie.
Eight O’clock. I dispose of the empty cup, and wipe my mouth clean with a napkin. I scan the area for a pulsating soul ready for collection. I squint and crane my neck, bouncing on my heels. I clench and unclench my hands. The early morning August summer sun and throng of people scattered all over the place make things more difficult. Tourists  with maps and cameras are gathered at the corners waiting at the intersection, impatiently waiting for the light to change. I can’t see anyone in the right age range.
The light changes and the masses of people begin to make their way across the street. It’s obvious the soul I’m looking for is not here after all. Relieved that I would not have to take such a young soul I turn to leave. That’s when I see him, a young man stepping off the curb with headphones covering his ears, bobbing his head to the beat of the music. My heart jolts wildly in my chest.
Suddenly, tyres squealing on the tarmac road fill the air. I whirl to the direction of the sounds. Out of nowhere, I spot a car racing down the street heading straight for him, but he’s so lost in his music he doesn’t even see it. His aura shows no sign of soul collection.
I break into a sprint, which in my high heels is like walking on thorns. I’ve never been much of a runner, but I am determined to save this young man’s life.
Two feet, and the car will make contact. I shake my heels off in the running process.

Wednesday, 19 October 2011

How Grim Reaper's Novice idea came about... Please read on.

Hi my friends,

So, a very dear friend of mine, Shilpa, invited me to guest blog to chat a bit about my debut novel The Grim Reaper's novice and how the idea came about. Oh! What a good host she was! Imagine being welcomed in someone's house, and chatting over steaming tea? Always welcome during this cold weather.

To check out how much fun we had, please follow this link to her blog.

Sunday, 16 October 2011

Upcoming Reviews

Keeper of the dead by Alexandrea Weis Trestle Press

Chasing Dragons: Vengence by Barbara Farquharson Scott  (Cover coming soon)

Saturday, 15 October 2011

Halloween! Let's talk Grim Reaper

So, I am going to go along with the theme from my story the Grim Reaper's Novice Soul Collector series. What character's do you think Grim Reaper should have? Should he be all suited up or carrying his trade-marked scythe and that long dark cloak?
I would love to hear your views.

Sunday, 9 October 2011

Grim Reaper's Novice Soul Collector series published by Trestle Press

For Ana, the price for soul trading didn’t come cheap.

It has been two years ago since she traded her soul for the souls of the four members of her family, and took up the post of the Soul Collector, therefore becoming Grim Reaper’s Novice. Her job: collecting mature human souls. Soon, she will be tested before being accepted as a Soul Collector Graduate. If she passes the test, her happiness is guaranteed, and Grim will free her family’s souls. If she doesn’t…

My debut novel 'The Grim Reaper's Novice Volume One Soul Collector Series' published by Trestle Press is out now on Amazon  Yay! I'm editing the continuation of the story and ideas keep popping in my head that I have to pull on those mental brakes. Pure intoxicating fun!

Friday, 7 October 2011

Versatile Award

A huge THANK YOU to Cynthia Lee for blessing me with this award.I'm really honoured.

My turn to share some (7 facts phew!) random facts about me.

1. I bite my nails when I'm extremely nervous
2. I'm currently working on an installment of Young Adult urban dark fantasy series Soul Collector (The Grim Reaper's Novice) to be published by Trestle Press.
3. I prefer using the elevator than climbing stairs.
4. I am a terrible, terrible singer.
5. I'm still trying to understand how to read manga from back going forward as it is so confusing (And my son has explained this to me several times)
6. I love ginger black tea
7. I prefer milk with coffee and not coffee with milk. haha I know, I'm strange.

Now is your time to be awarded this superfabulous Award. Here are rules:

  1.  Thank the person who gave you the award and link back to them in your post.
  2. Share 7 things about yourself.
  3. Pass this Award along to 15 recently discovered blogs and let them know about it!
So, here's my list of the fifteen blogs for the Versatile Award:

1. Francesca Zappia
2. Martina Riemer
3. Keisha Martin
4.Kasonndra Leigh
5. Khairu Dhanani
6. Linda
7. Grant Eagar
8. T.P. Boje (Therese)
Kelly Hashway
10. Molly Edwards
11. Emily Kieson
12. Carmen Finestra
13. Claudia Fernandes
14.Christina Pal
15. Mark Basafa

Sunday, 2 October 2011

Finally, my weekend.

Sunday. The end of my busy week. While everyone else's weekend is over, mine is just about to begin. Yay!

On Thursday afternoon, while working on my research for The Grim Reaper's Novice (my current project), I visited the impressive 11th century  St. Stephen's Cathedral, and climbed the 343 steps leading to the South Tower Watchman Chamber. The view up there was simply breathtaking. At the height of 87 feet above ground, people walking around the St. Stephen's Square resembled moving dots.
This is how an eagle feels soaring high in the sky, it's razor-sharp eyes searching for prey. 
The thought crossed my mind as I drank in the sweeping view of the city as far as my eyes could see.

Afterwards I visited the catacombs. I found the history intriguing and disturbing at the same time. Call me morbid, but I'll visit again. I find the serenity within the silent, cool rooms quite comforting.